Chapter Two
My head snaps back from the force of Lincoln Decker’s huge fist connecting with my jaw. Blinking away the stars at the edge of my vision, I jump backward and bounce on the balls of my feet. Shake it off, McKay. Keeping my gloved hands up to protect my face, I huff out a breath.
“Careful with the moneymaker, Decker,” I warn.
The big guy barks out a laugh. “Nobody is paying to see your mug, McKay.”
I take a swing, and he easily sidesteps. “How are you so fast?” The complaint barely leaves my mouth before his gloved hand slams into my side. “Goddammit. Take it easy.” We’ve only been sparring for twenty minutes, but I’m going to have bruises for weeks.
“No pain, no gain.” The next hit makes my knees wobble. “C’mon, McKay, you’re slower than my grandma. And she’s been dead for fifteen years.”
When I asked Linc, a former MMA champ and part of my crew at A-Squared, to help me improve my fighting skills, I didn’t realize he planned on wiping my ass all over the ring. But what did I expect? He has granite slabs for abs and fists the size of hams.
“Not all of us have two UFC championship belts, Lights Out,” I remind him, using his former nickname from when he fought in the Octagon.
Unlike Linc, I’ve never been near an Octagon much less fought in one. In fact, I spend most of my day behind a computer, so it’s important that I pry my ass out of my chair and exercise several times a week. I also like being able to defend myself. So, this seemed like a good idea at the time.
“What’re you saying? You want me to go easy on you?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
He lets out a snort of derision, lowering his fists. “I got news for ya, I am going easy on you.”
While his hands are down, I lunge with an uppercut.
Despite being big, he’s impossibly light on his feet, and he moves so fast, I barely clip him. “Sneaky, Diamond Man.”
“If I were a UFC fighter, that would be a good nickname, huh? Fists like diamonds.” I like it. Granted, my moniker is because I’m a gems expert, but no one needs to know that.
“Less talk, more action.”
The man might as well have that phrase tattooed on his face.
Linc is definitely a man of few words. He’s The Safecracker and The Muscle.
And ever since he married Princess Merritt Fontaine, he’s also Prince Consort of Arcadia.
At six feet five inches with an abundance of muscles, he may have retired from the pro circuit, but he hasn’t gone soft.
But I have a feeling once his very pregnant wife gives birth, he’s going to turn into mush.
We continue sparring, until we’re both sweating buckets.
Between trying to take my head off and rearranging my ribs, Linc offers me some pointers and shares a few tricks.
He really puts me through it, not going easy on me.
We’re both very competitive and, even though I might be a few inches shorter than Goliath, I’m scrappy as hell.
Eventually, I raise my fists. “I’m done,” I announce, and bend over at the waist, breathing hard and trying to catch my breath.
“You did good, McKay.” Chest heaving, he expertly unlaces a glove and slaps a hand on the back of my shoulder. I have to say, it makes me feel good to see he’s also a little winded.
We climb over the ropes and jump down onto the floor. I swipe up a towel, wipe my face off and then drag it down my sweat-soaked chest. After draping the towel around my neck, I reach for my stainless-steel tumbler and guzzle down most of the cold water inside.
“Any plans to visit Arcadia in the near future?” I ask.
Linc shakes his head. “No. Mer’s parents are coming to visit once the baby’s born. Maybe a little sooner, depending on their royal duties.”
It’s weird to hear Linc talk about Alain and Eliza Fontaine, the King and Queen of Arcadia, so easily.
At first, it was a little strange knowing our rough-around-the-edges friend was marrying into a royal family.
But while acting as Merritt’s bodyguard, he fell head over heels for the little brunette princess, and the rest, as they say, is history.
But, hey, better him than me. I much prefer staying at the office, holding down the fort, while the rest of our team—Addie, Knox, Cole and Brighton—head out into the field with Linc.
“What about you?” Linc asks as we start walking toward the locker rooms. “Ever plan on finding someone special and settling down?”
“Nope,” I respond easily, tossing my towel into a bin with other dirty ones. “I enjoy being a bachelor. You can keep your kingdom and duties and endless responsibilities. I much prefer my laptop, a glass of expensive whiskey and my quiet house any day.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
We stop in front of the locker rooms and I roll my head, cracking my neck. “No interest, pal. I enjoy my freedom way too much.”
