Chapter 7 #2
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice smooth as velvet says from the door. My mouth falls open the second the neuron fires. In my sobriety, I place him instantly. Oh, Jesus fuck, no …
“Danny,” Bill says. “I thought you were going to wait in the lobby.”
“Can’t let you make every decision for me, Bill,” Danny says, entering the room and clapping his hand on his manager’s shoulder. “If you and the UFC suits are forcing me to have a babysitter, the least you can do is let me pick out which one.”
Babysitter?
He hasn’t seen me yet. I slink down in my chair and hide behind my MacBook Air.
“Danny Kekoa. Big fan,” Jake says, standing and doing that dude thing of a slow, wide, exaggerated hand greeting. “You annihilated Ortega in your last match. It’s an honor, bro.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate that.”
“My coaching style would totally fit with your whole vibe. Chill, hands off. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Hands off could work,” Danny says, nodding to his manager.
Belinda gives me a hard look, encouraging me to say something. I shake my head no and sink even lower down in my seat. No, Belinda. Please don’t help me. This isn’t just about the speaking in public thing.
“Lauren,” Belinda says, and I shut my eyes tight, a child playing hide and seek in plain sight. “Do you have anything to add before we assign Jake to this client?”
Fuck. I open my eyes and rise from my seat.
“Yes, I do.” All eyes fall on me—including the widened hazel ones of Danny “Lothario of Lahaina” Kekoa.
“You may have annihilated Ortega in your last fight, but I’m more concerned with what happened after the final bell,” I continue.
“You stormed out when the interview questions got tough, which won’t earn you any favors with the league or set you up with a title shot.
If I’m your life coach, impulsive behavior patterns like that will be the first thing we address. ”
God, what am I doing? Hopefully, that made sense. If only Maya were here.
Bill nods slightly in agreement, so that’s encouraging. I risk a glance over to Danny. His eyes are no longer surprised saucers but hooded slits of darkness.
“You don’t approve of my behavior?” he asks.
Oh, shit. The room watches us with interest, picking up on the electric current running between us. Thank god, they’ll never know why.
“Your behavior patterns,” I say. “Specifically, those that are holding you back from your full potential.”
Danny’s eyes narrow. “That’s interesting, coming from someone whose behavior pattern includes sneaking out without saying goodbye.”
Oh no. No no no no no no.
Everyone around me absorbs this new information. Jake’s face is all scrunched up in confusion. Belinda’s mouth is a soft O of surprise. And Erika and Callista, well, they look slightly impressed.
“Wait, what?” Jake says, finally catching up. “Hey, it isn’t fair if these two already know each other. That’s like, nepotism or something.”
“I don’t know her,” Danny says coldly. “In fact, I don’t even know her real name.”
“We met only once,” I explain. “Briefly.”
“Very briefly,” Danny says, raising an eyebrow. The one with the translucent scar. My face flames.
“I’m sorry, Lauren,” Belinda says, “but Jake is right. If you two know each other, we must enlist someone on more neutral ground.”
Jake is practically salivating, he’s so excited. A headache pulses in lockstep between my temples.
“I’m psyched to get started.” Jake stands up, armed with a firm handshake.
“No. I want her.” Danny’s words glide through the room, low and firm. His playful hazel eyes from the bar are gone, replaced by pools of menacing black. His dimples have vanished, too, buried beneath layers of anger.
The room goes silent. A Keurig sputters coffee into a mug somewhere in the distance. A printer whirs to life.
My hands are slick with sweat, my heartbeat a hummingbird at the base of my throat.
Say something, Lauren. Right now. Speak!
“Very well,” I cough, clearing my throat. “You’ve made the right choice. I’m sure your goals and my coaching style will mesh quite effectively.”
“Yeah, I bet they’ll mesh effectively,” Erika murmurs way too audibly to Callista. She’s never mastered the art of a discreet whisper. Callista kicks her under the table but maintains a passive expression.
“If you’re sure …” Belinda glances over to Danny and shrugs. Then she takes a manila folder from her desk and places it in my hands. “Client has the final say. Looks like you landed the gig, Lauren.”
The room comes back to life around me, with laptops closing and people shifting in chairs, as if something cataclysmic didn’t just happen. Belinda opens the conference room door, signaling the others to leave.
Jake watches me from under thick eyebrows.
“Don’t worry, we’re going. No NDAs for us peons.
” He rises to his full height, shifting his messenger bag onto his shoulder.
He leans in, his body spray astringent in my nose.
“If you need help, I’m only a phone call away.
” No one hears him but me. Unfortunately, Jake has mastered the art of the discreet whisper.
Danny stays put, and Bill stares at him expectantly.
“What, you want me to leave too?” Danny says in disbelief.
“We have refreshments in the lobby,” Belinda says graciously, directing him to the catering table with Vanna White arms. Danny shoots daggers at me but leaves, as requested.
When the glass conference room doors are shut, I shiver.
Oh god. I need a minute. Just a quick, quiet panic attack in the ladies’ room.
“Let’s get down to business,” Bill says, putting a leather binder on the table and killing all hope of a private freak-out.
“Danny is the most promising fighter I’ve ever seen.
” He turns the binder ninety degrees and places both hands on it.
“But to be the light heavyweight champion of the world, a fighter needs more than promise. They need discipline.”