she needed was another warning letter in her personnel file.
The thought of being one step closer to unemployment because she’d rearranged her life to be insulted by an ignorant ape was almost unbearable. Especially when she remembered the shiny red hunk of metal that selfsame ape had climbed out of when he’d arrived at Ray’s place earlier—a Ferrari Spider convertible, no less. And here she was, unable to even get her piece of shit to start.
And he’d been wearing a suit—a dark gray single-breasted number that had clearly been custom-made for him, along, no doubt, with his white silk shirt and his fine black leather shoes. It had thrown her for a moment, seeing him dressed like a businessman. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—fight trunks and a sheen of sweat, perhaps? Ben-Gay and workout gear?
Whatever, it had all made him seem far less approachable than she’d imagined him to be. It had also made her feel defensive. She hated having to ask anyone for anything, but she’d psyched herself up to approach him. Then he’d walked in looking like some kind of GQ model instead of the fighter she’d been expecting.
No wonder he had a reputation with women. That handsome face of his, those deep set, intense eyes, that big, strong body—she defied any woman to look at him and not wonder what he’d be like naked and hard. Until he opened his mouth, that was. Then the illusion was well and truly destroyed and most right-thinking women would be either reaching for the heaviest object handy, or heading for the door.
Shaking her head, Jamie held her breath and tried the ignition again. She was about to give up and go beg Ray for a lift when the motor caught, coughing to life and belching black smoke out the exhaust.
Crowing with triumph, she patted the dash with renewed affection and slammed the truck into gear.
As always, she’d scraped through. Just as she’d scrape through being rejected by Cooper Fitzgerald. There were other trainers out there—good ones who would believe in her and see the same dream she saw. And when she was finally wearing the world champion’s belt, she’d have the pleasure of cutting Cooper Fitzgerald stone cold dead.
It was an image that appealed a lot, and she was grinning fit to bust as she pulled out into traffic.
Chapter Two
A MONTH LATER, Jamie forced herself to sit quietly as her grandfather taped her left hand.
“How’s that?” he asked.
She flexed both hands into fists, then slid off the massage table in the women’s change room and tried a few punches in the air.
“Good. Not too tight,” she said.
“Let’s get your gloves on,” her grandfather said.
He was a little pale. Nervous for her. That made two of them. She had so much adrenaline pumping through her system right now that she was ready to jump out of her own skin.
This was her first professional fight.
“Stay warm, but don’t tax yourself,” her grandfather advised once her gloves were laced.
“It’s going to be all right,” she assured him. “I’m going to win.”
He nodded and dropped a towel over her shoulders, patting her on the back. “You’re a tough customer, Jimmy.”
She knew it was too much to expect more from him. He’d already leaned on old fighting contacts to get her this match, despite his belief that she should wait until she had a trainer before she started competing professionally. But she was sick of being knocked back, first by Cooper Fitzgerald, then by Bob Godfrey and a string of other lesser lights. None of them had even wanted to see her fight. None of them were interested in women’s boxing. She figured the quickest way to turn the situation around was to burn up the canvas with a few fast wins—then they could all come knocking on her door.
Bouncing from foot to foot, she tried out some combinations—jab, jab, cross, jab, cross.
“Keep your guard hand up,” her grandfather instructed, referring to her left hand. “I don’t want to see it away from your chin unless it’s in your opponent’s face.”
She nodded her understanding and forced herself to be more conscious of protecting her head.
“Told you I didn’t need anyone else except for you,” she said, trying out some body shots now.
He made a rude noise. “I’m sixty-seven years old with a brain that’s been pounded around more boxing rings than you’ve had hot dinners. You need better than an old slugger, Jimmy.”
Before she could respond, they heard the roar of the crowd from out in the auditorium and the sound of the bell ringing.
“Okay. That’s me,” she said. “I’m up.”
Suddenly she felt dizzy and out of breath. Careful not to show it too much, she took a handful of deep breaths.
She was going to get hurt out there today. She knew what that felt like—she’d trained in Tae Kwon Do for nearly ten years and had plenty of boxing sparring rounds more recently; she knew what it was to take a hit. But this was the first time she was going to be facing someone who wanted to mow her down, knock her out, annihilate her.
She was still trying to get her head straight when her grandfather pulled her around to face him. He held her by both gloves and looked her steadily in the eye. She stared into his watery blue gaze, forcing herself to focus, to be hard, to think of only one thing: winning.
“Okay,” he said with a sharp nod after a few long seconds. “You’ll do. Go take her apart.”
The towel still on her shoulders, Jamie followed him out of the change room.
COOPER SAT BACK in his seat and checked the messages on his cell. Around him, the sound of the crowd filled the auditorium. It was a full house, and the atmosphere was charged with energy.
Despite himself, he could feel his heart starting to hammer against his chest. He’d probably never be able to be around boxing and not have the same visceral, instinctive reaction. He was a fighter. Even if he never stood in the ring again, he would always be a fighter, and the roar of the crowd would always lift him and fire him as it did now.
A journalist he knew walked past. Cooper shifted in his seat, made a show of checking the fight bill. He’d been fielding back pats since he arrived, and he’d just spent a solid ten minutes signing autographs. He might only be the former heavyweight champion of the world, but everyone still wanted to bask in his glow. He wondered how many months it would take before people failed to recognize him. Not long, was his guess. There would be a new contender soon, someone else the public and the media would fall in love with.
It couldn’t happen soon enough for him; the mass attention wasn’t a part of the sport that he’d miss very much. He’d never quite come to terms with the loss of privacy that came hand-in-hand with fame.
He saw from the fight bill that there were still another two ‘exhibition’ bouts to be endured before the real action began and the young fighter he was here to scout was scheduled to fight. As was becoming more and more usual, the exhibition matches were both women’s bouts, part of the sport’s attempts
