“You need to go.”
“But I need to ask you something.” She wrinkled her nose, because now wasnotthe right time to be asking for something—but dammit, she was going to do it anyway.
Zane heldon to his frustration by a thread. A single fucking thread. She’d been in his office alone. Looking at Monty’s damn file.
“The place is about to open,” he said through gritted teeth. “So unless you’re going to ask to hit a bag, which, based on the heels, I’d say no, you need to go.”
He was angry because in that document was information he shouldn’t have. And information he sure as hell didn’t want Bonnie to have. On Monty’s activity in prison. Every little thing Zane had been able to get his hands on to make sure Monty was staying exactly where he was.
He was logging on to the computer when Bonnie suddenly reached over the desk and placed her warm palm on his hand. The second she touched him, something happened. He didn’t even know what. It was like this low hum under his skin that took the edge off the anger.
“Please,” she whispered, voice soft. “Just hear me out.”
He should say no. But fuck, her hand was still on him and her eyes were wide and vulnerable. “What do you need, Bonnie?”
“I’m the program coordinator at the local women’s shelter. It’s my job to organize empowering activities to help the women get on their feet again and feel safe.”
Right away, he knew exactly where this was going. “I’m not the person for that.”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”
“So you’re not about to ask me to run self-defense classes for the women at the shelter?”
She deflated.
Bingo.
“Okay, maybe you did know,” she rushed out. “But we’ll pay you, albeit not much because the budget is small, but you’ll be helping the most vulnerable women.”
“I’m a former UFC fighter. I’m not trained to teach self-defense.”
“You know how to fight. Heck, you were an Army Ranger before you got in the ring. You have so much you could offer.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, because the pleading in her eyes was doing something to him it absolutely shouldn’t be.
He was just lowering his hand when someone at the window had him frowning.
Who the hell was that? The guy had a laptop bag strung over his shoulder, and his face was literally pressed to the glass like a fucking stalker. He wasn’t looking at the gym, him, or even Stetson, who was busy setting up for the day.
He was looking at Bonnie.
The fuck?
Finally, Bonnie pulled her hand away. “How about instead of giving me an answer right now, you think about it. Please?”
He looked back at Bonnie. “I’ll think about it.”
Her hazel eyes lit up, and she fished a card from her jeans pocket. “Great. I’ll give you my card. It’s got both my work number and email, and”—she reached across the desk like she owned the place and grabbed a pen—“here’s my private cell.” She scribbled down the number before handing him the card. “I’m really looking forward to hearing from you.”
By the excitement in her voice, you’d think he’d said yes.
He took the card. “Thanks.”
The door to the gym opened, and the guy with the laptop bag stepped in and crossed straight over to the desk.
“Can I help you?” Zane asked, not in the mood for more surprises this morning.
But the guy barely spared him a glance. “No thanks.” He stopped in front of Bonnie. “Bonnie Hayes, right?”
