Chapter 14
Blake
Fucking pain in my ass.
But not for the same reason she was the day I met her.
Before, Tracy was a pain because she’s so goddamn stubborn and forced herself into my business. Now, she’s a pain because I can’t stop thinking about her.
I spent all week trying to distance myself. To keep things between us professional and at an arm’s length. To treat her like I would treat any of my agents or employees.
But then, the second I get close to her, I can’t keep my fucking hands to myself. She’s like a magnet, drawing me in against my will, and no matter how hard I fight it, my hands somehow find themselves on her body.
And now she’s upped the ante.
We’re on a crash course, and as much as I tell myself I shouldn’t do this, I can’t help but hope that we collide.
I fist my hands under the table to refrain from opening the photo she sent again. I thought seeing her in my gym shirt, nipples hardened under the thin fabric, was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life. But this…
Tracy’s laugh carries over the crowd, and I glance over to see her still sitting next to Dustin at the bar. Thankfully, the guy is keeping his hands to himself and there’s a safe distance between the two of them, though it doesn’t do much to quell the irritation flowing through me.
The little prick wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like her. She needs someone who’s not afraid to meet her head on. To push her. To rein in that attitude and obstinacy.
Someone like me.
No. Fuck, Blake. What are you even thinking? She works for you and is off limits.
I didn’t make it this far to get distracted by a woman who doesn’t know when to shut her goddamn mouth. But fuck, I bet that mouth could do things.
I run a hand through my hair, pushing the loose strands from my forehead.
“You’re brooding,” Whitney says, pulling me from the never-ending cycle of torment that is being around or thinking about Tracy. She slides one of the beers Connor just dropped off toward me.
“I’m not brooding,” I tell her, taking a swig of the bitter liquid. It matches the bitterness flowing through my veins right now.
“Mhmm,” she hums, fingers peeling at the label of her beer bottle. “You two are ridiculous.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’ve been dancing around each other since the day she walked into your office. What are we, teenagers afraid to talk to our crushes? Just ask her out.”
“I’m not interested in her that way, Whit.” I let out a sigh. “Besides, she works for me and it would be unprofessional.”
“Well, then, good thing you’re the boss and you make the rules.” She wiggles her brows at me dramatically.
I try to ignore her and instead find myself looking at Tracy and Dustin at the bar again. The prick has his hand on the back of her stool as he leans in toward her. She also has yet another shot in front of her.
Is that asshole trying to get her drunk off her ass? My shoulders tense and my fingers twitch, tapping against my thigh under the table.
“Go grab her,” Whitney says. “Clearly you don’t like her with another man. Not to mention that creep has been feeding her shots all night. He’s probably hoping to get her drunk enough that he stands a chance of getting laid.”
The image ignites a burning hatred in me, but I grit out, “She’s not mine to grab.” Besides, if the guy does try to leave with her, Whit and I can grab her then. Otherwise, it’s not my place to intrude.
“She could be yours,” Whitney says with a shrug of her shoulders. “If you were honest with yourself and with her.”
“No,” I say firmly. “She works for me. What kind of message would that send?”
“That you can’t help when fate throws your soulmate at you?”
I huff a laugh. “Tracy is not my soulmate.”
“Well, she could be, but you’re both too stubborn to give it a shot,” she snaps back.
Grabbing the beer bottle in front of me, I spin it in my hands to keep my fingers busy. “I’ve barely known her for a week, and I’m her boss. It’s not happening.” Plus, I’m still livid that she managed to weasel herself into my brokerage.
“So?” Whitney quirks a brow. “I’ve gone out with guys I’ve literally known for twenty minutes. It’s called dating, Blake.”
“It’s unprofessional,” I grit out. Not to mention temporary. Tracy will be gone before long. People don’t get to mess with me or my business and stick around.
“Dear God, please save me from this insanity.” She leans her head back, like she’s actually speaking to some great power above. “Are we really circling back to this already? Give me one good reason—one real reason—why you two shouldn’t see if you hit it off.”
“Drop it, Whit,” I say, my voice clipped.
But just as the words leave my mouth, I notice Dustin lean into Tracy, his hand on her hip and his face inching toward hers.
Oh, hell no.
Fuck that shit.
I jump up from the booth and storm over to them, my body vibrating as I grab Dustin by the shoulders right before his lips meet hers.