He smirks. “I used to be the same way. Until Merritt swept in and turned my entire world upside down. The right woman has a way of making you suddenly want things you never did before.”
“Not me,” I insist. Yet even as I say it, an image of Bella Diamond surfaces in my mind. Not altogether unwelcome, of course, because she’s gorgeous. But a little…
I don’t know. Surprising? Disconcerting? Annoying?
Settling down isn’t in the cards for me, and that’s totally fine.
Other than my friends who have found their other halves, I’ve never had a good example of marriage.
My parents went through a messy divorce when I was still a kid.
I witnessed the vitriol and bitter barbs firsthand.
They own diamond mines all over the world, so the fights over splitting property were epic.
And they didn’t care enough to hide their confrontations from me.
After the dust settled, Mom took off with a younger man and never looked back. Last I heard, she’s living in Spain with a different, even younger man. We might see each other once a year, if that.
Dad remarried a couple of years after the divorce.
My stepmother is a witch, and I stay away.
Far away. She married my father for money then positioned her two children in the family business while edging me out.
I’d probably be more upset about it if Addie hadn’t come along at the exact right time and scooped me up like some stray puppy.
Working at A-Squared has been a godsend, keeps me insanely busy and living a lifestyle I enjoy.
Plus, it connected me with my best friends.
“I’m going to laugh when you fall in love, McKay. And then I’m going to say I told you so.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I’m going to shower at home,” he tells me. “Mer is making homemade pizza for dinner, and she might need some help.”
“Sounds good.” My friend doesn’t have a very daring palette and lives on burgers, tacos, pizza and anything non-leafy.
We bump knuckles, and I watch him walk in the opposite direction, not even giving a second glance to the juice and smoothie bar.
Shame really. For him, that is. They whip up fantastic protein shakes.
Just past the bar, there’s an attached restaurant where you can dine in or grab takeout if you’re short on time.
All the food is farm to table, organic and always fresh.
I invited him to join me there once. The look on his face.
Priceless. Like I’d asked him to eat raw sea urchin.
But, unlike Linc, I don’t have any dinner plans tonight or an aversion to vegetables, so I’ll probably grab something to go from there on my way out.
I turn and head into the men’s locker room.
It’s big, squeaky clean, and offers every amenity.
Considering how much I pay for my membership, it should.
But what can I say? I really enjoy luxurious things.
The higher the price tag, the more I want it.
Since I don’t have my own family, I tend to splurge on the very best. My clothes, my car, my food, my whiskey.
All my tech goodies. Even my cologne. The truth is, I make more money than I’ll ever need in a lifetime, so why not enjoy it? God knows, you can’t take it with you.
I walk through the lounge area, passing the plush seating and large coolers offering water flavored with fresh fruit. It’s pretty quiet today, and the only other guy in here is leaving as I head down to the last shower.
Each stall is more like a mini bathroom, with its own sink and mirror, fresh supply of towels, and disposable goodies such as toothbrushes, toothpaste and combs. They stock high end shower gel, lotion, and shaving kits, too. It’s a nice setup and well-worth the price of admission.
Dropping my bag on the bench inside an empty booth, I kick off my tennis shoes, shuck my shorts and boxer briefs then step into the large, tiled shower.
After adjusting the water, I move beneath the warm spray and soap up, flinching the slightest bit as I come into contact with some of the tender spots Linc hit a little harder than I was expecting.
As I wash off, I can’t help but think over my conversation with him.
And the way Bella Diamond popped into my head.
Which, honestly, is quite odd since I don’t even know what she truly looks like.
She’s always in disguise. I’ve seen her as an ebony-haired beauty with deep gray eyes.
I’ve run into her as a green-eyed redhead.
Most recently, she was a blue-eyed blonde.
I get the feeling none of those getups are even close to her true looks.
But the one thing that never seems to change is her alluring scent. The intoxicating smell of jasmine always surrounds her, and I notice that before I actually know it’s her. We can be in a room of hundreds—have, in fact—and that scent will pull me toward her every fucking time.
Something about the elusive Ms. Diamond intrigues me. I’ve done multiple deep dives on her, but she’s like a ghost, and I always turn up empty-handed. It’s like Bella Diamond doesn’t exist.