1
“Calm down,” I murmured, my self-assurance in low supply today. “You can do this.” The nerves that had settled deep within me began to tingle as I stared at my reflection in the rearview. The color had drained from my face, and beads of perspiration formed on my forehead despite the air-conditioning blowing directly at me. My stomach churned and my mouth dried, exacerbating my sudden nausea.
It had been years since I last interviewed for a job, and even though I had the initial phone meeting two days ago, this discussion was going to be face-to-face. I briefly considered starting the engine and speeding out of the parking lot, but I managed to calm myself before that happened.
I retrieved my purse from the passenger seat before stepping out of my ’98 Honda, my trembling hands subsiding a fraction. A tall, broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway of the gym. I couldn’t be certain he was the same person I had spoken to on the phone, but the way he watched me seemed to suggest he was indeed the one I was here to meet.
As I approached, my hands turned clammy, and the thrum of my heart increased, amplifying the nervous energy coursing through me.
“Are you Sophie Delaney?” His long legs brought him closer, and he stretched out his hand in greeting. The sun reflected off his bald head, and I wondered if his scalp ever got sunburned.
“Yes,” I replied, placing my palm in his. “I’m assuming you’re Lance Alton?” If he had any thoughts about my sweaty hand, his expression didn’t reveal them.
“The one and only.” His hazel eyes shimmered with amusement, working to put me at ease. “Thanks for coming by.” He held the door open for me and stepped to the side, allowing me to enter first. “I learned everything about you I needed to during the phone interview. Today is more of a formality.”
“Thank you for the opportunity.” I wanted to say more but feared my voice would shake, my nerves continuing to rattle me.
Breathe, Sophie. Breathe.
The vast space stretched out before me, its enormity emphasized by the towering ceilings. Various workout equipment was strategically placed in groupings. I counted at least twenty treadmills, stationary bikes, and every other piece of equipment typically seen in a gym. There were even a few rowing machines tucked away in the corner.
The scent of sweat lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly cleaned equipment. Three of the four walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, and as I passed by, I caught a glimpse of myself tamping down a strand of red hair that had been tossed from the slight breeze outside.
Apart from myself and Lance, there were four other people in the gym, all men. Two of them were engaged in a fight inside the large boxing ring against the back wall, while the other two shouted instructions at one of the fighters.
I directed my focus back to Lance and noticed his observation of me, but not in an unnerving way. Did he already have doubts about me being the right candidate for this job? Or was he thinking about something else entirely?
The ad I responded to was for a sports rehab specialist. While I didn’t have that specific degree, I did have one in physical therapy. However, I never worked in the field after graduating, but Lance knew this before asking to meet me today. During my schooling, I’d done internships, so I had some experience, but after I graduated, my husband, soon-to-be ex-husband, demanded I quit. We’d just gotten married, and I didn’t see another option if I wanted my marriage to work. Looking back, I should’ve seen the red flags and left him right then, but I’d been naïve.
But now I wanted to reclaim my life. I had high hopes that everything would start to turn around for me, and I prayed this interview would be the right first step.
“Are you married? Do you have kids?” he asked.
He wasn’t legally allowed to ask me those questions, but I didn’t want to risk him showing me the door by calling him out.
“No kids.” An ache spread throughout my chest with the response. “And I’m currently going through a divorce.” I would never reveal the terrible truth about why I’d left my husband after only five years, so I hoped he wasn’t the type of person to pry.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks.” What else was I going to say?“You wouldn’t be if I told you the whole story?”
“The reason I ask about your status is because we need someone on call around the clock. We keep Jackson on a strict routine, so most of the time you’ll have a discernible schedule, but there are times….” His voice drifted off as he looked toward the ring. “We just need someone who will be available anytimewe need them. There will also be traveling involved. Depending on where he wins and how often, which we’re counting on to be a lot, we need someone to be on the road with us.”
“I’d make this job my number one priority.” I wanted to add “I don’t have a life” but thought I should keep that tidbit of information to myself.
“That’s good to hear.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Jax?” A man with dark wavy hair, who appeared to be close to my age, stood near the corner of the ring. “Keep this up and you won’t have anyone left to spar with.” The other man, who leaned against the ropes on the outside of the ring, had a stalky build with short gray hair. He stepped to the side, allowing me full view beyond the ropes. One of the guys housed inside was on the ground. At first, he appeared unconscious, but then he rolled to his side, groaning in apparent agony.
“It’s not my fault you can’t get me someone worthy,” the man, who remained on his feet, answered back.
He slammed his wrapped hands together before pointing at the guy with the dark hair. Then his gaze swung to me, and a shiver ran down my spine, and not in a good way. A single glance was enough to tell me that this man exuded danger. If I had any doubts about my assessment, the accelerated beat of my heart and the flushed heat coursing through my body were clear signs.
I recognized him immediately. His face was plastered over countless billboards. Jackson Crew. UFC MMA champion.
I assumed he would be my client if I got the job but based on my initial impression, I wasn’t sure I wanted to work with him. However, reality settled over me like a blanket of defeat; I didn’t have much of a choice. I needed a job, and if Lance took a chance on me, I’d readily accept, reservations be damned.
Six months ago, I moved back in with my dad and younger sister, Abby, and had been searching for employment ever since.This listing was the first promising lead I’d come across, and I couldn’t afford to let it slip away.
