Chapter 25
Ethan: Early meeting tomorrow. Might be late for training.
Jamie: I’ll add extra squat jumps.
Ethan: On second thought, the meeting could be shorter.
Ethan
“Whoever invented squat jumps should be executed,” I pant, collapsing onto the bench beside the weight rack. Sweat darkens my shirt and drips down my neck. The thud of hip-hop from the gym's sound system matches my hammering heart.
Jamie drops onto the bench beside me, close enough that I catch the intoxicating mix of coconut and sweat that clings to her skin.
After our brutal workout, she looks magnificent.
Her cheeks are flushed, loose strands of hair curl around her face, and her tank top reveals defined shoulders that gleam with perspiration.
I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who worked hard. I’m building my fitness as well as my skills, and I’m getting more confident about knocking Miles Marzoni on his ass, though the match is only three short weeks away, and I still have a long way to go.
"Your endurance is improving," she says, taking a long drink from her water bottle. I can’t help admiring the elegant length of her neck as she tips her head back.
I grab my own water, trying to focus. "By the way." I keep my tone casual, "I need you to come to my place tomorrow night. I have to throw a party, and I need you there.”
Her head whips around. "Tomorrow? No way! The Vanderbilt fight is being live streamed at seven. I'm ordering pizza and watching it at home."
"You can watch it later. On demand."
She gives me a look of pure horror. “This is Vanderbilt. Would you ask a football fan to skip the Super Bowl and catch the highlights the next day?”
"What if I sweetened the deal?" I wipe my face with a towel, hiding my smile. “Watch the fight after the party in my private theater, and Marcus will make you his signature pizza to eat while you watch. His pizza is so good, it’ll ruin you for every other meal forever. And for dessert, he’ll make more of that chocolate soufflé you liked so much.”
Her eyes glaze over, and she licks her lips. I know she’s salivating. After a moment, she shakes her head. "That's fighting dirty, Kane."
“It’s strategic negotiation."
“But what if I accidentally find out who won before I watch the fight?”
“If anyone at the party so much as mentions it, Steve will throw them off the balcony.”
A reluctant smile tugs at her mouth. "Tempting."
“I’ll send the limo to pick you up. You’ll need to be at my place by five.” I get to my feet. "Wear something formal.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Five? The party's that early?"
I just smile and head for the shower, leaving her to stew in curiosity.
And at exactly five o'clock the following evening, Jamie steps out of the elevator into my penthouse. She's wearing a deep blue dress that makes her skin glow and shows off those fighter's shoulders that drive me crazy.
She gazes around my empty apartment with a confused frown. “Doesn’t look like you’re throwing a party. What time does it start?”
I hit the elevator button. “Change of plan. We’re going out.”
“What? Where are we going?” She looks even more confused when the elevator goes up to the roof instead of down to the parking garage.
And when the elevator doors open to reveal my helicopter, gleaming black against the evening sky, Jamie's lips part in shock.
"Are you kidnapping me?" she demands.
"Something like that." I guide her to the chopper, my hand on her back. "Ever been in one before?"
She shakes her head, eyes wide. "This is insane. I can’t believe I’m about to get into one of these things.”
I help her into the front seat beside the pilot, checking her harness myself before getting in the back.
As we lift off, she gasps, leaning forward while she grips the seat.
The view is spectacular. LA sprawls beneath us, bathed in golden light, then giving way to desert as we head east. The sun is setting behind us, the red sky slowly turning dark.
When the neon glow of Vegas appears on the horizon, Jamie twists in her seat to stare at me. "We're going to Vegas? But what about the party?"
"There was never any party."
“But the whole thing with the pizza and soufflé?—”
“I lied about all of it. We're going to see the Vanderbilt fight. Live."
Her mouth drops open. For several seconds, she just gapes at me. Then she claps both hands over her face and lets out a shriek of pure joy that makes my chest tight with pleasure.
The MGM Grand is lit up with bright strobe lights, and we land squarely on the chopper pad.
Jamie vibrates with excitement as we're escorted into the enormous Garden Arena and led to our ringside seats. The arena thrums with energy. People are streaming in, and we’re surrounded by the buzz of thousands of voices, all filled with anticipation for the championship bout.
At first, I watch Jamie’s face instead of our surroundings, drinking in her wonder and enthusiasm.
But as we’re escorted to our ringside seats, a man who’s sitting across from us catches my eye.
I recognize him from the poster on the wall of Jamie’s gym.
His face was faded on that poster, and Micky ‘The Fist’ Martinez is much older and gray-haired now.
But his eyes are the same, and his expensive suit can't hide the fact he still has the solid body of a heavyweight boxing champ.
"Jamie." I touch her arm. "Look who's over there."
She follows my gaze and freezes. Her eyes fill with tears, and I know she's remembering that little girl in the gym, the one who thought she wasn't good at anything.
"Oh my God," she whispers. "I can't believe..." She swallows hard. “He looks good, doesn’t he?”
“He does. After the fight, let’s go and say hello."
She blinks at me, her eyes watery. “Really? Do you think he’d mind?”
“Of course not.” I squeeze her hand. “He might even remember you.”
Her expression is raw. “I can’t believe we’re here. This is the best day of my life.”
She wipes a tear, and my throat constricts. Making her happy is fast becoming an addiction.
“Not everything I told you to get you here is a lie,” I say, unable to resist telling her everything. “We’re having dinner after the match. Pizza and soufflé, just like I promised. I’m having it flown in.”
“Marcus’s soufflé?” Her voice cracks. "You brought me to see the match of the year, and arranged to have my favorite dessert flown to Vegas?"
She looks at me like she's never seen me before. Then she leans over and kisses my cheek, her lips warm against my skin. "Thank you," she whispers.
The championship fight is about to start, but I barely notice. I'm too busy memorizing the way she looks right now. Joyful and incredulous and excited. I’ve never seen her so radiant.
I never want to forget the way she presses against my side as she leans forward in her seat. The feel of her hand as it finds mine. Her quick little breaths and the wonder shining from her face.
I want to freeze time. To keep this moment forever.
But as I gaze at her, all at once, it hits me. A thought so damn scary, it robs me of breath.
Making her this happy… that feels important. Vital, even. So important that everything else is rapidly fading into the background.
I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, to earn so much money that I can reshape things how I want them, build my life into exactly what I want it to be, and stop caring what the Michael Marzonis of the world think of me.
But Jamie is changing my priorities. She’s making me question everything I’ve built. Upending the life I’ve worked so damn hard to create.
And fuck. I’m not even putting up a fight.