stifling air in the Boxing Institute of Champions was inundated with testosterone, and the women sparring in the ring were anything but feminine. Not like the African beauty he had met last week. Yasmin Ohaji. Baby girl had it going on.
He liked that she had none of the vanity or arrogance often associated with beautiful women. She was real, honest, refreshing. And she had one hell of a smile. Rashawn tried not to think about her, tried not to relive their meeting, but he did. Their five-minute conversation had left an indelible impression on him, and she crept into his thoughts during his workouts.
The moment she’d stormed out of the Laurdel Lounge, he knew he had to see her again. Rashawn had always been crazy for sophisticated, elegant chicks. One look at Yasmin and he was sprung. He had been calling her office since Monday, but a week later still hadn’t connected with her. Every time he called, her terse-sounding assistant told him Ms. Ohaji was with clients and would contact him at her earliest convenience. Rashawn was hopeful she would come around because she was too fine for him not to keep trying.
Adrenaline pumping, he completed his set, then tugged off his gloves. Wiping the sweat from his face with a towel, he exited the workout area and went into the back office. Signed photographs of Muhammad Ali, Tommy “The Hit Man” Hearns and Lennox Lewis dressed the walls, papers and invoices obscured the desk and garbage flowed onto the floor. The windows were open, ushering in a healthy mixture of fresh air and sunshine. Guzzling from his ice-cold water bottle, he sunk onto one of the plastic chairs and dropped his elbows on his knees.
“You finished your workout already?”
“Already?” Rashawn didn’t bother to look up. He knew Kori Gallanger was watching him, her thin ruby-painted lips twisted in a scowl. The scent of cheap perfume, nicotine and Listerine engulfed the office like flames. “I’ve been here for six hours. Hell yeah, I’m done.”
“Boss man’s gonna be pissed when he comes back and you’re not here.”
“Oh, well. I’ve got things to do.”
Flopping down on the armchair, she steered it over to the wooden desk. “Suit yourself. It’s your funeral.”
Glancing up at Kori, he slowly began unraveling his hand wraps. “Where’s your old man anyways? He said he’d be right back.”
Shrugging a shoulder, she started cleaning the papers off the desk. “Beats me. He said he had some errands to run. Didn’t say when he’d be back.”
When the last piece of material fell away, Rashawn massaged the tenderness in his hands. He’d run, lifted weights, sparred off and on all afternoon and jumped rope until but his calves ached. Not only were his hands blistered, his feet were tender and his back was stiff. Standing, he stretched his weary arms above his head. “See you tomorrow. Tell Brody to call me.”
“Whatever. I’m not your message girl.” The ugly edge in her voice fell away when she answered the ringing telephone, “The Boxing Institute of Champions.”
Rashawn shook his head. For someone who had a mouth like a trucker, she sure knew how to turn on the charm when it was necessary. Her voice was cheerful and bright. She sounded less like herself and more like the office manager she was paid to be.
Kori finished her call and replaced the receiver. “I thought you were getting out of here. Thought you had things to do.”
“Listening to you gave me an idea.” A crafty expression came over his face as he scratched the stubble on his chin. “Could you do me a favor?”
“Why would I help you?”
Rashawn strolled over to where she was sitting, bent down and wrapped his arms around her. He had known Kori ever since junior high and, though they bickered relentlessly, he loved her like a sister. “Because we’re practically family.”
“It’s gonna cost you.”
“Name your price.”
Typing her password into the computer, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “I’ll have to think about it.”
“I don’t have all day, Kori.”
“All right, fifty bucks.”
He muttered a string of curses. “Fifty bucks to make a phone call? Are you out of your damn mind?”
“Do you want my help or not?”
“Okay, okay, it’s a deal,” he said between clenched teeth. He hated parting ways with his money, especially when his savings account was in the black, but Yasmin was worth it. Rashawn met beautiful women every day, but there was something about her that appealed to him on a personal level. And it didn’t hurt that she had a body that wouldn’t quit. “I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”
“You better. Or I’ll tell my dad you’ve been shaving time off your workouts.” Feeding him a sickly sweet-smile, she patted his cheek with a bony hand. “Now, what do you need me to do, honey?”
“My husband’s an egotistical bastard who only thinks about himself. If it wasn’t for the kids, I’d kill him and bury his body in the backyard.”
Coughing, Yasmin shifted in her chair. Sophie Kolodenko, a Russian-born immigrant with a heavy accent, was by far her most colorful client. The overworked, underappreciated mother of five didn’t mince words when it came to her husband, a sometime plumber, and called him everything from a louse to a freeloader. If Yasmin hadn’t been biting the inside of her lip, she would have laughed.
“Have you told him how his selfishness makes you feel?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t listen to what I have to say.” Sophie wrung her hands in her lap, stress lines forming across her brow. “I’ve even threatened to take the kids and leave but every time I start packing my stuff, he apologizes and promises to change. A week later, he’s back to ordering me around.”
“What can Igor do to make things better?”
“You mean besides die?”
Laughing inwardly but remaining stoic on the outside, Yasmin took off her silver-framed eyeglasses and rested them on the glass table to her right. “Let’s be honest with each other, Sophie. You don’t want your husband to die. You want to know that he appreciates you and values you as a wife and a mother. Isn’t that what this is all about? Validation?”
Staring out the window, Sophie dragged her fingernails through the ends of her ash-blond hair. “I guess so.”
“Have you spoken to Igor about joining our sessions? We’ve been working together for almost three months and I think at this point it would be beneficial for him to join in. How do you feel about him taking part in this discussion?”
“I guess that would be okay.”
“Excellent,” Yasmin said, uncrossing her legs and standing. “That’s our time for today, but don’t forget to book an appointment with Niobie on your way out.”
Shrugging into her lint-infested coat, Sophie stood. “About what I said earlier—”
Yasmin put a comforting hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “What we discuss during our session is private. Don’t