“Back the fuck off,” I hiss, throwing him back into his chair.
“Dude, what the fuck!” He stands from his seat and pushes into my chest.
I’ve had my fair share of fights in my life.
Skye was an asshole of a big brother and we used to wrestle all the time growing up.
It made me an over confident hothead. I was suspended a handful of times in high school for fighting, but I wasn’t about to let anyone talk shit about my family and get away with it.
They needed to be taught a lesson, and I taught that lesson best with my fists.
But in every one of those situations, I always felt in control.
I was conscious of what my body was doing.
I was calculating every move, every swing, every throw of my elbow.
I went into each altercation with a goal, and I came out victorious in the end, regardless of what the principal told my parents, or what the bouncer told the police after I turned twenty-one.
This time, though… this time, I don’t have a plan. I don’t have any concept of what my body is doing. I don’t have a single thought in my head but one: don’t fucking touch her.
I barely see Tracy, nothing but a blonde flash in my periphery as I charge the bastard who shoved me, the bastard who dared to try to make a move on her. I tackle him to the floor. Whitney yells something at me, but I don’t hear it over the roar in my ears.
My fist connects with his jaw, just as his connects with my brow. Blood runs down my face, dripping onto Dustin’s white shirt as he struggles beneath me, bucking and flailing wildly as he tries to get up and regain the upper hand.
I don’t let him, my fist pulling back and slamming down again.
And again.
And again.
Dustin moves his head at the last minute, and my fist slides past, slamming into the tiled floor. Pain shoots up my arm as my knuckles break open, blood running from my hand and smearing on the floor.
The momentary pain causes me to pause, and Dustin uses it to push me back. I fall on my ass and he’s on me in an instant, holding me down by the collar of my shirt as his fist rains down on my face, over and over again.
I wrap my legs around his hips, squeezing him in place as I cross my ankles behind him.
Sliding my arms under and between his, I push up, the force causing him to release his hold and teeter forward.
His momentary loss of balance allows me to wrap my arms around his torso and I roll, getting him onto his back again as I straddle him.
I’m just about to beat his motherfucking face in when a baseball bat appears under my chin.
“Cool the fuck off before I call the police!” Connor yells.
Getting to my feet, my chest heaves as I try to breathe through the anger and adrenaline coursing through me.
He fucking touched her.
Connor steps into my face. “What the fuck did I tell you about fighting in here?”
I push at his chest, just enough to create some space between us. “Don’t fucking test me right now, Connor.”
Whitney helps Dustin to his feet, and Tracy stands wide-eyed off to the side, a hand over her mouth as she takes in the scene. Her eyes travel to me, scanning my face, and she grimaces.
“Last time you started shit in here, I told you I’d ban your ass if you did it again,” Connor hisses as he steps back into me, baseball bat still gripped tight in his hand. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t have you thrown in jail this time.”
Whitney steps between us, her hand coming to Connor’s chest. “It was just a misunderstanding. We’re all good,” she says, flashing me a glare and then looking at Dustin, daring him to say otherwise.
He wipes blood from his mouth and spits a wad of red saliva onto the floor. “Yeah, we’re good.” His eyes spit venom at me. “Tracy and I were just about to leave, anyway.”
The fuck they are.
I shove Whitney aside to charge the fucker again when Connor raises the bat in front of my chest. “You’re on my last fucking nerve, Blake. I don’t care how close our families are. You so much as breathe wrong in this bar again and you’re out.”
I stop in my tracks, glaring at the bastard.
Connor and I have been friends since childhood, our parents close friends as well.
Hell, I was the one who helped him buy this place and fronted the money to get it up and running.
He even dated Whitney for a few months before the two realized they were better off as friends.
Before I can remind him of that fact, he turns to Dustin.
“And you,” he points the bat at Dustin, the end of it tapping his chest and the red bloodstains on it.
“Leave. Now.” Connor glances at Tracy, who is all but shaking in the corner of the bar.
“Alone. And if you ever start shit here again, it will be your last time here.”
Dustin pushes the bat away, stalking toward the door without so much as another glance at us.
“You three,” Connor swings the bat between Whitney, Tracy, and myself. “Exit from the backdoor. Now.”
