HADRIAN STARED. He couldn’t begin to describe the jaw-droppingly horrendous turn of luck his fighters were experiencing. Craptapulously efftacular was the closest he could come.
Burton had decided to bow out of his fight. The man had said he wanted to spend more time with his family, but Hadrian had a feeling Burton couldn’t handle the pressure of being featured as the main event. His wife, who was also his manager, had already complained that her husband wasn’t being paid enough to risk brain damage, but Burton wasn’t exactly a superstar the way Dominic Payette was. And he’d proved it by backing out of his match.
People were expecting something big for the anniversary event—heavy hitters and title matches. But Dom had absolutely refused to fight because his wife, Fiona, was pregnant with twins and due that week. Others were avoiding the card outright, turning him down for one reason or another. People were calling the event cursed.
Hadrian looked at the calendar. Christ. It was less than three weeks to Christmas, and only ten weeks to the anniversary fight. He had enough problems worrying about the monthly cards to promote.
“If you’re thinking of breaking something else I’ll have to replace, think again, Hadrian,” Mrs. Hutzenbiler warned sharply as she entered his office. His P.A. had used that same tone back when he was eight years old and she was his babysitter warning him not to jump off furniture.
“What am I going to do, Mrs. H.?” He rested his chin on the blotter and clasped his hands over the top of his head. “If I cancel the anniversary card, what does that say about me? About this sport?”
“It’s not your fault. Things happen. Besides, you won’t cancel. You’re too stubborn to give up. You’ll find a way to fill the card.”
“With who? At this rate, I’ll be forced to put amateurs on stage. It’ll become a freakin’ sideshow.”
“You never know what’ll come out of disasters,” Mrs. Hutzenbiler said brusquely. “Remember that young basketball player everyone fell in love with? The one that became really popular when his team was doing so poorly? They put him in out of desperation.”
“I’ve already used up all my subs, Mrs. H. Besides, that was a one-in-a-million shot.”
“And you’re in a sport where a million different things can happen.” She sat primly in the visitor’s chair. “Let me tell you a story....”
Hadrian groaned. “I really don’t have time—”
“Hadrian Alexander Blackwell, you will make time to listen to your elders and learn from them.”
He winced. He still hated it when she yelled at him.
She settled in her seat, her color subsiding. “Back when I was a girl, my younger sister and I wanted to bake a cake for our mother’s birthday. We had a recipe, but as we started making it, we realized we were missing ingredients. We used only one egg instead of two. We didn’t have vanilla or cream of tartar. We accidentally poured in baking soda instead of baking powder. Our frosting was made with granulated sugar instead of powdered sugar. It was an awful mess.”
“Let me guess. Your mother loved it anyhow.”
“Goodness’ sakes, no. She spit it out, rinsed her mouth and threw the whole thing away.”
“This isn’t making me feel better.”
She glared down her nose at him. “I’m not here to make you feel better. Stop interrupting my story.”
He waved at her to continue.
“My mother asked us what we did to the cake recipe that it turned out so wrong. We told her, and she laughed at us. She asked, ‘Why didn’t you make me a pie instead? We had enough ingredients for that.’ On top of which, she’d shown us how to make pie crust before, which was easy. But we were so focused on that birthday cake, we didn’t even consider our limitations. We’d never even baked a cake before.”
“So you’re saying I should make pie,” Hadrian concluded.
“I’m saying you should work with what you have and consider some alternatives.” She got up. “Cake isn’t the answer to everything.”
With that, Mrs. Hutzenbiler left him alone to stare at his computer. His email was open so he skimmed the dozens of messages. None from Quinn. She hadn’t been in his bed for nearly two weeks. This latest round of fighter cancellations was probably keeping her occupied at work. She’d barely needed to interview him—the fighters’ camps were being quite candid about the “cursed” UFF anniversary card.
He opened a message from one of his directors of marketing who was trying to console him about the latest news. He’d added a link to a YouTube video at the end with the note, “Hang in there. We can turn this around.”
The video was of the reigning GRRL Fights featherweight champion, Ayumi Kamino. She was trapped in a painful-looking armbar, one that would have ended most other fights. Her opponent twisted and twisted. Hadrian cringed. Kamino’s shoulder looked like it was about to pop out of its socket. The referee hovered, ready to call the match. But a look of sheer determination was carved on the champ’s face.
Finally, something gave and in a sudden burst of power, Kamino rolled to her side, snaked her legs around her opponent, flipped her over and reversed their positions. The challenger tapped out, and Kamino stood triumphant to the roar of her fans.
Hadrian wanted to cheer with them. Mixed martial arts was all about surprises like this. A fight could turn on a moment’s notice....
And that’s when he decided he was going to change the UFF forever. “Mrs. H.!”
His P.A. walked calmly back into the room, an expectant look on her face. “You bellowed?”
