Chapter 8
Brennan Diamond
Sweat drips down my body and soaks my shirt, but I shake out my arms and roll my neck before laying into the punching bag with various boxing combinations until my shoulders burn.
Needing to punish myself a little more, I add a round of high and low kicks on either side before spending a few minutes beating the bag with whatever strike feels most natural in the moment.
After dropping Audrey off at the store Monday evening, I drove to the address in her records and parked my car in a pay-by-the-hour lot several blocks away.
When she stomped past my hiding spot in a nearby alley and entered the building, rage unlike any other threatened to consume me.
The potency was all the more frightening since it was aimed at myself.
I’m missing vital information about her past, and the worst part is I have no idea how to start finding that information. In a perfect world, she’d tell me herself, but she’s always been stubborn, so I’m trapped in a hell of uncertainty.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, I worked beside her all day yesterday without exchanging a single word unrelated to work with her.
With my breaths sawing in and out of my throat like fire and the bag swinging from my blows, I tuck my glove under my arm, rip open the strap with my teeth, and yank my hand free.
“What did the bag do to insult you, and how do I avoid the same fate?”
I turn and scowl when I recognize the owner of the voice.
Carlos Lopez, the highest-rated security guard with a ridiculous number of certifications and awards at my newly bought million-dollar company stands with his arms crossed over his chest and appreciation in his gaze as he watches the bag continue to sway.
I grind my teeth and run my hand through my sweat-slicked hair.
Despite how much I respect his bravery in approaching me now and how he handled Edgar Williams after the asshole put his hands on Audrey, I can’t forget the way my baby doll smiled at him. Jealousy, rage, and bitterness eat away at my insides.
I pull my second glove off and shrug in response to his question.
“It seems I’ve already offended you, Mr. Diamond. Care for a match?” Lopez suggests with a chin tilt toward the blue mats stretched out in the corner.
After working only one full workday—Tuesday has never felt so long before—with Audrey by my side but out of reach, I spent hours destroying the equipment in my preferred gym yesterday evening, but it wasn’t enough, so this morning I decided to check out the gym associated with the wellness program offered to the employees of my newly bought business.
Overall the space is clean and well-maintained, and some of the equipment is new, but the lesser used machines need upgrades, and the locker room needs a complete overhaul. My employees deserve better.
Except for maybe this employee. If he wasn’t so efficient at his job, I’d fire him.
I grab my hand towel from where I hung it on the nearest bar and wipe the sweat from my nape.
“You’d spar with your boss?”
“Why not? It’s just a bit of friendly competition, right?”
I dab the towel under my chin and study his face. He must be mocking me, but his expression and body language seem neutral.
A few other employees use different equipment throughout the gym.
It’s more than I expected to see on a Wednesday morning.
The turnout bodes well for the future of the company—individuals motivated enough to take care of themselves outperform those who don’t—but a sparring session between the CEO and top security guard would feed the gossip mill too much.
“Winner buys lunch,” Lopez offers.
I underestimated him. By tacking on innocuous stakes, he masks the tension between us and turns the challenge into a playful, benign rivalry.
No matter who wins or loses, the employees gathered around the watercooler will no longer see me as the big bad wolf intending to blow their house down, and he’ll gain popularity points for bridging the gap between us.
He may be a few inches shorter than I am, but I’ve learned through experience not to judge an opponent by their looks. His stockier build gives him better balance and an advantage on floor movements, but I’ve never seen him in action before, so his speed is a mystery.
He just watched me waylay on the bag and still challenged me.
His eyes give nothing away. If we were in the boardroom, I’d appreciate his poker face, but in the gym, the lack of feedback offers an edge of personal offense.
“I’m booked for lunch today, but I’m free tomorrow,” I say.
A grin spreads across his face.
“Deal. Blue or red? Full kit?”
I glance at the available equipment.
“I brought my own gloves. Mouthguard, gloves, and shin guards only. No head or face shots. Tap outs, not knockouts,” I say.
He nods and tosses me a pair of shin guards and an individually wrapped disposable mouth guard from the bin on the wall.
I grunt my thanks, sit on the bench, and strap the shin guards to my legs before ripping open the plastic and fitting the mouth guard onto my upper teeth.
I rise and work my hands back into my gloves before rolling my shoulders and crossing the room.
