13 COREY
I lean back in my chair, studying Rhea's face as she processes everything she's seen tonight. The tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers drum against her thigh - she's waiting for answers.
"Look, I'll give it to you straight," I say, keeping my voice low.
"What you saw downstairs? That's our most lucrative business. The bar upstairs is just a front."
"A fight club?" Her green eyes narrow. "Like some testosterone- fueled boys' club bullshit?"
Julian snorts from his position by the door. "More like a multi- million dollar enterprise. These aren't street brawls - they're organized matches."
"See, couple years back, some wall street types approached us," I explain. "They were bored with conventional betting. Horse racing, football - it all got stale. They wanted something more... exclusive."
"And illegal," Rhea cuts in.
"Yeah. But also carefully controlled. Our fighters are trained professionals. The betting is managed. Everyone who comes here knows the rules."
"The rules being what exactly?"
"First rule - you don't talk about fight club." I crack a smile, but she doesn't return it. "Sorry, couldn't resist. But seriously - absolute discretion. The people who come here? CEOs, politicians, old money. They pay premium for privacy."
"And the injuries? Like tonight?"
"That wasn't fight-related. Like Tobias said - someone mixed business with pleasure. But when our fighters get hurt? We take care of our own."
"That's why you hired me? To patch people up?"
"No. I hired you because you were qualified for the bar position.
Finding out about your medical background was a bonus. But now that you know..." I lean forward. "You have a choice to make."
She crosses her arms. "What kind of choice?"
"You can walk away right now. No questions asked, severance pay included. Or you can stay, make significantly more money, but understand that this stays completely under wraps."
Rhea's gaze shifts to Julian, who's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "So what were you doing down there? Playing coach?"
I adjust my watch, letting Julian field this one. He pushes off the wall, that signature half-smile playing on his lips.
"Not exactly playing. I was pro MMA for six years."
"Was?" Rhea's eyebrows shoot up.
"Officially 'retired.' These trust fund babies and wall street types who step in the ring? They don't know that. Makes the odds...
interesting."
Tobias chuckles from his spot by the door. "Julian's our ace in the hole. He can spot a fighter's weakness in seconds."
"That how you got roped into this?" Rhea asks Tobias.
"Corey and I have been friends since we were thirteen." Tobias shrugs those massive shoulders. "My moves are his moves."
"But Tobi has fought under my observation before," Julian adds, that calculating look in his eyes I know well. "Even the boss here stepped in the ring a few times."
"You?" Rhea turns to me, surprise evident in her expression.
"Marines teach you how to handle yourself." I roll my shoulders, remembering my last match. "Julian's got a gift for reading people, knowing how to exploit weaknesses. Makes him valuable both in and out of the ring."
"So you're telling me the hot bartender is actually some big shot MMA fighter?" Rhea shakes her head, but there's a hint of admiration in her voice.
Julian's eyes sparkle with amusement. "Hot bartender, huh? But was, past tense."
"Don't let it go to your head," she shoots back. "Your ego's big enough already."
I reach into my back pocket and pull out a thick envelope, sliding it across the desk to Rhea. Her fingers shake slightly as she picks it up.
"That's your cut from tonight. Plus a bonus for patching up our problem child."
Rhea opens the envelope, her green eyes widening. She counts through the bills once, twice. "Holy shit."
"And that's just from one fight night," Julian chimes in, still wearing that knowing smirk.
"I can't..." Rhea shakes her head, dark hair falling across her face.
"This is insane. I can't be part of some illegal fighting ring. I'm studying for my licensure, for fuck's sake."
"Think about it practically," I say, keeping my voice steady. "You need money for that fancy sports medicine clinic position, right?
Books aren't cheap. Neither is living in this city."
She bites her lip, staring at the cash. "My car needs some improvements..."
"And rent's due next week," I add, knowing full well her financial situation from her application. "Pride doesn't pay bills, Rhea."
"But if we get caught-"
"We've been running this operation for three years without a single issue. Our security is air-tight. The people who come here have too much to lose by talking." I lean back in my chair. "The choice is yours. But that money you're holding? That could be your regular take-home on fight nights."
Rhea runs her thumb across the edge of the bills, the internal struggle clear on her face. "Mother fuck, that's a lot of money."
"Enough to make your moral compass point in a different direction?" Julian asks.
She clutches the envelope, her knuckles white. "How do I know I won't end up like her? Beaten and bloody in some back room?"
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "Simple. Don't fuck the clientele." My voice carries an edge of steel. "What happened to her wasn't random. She got involved with one of our high rollers, thought she could play both sides." I spread my hands.
"That's why we have one rule - don't mix business with pleasure."
She studies my face, those green eyes searching for any hint of deception. The way her tongue darts out to wet her lips makes my pulse quicken.
"Right." She tucks the envelope into her back pocket. "I'll think about it. Have a good night boys."
“Tobias, escort her.” He nods. She rolls her eyes. A habit I’ve picked up that she has when she’s annoyed.
I watch her walk out, the sway of her hips in those tight jeans making my mouth go dry. The door clicks shut behind her.
"Fuck." I loosen my collar, suddenly feeling too warm.
Don't mix business with pleasure? I'm a goddamn hypocrite.
Every time she's behind that bar, mixing drinks with those nimble fingers, I imagine them somewhere else entirely.
The way she handles drunk assholes with that sharp tongue and sharper wit only makes it worse.
Julian's knowing chuckle breaks through my thoughts. "You're not fooling anyone, boss."
"Shut up." I grab my whiskey, downing it in one burning gulp.
The irony isn't lost on me - preaching about professional boundaries while fantasizing about bending her over this very desk.