Whitney grabs Tracy’s hand, lacing their fingers together and tugging her down the hallway at the back of the bar toward the rear exit.
“Blake,” Benny, the other bartender, says behind me, and I turn in time to catch the towel he throws at me.
“Thanks,” I say, giving him an appreciative nod.
I wipe the towel over my face in an attempt to stop dripping onto the floor. Pulling it away, I find red smeared all over it.
Damn, the guy got me better than I thought. Though I can’t feel any of it, my body too wound up at the thought of Tracy going home with that fucker.
Folding the towel in half, I wipe my face one more time, trying to get as much of the blood off as I can, then clean up my knuckles. As I head toward the back of the bar, I duck into the bathroom to wash off any lingering blood.
It’s been years since I’ve gotten into a fight.
After the last one—and spending the night in a jail cell—Skye threatened that he wouldn’t bail me out again.
His threat was enough for me to get my act together, because Skye is nothing if not true to his word.
It wasn’t long after that I opened the brokerage as well, and I had a reputation to uphold.
I couldn’t afford to get into trouble anymore. Boxing became my new outlet instead.
And yet, here I fucking am.
I drape the towel over my shoulder and study myself in the mirror: cut on my right brow, bloody nose, and a gash on my upper lip. My right eye is already good and red, no doubt it will bruise.
This will be fun to explain at the company meeting next week.
Grabbing the towel, I wet the corner of it under the hot water and wipe off the bloodstains from my cheek and chin. Once I’ve got all the blood off, I wipe my face and stalk toward the backdoor to find Tracy and Whitney.
My heart still hammers in my chest, and as much as I try, I can’t seem to rein my temper in.
He fucking touched her, and she was going to leave with him.
Slamming the backdoor, I exit into the alleyway.
Tracy and Whitney stand near the mouth of the alley, the street lights illuminating them in a soft glow. Whitney’s got a hand on Tracy’s shoulder while Tracy rests her face in her palms. She was clearly shaken by what happened, so I try to reel my temper in as I approach.
But as I should have expected, Tracy just further pisses me off.
“What the hell was that, Blake?” she asks when I reach her and Whitney. “You had no right.”
I didn’t, but fuck if I was going to let another man touch her.
What the hell am I even doing?
“Let’s go. I’ll walk you home, Whit,” I say, ignoring Tracy.
“I’m ordering an Uber,” Tracy says, her voice deflated. “I’ll see you both Monday.”
Like hell am I leaving her here by herself. I grab her hand and tug her along. “I’ll drive you home.”
She rips her hand from mine. “I’m not going anywhere with—”
“Fucking hell, Tracy,” I snap, my fingers starting to twitch again.
“Blake,” Whitney warns.
I inhale sharply through my nose. This woman is going to be the death of me. Lowering my voice, I tell Tracy, “Either walk home with Whitney and order an Uber from there or let me drive you home. We’re not leaving you here alone.”
It’s one in the goddamn morning, and I’ve already seen more than a few drunk men eye her as they walked by. She’s lucky I’m not throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her away at this point.
“Fine.” She refuses to look at me. “Let’s go, Whitney.”
The two link arms and take off ahead of me, but I can damn near feel the cold seeping off of them. They’re both pissed at me.
Well, the feeling is fucking mutual. Whitney shouldn’t have encouraged Tracy to get drinks from random men, and Tracy… She doesn’t get to send me a fucking photo like she did and then go hit on another man.
I follow a few steps behind them, not bothering to say anything. Whatever comes out of my mouth will no doubt make things worse, so I opt for silence.
Whitney’s condo is only a couple of blocks from the pub, and mine a block further. When we reach Whitney’s, she and Tracy make their way to the front door, but I grab Tracy’s arm, stopping her.
“I’ll drive you home,” I say, then shoot Whitney a look, daring her to object.
She doesn’t.
“I’ll see you Monday, Tracy,” she says as she pulls her keys from her pocket. Then she narrows her eyes at me. “I trust you can stay out of trouble the rest of the night?”
“Yes, mother,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Whitney gives me one last dirty look, then tosses me a smile. “Good. Love ya, B.” She disappears through the front door and into the lobby.
Tracy turns to me and plants her hands on her hips. “Well?”
Tamping down the heat coursing through my blood, I tell her, “You’re mine for the rest of the night, sunshine.”