Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down

Mercer’s jaw clenched. “And I can tell you all the reasons why we’re in the red, and all the things that can be done to change that.”

“I’m sure you can.” And she was sure there’d be some ugly debates in her future over whether she’d be financing any improvements Mercer might have in mind. The gym needed full-on head-to-toe plastic surgery, but its budget would barely cover a concealer stick. Any money she agreed to sink into these changes would surely be too little, far too late. He hadn’t bothered suggesting she sell the gym itself. He knew as well as she did—as even the most foolish investor would—it was a lost cause.

He rubbed his face. “What do you want the ground floor for, anyhow? Why not rent that out?”

She felt her cheeks color, embarrassed to admit such a girlie endeavor to this no-nonsense man. “I’m opening a matchmaking business.”

“Wait. Like fight promotions?”

“No. You know, matchmaking. Arranging dates between compatible people?”

Mercer’s eyebrow rose, the one not hampered by scar tissue.

“Legitimate, romantic dates,” she elaborated, in case he was imagining something more akin to an escort service.

“Hasn’t that gone extinct? Don’t all those desperate people just go online these days?”

“Not everyone. Some people don’t want to shop for a relationship the way they might for car insurance or…” She trailed off, knowing her own feelings on the matter must be showing. “Anyhow, it’ll cater to busy professionals, people who want a personalized, more traditional approach to dating. And it’s not desperate at all. It’s very practical.”

“And you’ll be using the office for that?”

“I will. So during the time the gym stays open, I’ll need to move the display cases and everything in here downstairs.”

Mercer’s gaze swiveled to the ceiling, nearly an eye-roll. “Of course you will.”

“Don’t look so annoyed. I’m being put out, too, you know, consulting with potential clients with bruised, sweaty men staggering past the windows.” She jerked her head toward the entryway, just as another such specimen went by.

“Some women might like that.”

Jenna shot him a skeptical look.

“When’s all this going down? Your evil plans and this new business?”

“My evil plans? I’m not the bad guy here. I know what this place is about. I’ve read the articles.” She eyed the desk, wondering if that was where her father had sat, funneling drug money through the gym’s accounts.

“That was more than a decade ago. And it was a handful of assholes who did that, not your dad. He was acquitted.”

Not before he was convicted, and just after a whole bunch of evidence was very conveniently mishandled.

Mercer leaned to the side, bracing a palm on the desk. It was unnerving, being in this room with this man, sitting feet apart in the same space, at complete and utter odds. There was tension crackling between them, hot and sharp, an electrical current. She wondered if this was what stepping into a boxing ring felt like, conflict as visceral as lust.

Round two, she thought. He’d come out slow, scouting for her weak spots, maybe; now he’d surely start swinging. But he surprised her, his tone turning soft and sincere.

“If your dad was guilty of anything all those years ago, it was trusting the wrong people. He put his faith in guys like me, but that time he got burned. Bad.”

“Maybe.” But likely not.

“He might have been a crappy father and husband, not even much of a businessman, but he wasn’t a criminal. Listen. As shady as this place used to be, and still is, in some people’s eyes—”

“A lot of people’s eyes.”

“It meant the world to your dad, and to dozens of us. Jerks like me, but kids, too—teenagers, you know? If the gym weren’t here, those guys would take whatever energy they pour into training and redirect it the wrong way. I know ’cause I used to be that kid myself, until my mom made me come here and your old man taught me about discipline and dedication. But it’s nothing like it used to be. I’ll show you every last corner of it. Every receipt from the past ten years, if you need proof. We’ve got nothing to hide.”

She sank back in her chair, unwilling to be swayed by his little speech. Jenna was a softie at her core, a woman who sniffled during especially poignant life insurance commercials, sobbed through romantic movies and fell to pieces at weddings. But she’d uprooted herself to take advantage of the one taste of generosity her dad had ever bothered offering her. As tall and built and intimidating as Mercer Rowley might be, she’d prove herself twice as tough a competitor. She hadn’t moved her entire life to this city so she could watch her bottom line slowly get eaten up by the floundering gym—the same way it had eaten up the child support payments her mom never received.

Mercer ran a hand through his short hair. “Look. I don’t know you, and I don’t know what you think goes on here.”

“You’re going to tell me it’s noble, I’m sure. But I know it’s more than that. A boy’s club, for starters, no women allowed—”

“That’s one of the things I’ll look into, now that I’m the manager. And it’s not that they’re not allowed, there’s just no place for them to change.”

“How very welcoming.”

“All it needs is a bit of rehab, to make space for a second locker room—”

She cut him off, shaking her head. “Save your breath. I know this place meant more to my father than having a relationship with his daughter, so I’m a hard sell, trust me.”

His eyes widened. “Are you kidding? Your dad never shut up about you.”

The remark felt like a punch to the head, spinning her around.

Mercer went on. “‘Jenna’s team came in first at the swim meet. Jenna got hired as a camp counselor. Jenna’s going to college in Seattle. Jenna got a job on a cruise ship.’”

“Like any of that makes up for him not making any effort to be in my life.”

His face flipped through a range of emotions, but no words passed his twitching lips.

“What? Go on, since you’re such an expert about my relationship with my father.”

His shook his head. “You’re right, it’s none of my business. But I love this place and I loved your dad, and like it or not, you’re stuck with me, unless you feel like finding yourself a new GM.”

Stuck indeed. It wasn’t ideal, opening a dating service for successful professionals smack-dab in the entryway to a disreputable boxing gym. But then again, Mercer had a history here. He might prove a pain in her neck, but she was also turning his life inside out. He’d inherited this mess, same as her…but without the legal empowerment. It had to feel awful. She wouldn’t convince him the gym needed a mercy killing any more than he’d convince her it was worth keeping open.

It was going to be an ugly autumn, but she’d better just accept that.

Her body had been tight as a fist, but she felt the grip softening, relenting. “We’re not going to see eye to eye on this.”

“No.”

“And I mean what I said—I haven’t decided for sure I’m closing the gym when New Year’s rolls around. But don’t…”

“Don’t get my hopes up?”

“Exactly. I’m not trying to be a cold-hearted bitch. But I’ve seen the books. If things don’t change, and fast, there’s no justifying keeping the place open.”

Mercer blew out a long breath, leaning back on the desk to blink up at the ceiling.

She pondered this naked display of angst from a man whose job it surely was to camouflage his emotions behind a wall of strength, real or affected. Before they met she’d prepared herself to be intimidated by his anger, but it was Mercer’s openness that had her stymied. She glanced at his arms, at his fascinating, heavy-knuckled hands. Very odd breed, these fighter types. Her body warmed in a way that had alarmingly little to do with conflict.