Page 8 of A Fighter’s Love

“Are they?” She studied the figures. “But these are the sizes you told me.”

“I didn’t tell you that.” He jabbed his finger at it. “Why would I tell you wrong?”

“I don’t know but—”

“It’s going to be too late to bother putting them up at this rate. They’ll take another two fucking weeks to get reprinted.” He pressed his knuckles on the desk and leaned over so his face was nearer to hers. “Two fucking weeks.”

“I’m sure if I give them a call and—”

“When, when will you give them a call? You’re never here.”

“Billy.” She stood. The flash of anger in his eyes was unnerving her. She’d seen it in the past, usually just before he threw something at a wall.

“That bloody office in the city. You’re always there doing unpaid overtime.”

“I work the hours I’m contracted and then do what I can here.”

“I need youheremore.”

“I’m doing it for free, Billy. Remember that.” She clenched her fists and took a step back. A memory of her father being equally hard to reason with crossed her mind. She had to stay strong. She was in the right.

He straightened, then rounded the table, his hulking big shoulders swinging, gorilla-like.

A bolt of fear went through her and she backed up, retreating until she bumped into the filing cabinet.

“You’re going to have to take some leave and help out at the gym on the lead up to the fight. There’s so much to do,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t…and won’t.”

“So I do all the work yet you reap the rewards when I buy us a place in Spain, is that right? Huh?”

She hesitated, feeling small and vulnerable alone in the room with him, but at the same time unable to ignore the courage and determination she’d been nurturing. “There won’t be a villa in Spain, Billy. You know that and I know that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “No, there bloody won’t be at this rate.” He came so close his body heat radiated onto her. “We won’t be able to afford it.”

It scared her as much as when her father had been so drunk he hadn’t known what he’d been doing. He’d just stumbled around in a rage, his grief and alcoholism eating him alive. “Leave me alone, Billy,” she said, edging to the right.

He gripped her arm, keeping her close.

“I mean it, get off me.” She jerked her shoulder, trying to shake him, but to no avail.

The next thing she knew, he’d gone. In his place was a broad, naked back, glistening with sweat and the muscles tense.

Jackson.

“You heard the lady,” Jackson said, propelling Billy into the wall on the opposite side of the filing cabinet.

“What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing?” Billy shouted. “Get off—”

His words were cut short by Jackson wrapping his hand around his throat.

Billy’s eyes bulged and his red cheeks blew up. He pulled back his right arm, fist clenched.

“Go on. I dare you. Throw a fucking punch at me,” Jackson said through gritted teeth, “it’ll be the last time I ever take one in your club.”

Fury washed over Billy’s face and he dropped his hand to his side. His fist stayed clenched. “Get outta here,” he gasped.

“I will when I know Jenny isn’t gonna get any more of your shit.”

---