“Get me the number for Ayumi Kamino’s people. Then I need a list of all the female fighters who fight in her weight class.”
* * *
KYLE’S STRONG ARMS wrapped tight around Bella’s middle and squeezed. She pushed out all of the sensations racing across her skin and said to the class, “It’s important not to panic. Your attacker will have the element of surprise, of course, and your instinct will be to pull away, but then he’ll have the advantage.”
The young women giggled as Kyle picked her up off her feet. She kicked uselessly at the air, blandly saying, “Help. Help.” She grinned at the class. “If this happens, what do we do?”
The girls emitted an ear-piercing shriek that filled the room and reverberated through her bones. Nice and loud and uninhibited. Getting the girls to vocalize their distress when attacked was an important lesson in self-defense.
“Good. And if you can turn and scream right in your attacker’s ear, maybe bite it off, you go for it. Don’t let him drag you off. Don’t wait to fight. Raise hell and get away.”
“I’m going to need an aspirin after this,” Kyle groused quietly as he put her back on her feet. She smirked and continued, enjoying his undivided attention. Normally, Wayne played the part of attacker, but he’d come down with a migraine, so Kyle had filled in for him in this new women’s self-defense class, much to the students’ delight.
One young college-aged woman put up her hand. “What if he has your arms locked up?”
Bella slipped her arms to her sides and let Kyle clasp them tight. She said, “Go,” and they reenacted a real struggle as he dragged her backward into an imaginary alley.
Reaching behind her between Kyle’s legs, she pinched the flesh of his inner thigh tight and twisted. Kyle yelped and jumped away, and she swung around in a defensive position.
The ladies all sat stunned, then broke out in laughter and applause as Kyle glowered. “You wouldn’t have done that to Wayne,” he complained.
“Only because Wayne’s ticklish. You’re much better at this. Now go put on the suit.”
He grumbled as he went to don the padded suit Wayne wore for the end of the class, when the students got to throw their hardest kick or punch at a fully armored opponent. But before he got halfway across the room, one girl shouted, “I wanna see you two spar!”
“Yeah!” two younger ladies chimed in. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Bella put her hands up. “You know the rules. No horseplay.”
Kyle cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid.”
“Ooh,” the girls taunted.
Bella planted her hands on her hips as the class chanted, “Fight, fight, fight,” until she silenced them with one raised finger.
“If I spar with Kyle, I’m making you all do twenty extra burpees next week.”
“Do it, do it, do it!”
She shrugged and started to limber up. Kyle called Tito in to officiate. The class moved back, giving the pair extra room to maneuver.
“This is only a demonstration,” Bella warned. “There’d be a lot more danger if we let loose, which is why Tito’s here. Everyone understand? Don’t try this at home.”
“Get on with it!” Tito cajoled with a laugh.
“You ready?” Kyle asked, cracking his neck and stretching his forearms.
She didn’t answer, sending him a wide, toothy smile. Tito inserted himself between them. “I want a nice clean match. And try not to kill each other.”
“Do or do not,” Kyle said in a perfect imitation of Master Yoda, “there is no try.”
He must have planned to make her laugh, because she wasn’t ready as he crouched and sprang for her the moment Tito shouted, “Fight!”
She caught him barely in time to put a guard on him, but he was already halfway to cutting the corner, and he was a lot stronger than she was.
She slipped beneath his arm, cinching it between her breasts and keeping him snug against her so he’d have no way to back off. Then she threw her legs around his waist and wrenched all her weight to one side, throwing him off balance. But because his center of gravity was already quite low, her scissor takedown only made him stagger.
Now they were awkwardly posed, with her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to his one arm, while his other remained locked beneath her thigh. Neither was willing to let go and give the other the advantage. Kyle’s strength would eventually wear out, but Bella couldn’t hang on forever, either.
She jerked her weight back and forth, trying to make Kyle lose his footing. If they brought it to the ground, they risked a scramble that would end with the most likely victor on top. Despite his strength and size, though, Bella had skills enough to handle him. And though she was intrigued by the idea of being topped by Kyle, this was neither the time nor the place to be experimenting.
Just then, Liz ran up and shouted, “Bella, you have a phone call.”
“Kind of busy here, Liz,” Tito said.
“It’s Hadrian Blackwell. He says it’s important.”
Her heart stopped. She met Kyle’s wide eyes. His muscles bunched and slackened beneath her. He crouched to the ground, and she slid off. The girls groaned, unsatisfied the match hadn’t been finished. Bella knew how they felt.
She left Kyle and Tito to wrap up while she ran downstairs to take the call in Kyle’s office. She allowed herself a moment to breathe deep before picking up. “Bella Fiore speaking.”
“Bella, it’s Hadrian Blackwell. How’re you doing?” Hadrian’s cheerfully gruff voice boomed. “Everyone treating you well? Are you enjoying your time at Payette’s?”