We square off on the mats and bump gloves before stepping back and dropping into fighting stances.
I test him with a simple jab. He dodges and counters with a one-two combo.
I block, step into his space, and land a solid punch to his side.
With lightning-quick reflexes, he buries his glove into my stomach and knocks the wind out of me.
As my diaphragm seizes, I snap my leg forward and sweep his legs out from under him.
Midfall, he hooks his elbow into mine and pulls me down beside him. We both scramble for dominance and end in a tangled mess of limbs.
“I know what this is about, and I’m here to tell you, you don’t have to worry about it,” he gasps in my ear.
I change my grip and sling my arm behind his neck.
“Oh? Tell me what this is about, then,” I snarl.
He twists and locks his legs around my torso.
“Oh please, you look at Audrey like you want to eat her alive,” he replies.
Her name on his lips short-circuits my brain. I buck and roll until he’s underneath me, then slam my glove into his ribs.
“If it’s so obvious, then why shouldn’t I worry?” I aim higher on his chest. He blocks with his knee. “Have you been pulling your punches?” I goad.
He scoffs and flings his leg over my arm, hooking the back of his knee into my elbow and pinning it to my side.
“She’s not the type I swing for,” he says.
I trap his other thigh to the mat by leaning my weight onto my shin guard and land a solid jab to his chest before he blocks me with his forearm.
“That’s bullshit and we both know it. She—”
“Precisely. She’s a she. Not my type.”
His succinct response arrows through me. I pause with my fist lifted high for another swing.
He punches my stomach and throws me off him with a violent twist. I roll further away, but he lunges onto my back for a headlock. I thank my training and throw my arm into place by sheer muscle memory and prevent him from solidifying his grip.
When his words finally sink into my thoughts, my heart leaps into my throat. His chest vibrates against my back as he chuckles.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Diamond. You’re not my type either.”
I shouldn’t feel insulted, but his tone—and his elbow—dig between my ribs.
I resist the urge to throw my head back into his jaw and instead wedge my knee between his locked ankles and kick out of his embrace.
We roll apart and pop up onto our knees far out of reach of each other.
“Audrey walked my man down the aisle last weekend,” my heart lurches at his choice of words until I recall my baby doll was the maid of honor at Matteo Ricco’s wedding, “but I’ll meet him at the altar soon. Already bought the rings and planned the proposal, too.”
He brings one foot onto the mat, relaxes his shoulders, and smiles, but his awareness never diminishes, so I stay prepared for another round and mirror his pose.
I understand his words, but Audrey is too important to me to leave any doubts, so I quirk a brow and ask for clarification.
“Liam Brunswick is your…”
“Boyfriend. Soon-to-be fiancé. Lifetime partner. I am not competition, but,” he props his forearm on his thigh and levels his stare with mine, “--I am a threat.”
I scowl. He leans forward, his eyes never wavering.
“I’ve known Ms. Tripp ever since I transferred to this company almost eight years ago. Protecting her was my job at first, but now I consider her a friend. You’ll get the same treatment as Mr. Williams if you hurt her.”
The tension drains from me. I rise to my feet, maintaining eye contact with him as he moves in sync with me.
“I expect nothing less,” I say.
Sweat trails down my temples, and my lungs beg for more oxygen, but I let my arms hang loose at my sides and step closer to him.
“I’ll never hurt her, but it’s good she has you at her back.” His brows shoot up in surprise. “She deserves all the friends and protection she can get. I’m glad you were there for her when I couldn’t be.”
The words burn my throat. I hate saying them. They’re too true.
He studies my expression for an extended moment before nodding and offering me a lopsided grin.
We bump gloves, part ways to remove our protective gear, then work together in silence as we sanitize the space for the next users.
“Since I initiated and neither of us lost, I’ll pay for lunch tomorrow,” he says.
“Like hell you will. Hire an off-site service for a few hours and invite all the guards. My treat,” I shrug.
“Whatever you say, boss.”
He offers me his hand. I take it. We share a firm, respectful handshake. I don’t let go.
“With all that out of the way, just know I’m a jealous man. Audrey is mine. Hands off,” I warn.
He smirks, leans closer, and whispers in my ear, “Liam isn’t exactly the forgiving type either. If he saw this…”
I release his hand and push him away. He laughs and claps me on the shoulder.