“Yes, sir, thank you very much.” It didn’t sound like he was gearing up to fire her. Maybe he was going to encourage her to go back to São Paulo. Some part of her still believed others would try to carry out her grandfather’s dictates and force her home. Who better than the president of the UFF? “I’ve enjoyed working here. Payette’s is like a second home to me.” Okay, now she sounded like a suck-up. She clamped her lips shut.
“Excellent. I hope Kyle Peters has been treating you well.”
She hedged, but said, “Yes. He’s been very good.”
“Good. I mean, I saw the footage of that little Fury Fights match. That wasn’t exactly your best fight ever.”
“No shit.” She bit her lip, mortified she’d said that out loud. “I mean—”
Hadrian laughed. “It’s fine, Bella. I’ve probably said worse things to my grandmother.”
She wiped at the sweat beading on her upper lip. “I was having an off day,” she explained. “My attention slipped. Not that I’m making excuses. It was embarrassing for everyone.”
“You don’t have to tell me,” he replied casually. “Did you ever see my last fight before I got into the promotion business? I think I looked off to one side for half a second, and it was because there was this beautiful woman in the crowd...” He trailed off. “Anyhow, the next thing I knew, I woke up lying on the mat. Stupid mistake, you know. But we all make them.”
“Mr. Blackwell, may I ask why you’re calling?” she asked slowly. He couldn’t be calling just to make her feel better.
“Straight to business. I like that. Bella, I’m calling because I want you to come and fight on the UFF’s tenth anniversary card.”
Bella put her hand over her mouth and leaned on the edge of Kyle’s desk. “You’re serious.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be frank—you’ve probably heard how we’re having a hard time filling the card. Well, I think now’s the perfect time to sign some ladies on with the UFF and see where women’s MMA goes. I’ve heard great things about you. And the fact that so many of your family members have fought or trained my fighters is an added bonus.”
Bella thought she might actually faint. She fell onto Kyle’s big executive chair and sank into the leather. “This is a real honor....”
“Yeah, it is,” Hadrian said. “So what do you say? Third Saturday in February, here in Las Vegas at the MGM Grand.”
Be cool. Don’t jump on this without asking questions. “Who’s my opponent?”
“Ayumi Kamino. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”
“The GRRL Fights featherweight champ?” Her mouth went dry. “The one they call ‘Kamikaze’?”
“That’s her.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “What do you think?”
She bit her lip. “She’s in the 145-pound class. I fight at 155.”
“I know. Listen, I’m not about to tell you how to run your life, but I think if you dropped to 145, your career will be that much better. There simply aren’t that many women in your weight class.”
Bella knew this, of course. But she’d never compromised when it came to her body. She was a healthy weight, and she liked how she looked and operated at 155 pounds. She hadn’t fought below that since she was in her teens.
But this was the big leagues—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. She chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“Ten weeks, ten pounds. That’s perfectly doable and healthy,” he added. “I can even send a specialist down to help you.”
“I don’t need help losing weight,” she said testily, but dialed it back. “I mean, I appreciate it. But what happens if I don’t make weight?”
“You will.” He said it with confidence. “You’re a Fiore. You’ve done things no other fighter has ever done, and I think you’ve got what it takes to be a star.” He paused. “Did I mention the prize money?”
He carefully enunciated the amount she’d win if she KO’d her opponent, submitted her or won by decision. “That’s not including the fight bonuses or the title belt,” he added. “Not to mention this will be UFF history.”
“You’re giving the women a belt?”
“Whoever wins this match, absolutely. Big, shiny, gold thing. I’ll even find a matching purse and shoes if you like.”
A UFF belt. The prize money. Everything she’d always dreamed of. She breathed deep. How could she turn him down? “I’ll do it. I accept.”
“Excellent. I’ll have my people send the paperwork, call you with all the travel details. You’re not still repped by Ryan Holbrooke, are you?”
She scoffed. “No. We...had a falling-out.”
“You’re better off on your own, darling. Ryan’s good at wheeling and dealing, and he’s found some real great fighters, but frankly, the guy’s a muppet.” He was so blasé about it, Bella couldn’t help but laugh. “Anyhow, congratulations. This is going to be historic. You’re coming to the big Starlight fund-raiser gala next week, right? I’ll send a private jet for you.”
“I—” Everything was happening so fast, she barely had time to sputter, “Thank you, but I said I’d go as Kyle’s plus one.”
“Plus one? You’re going to be a guest of honor, darling. And you’ll need to stick around awhile, too. We’ll have business to take care of. Media stuff.”
They hung up shortly after that. Bella sat there grinning like an idiot, heart soaring and pumping hard at the same time. Had that just happened?
Kyle appeared at the office door, two lines between his eyebrows. Bella grinned at him and leaped out of his chair.
“Are you—” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence as she grabbed his face and planted a big, smacking kiss on his lips.