Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down: Making Him Sweat / Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire

      JENNA SPENT THE MORNING composing an ad to find her future assistant. Once it was uploaded to the best job-listings sites, she turned her energy to redecoration tasks.

      At the sound of shouting, Jenna fumbled and the metal ribbon of her tape measure recoiled into its case and caught her thumb. “Ow.”

      She’d been measuring the front windows for blinds, and after a short silence more shouting drifted down the hall from the gym. Seconds later, Delante came stomping past. He caught sight of her on the other side of the glass, stopping to stare. His gaze was intense, unmistakably angry.

      Jenna’s heart pounded but she did her best to fake calm. “Everything okay?” she called.

      The teenager looked down a moment, jaw flexing, then stepped to the doorway. “You own this place now, right?”

      Panic gripped her. Had Mercer told his trainee she might have to close the gym? “Yeah, I do.”

      “So you’re, like, Merce’s boss?”

      “Uh, technically. But—”

      “Can you tell him to lay off me, then? Dude’s driving me nuts. Busting my balls, like…” He trailed off, a violent inhalation seizing his massive shoulders. “Just tell him to quit riding me.”

      “I’m sure he’s only pushing you as far he knows you’re capable—”

      “It’s not that. Dude needs to chill. He makes it sound like this tournament’s the only thing in the world. Like I don’t got other shit to take care of.”

      She bit her lip. “Right… Would you like a cup of coffee or something?” She wasn’t sure why she was offering, except she knew the kid needed to talk. And sure, she was technically the boss. Might as well do a good job, even if it was temporary. She owed guys like Delante that much.

      He thought about it for a few breaths, then surprised her by saying, “Yeah, okay.”

      She waved him in and filled a mug from the French press she’d brought down.

      “Thanks.”

      “Have a seat.” She did the same, sitting in the chair behind the desk and wondering how often her father might have sat here, talking with kids like Delante. He filled the space with a potent mix of sweat and a dizzying choice of cologne. The smells that passed for manhood at nineteen. “So, Mercer’s getting on your nerves?”

      “Yeah. He’s always riding my ass, like he’s my dad or something. I told him I had to cut back on training, so I can get a job.”

      “And he told you you couldn’t?”

      “No, he was all like, ‘Okay, we gotta change your schedule up, then, so you can do both.’ And I was like, dude, I gotta sleep. This shit ain’t my whole life. It’s his whole life but, like, I got other responsibilities, you know?”

      Jenna nodded. “Mercer cares a lot about you. And your potential—”

      “I am so sick of that word.”

      “I’ll bet. But he sees something in you. He sees a future for you in fighting. I’m sure he only wants you to succeed.”

      “Well, I gotta succeed way faster. He don’t get that. He ain’t gotta live my life when he leaves that stupid gym. I need money now, and he’s like, ‘Wait four weeks, until the match.’ Dude, that’s, like, forever. I can’t wait till then. I got shit to take care of.”

      For the love of God, don’t let it be a pregnancy.

      “Now he’s all like, ‘Okay, pack some clothes, we’re going to Connecticut.’”

      “Might do you guys good to be stuck in a car for a few hours. He can’t shout orders at you like down in the gym.”

      “Yeah, right.”

      “No, really. I know he’s a taskmaster downstairs, but go along for the trip, then let him know he needs to back off on your schedule. He’s a reasonable guy. I’m sure he’ll understand if you just explain. Calmly.”

      Delante shook his head a moment, then cracked an unexpected smile, laughed softly. “You’re such a chick.”

      She smiled back. “I know.”

      He looked around the office. “So you’re opening some dating service, right?”

      She nodded. “Like the personals sites do, only more…personal. Old-school.”

      “That’s pretty cool, I guess.”

      Inspiration struck. “You said you need some fast money?”

      “Hell yeah.”

      “Well, I’m going to be having this office and the apartment upstairs redone over the next couple months. I can probably get you some work helping—basic stuff like moving furniture, painting, sanding, maybe picking things up for me, if you’ve got a car. If you’re interested…”

      “If it’s money, I’m interested. And I got a car.”

      “Okay. Good.” Good for Delante, though possibly an invitation for yet more hassle and complication for Jenna. But if it kept the kid around the gym and out of the trouble Mercer had implied waited for him elsewhere, it seemed a smart gesture. Though she probably should have asked Mercer first.

      “Give me your number and I’ll let you know when I’ve got a job that needs doing.” She pulled out her phone and opened a new contact.

      He started to tell her the digits, then paused. “Your dad wouldn’t probably want me doing that stuff for money. He’d probably have said I should do it for free.”

      “Well, I’m not my father. And it’s hard work, and hard work deserves payment. Plus I’d probably get scammed for a lot more by a moving company or a contractor, so you’re still doing me a favor.”

      He submitted and gave her his number.

      She saved the entry. “Great. And you’ll go with Mercer tonight, to Hartford? And tell him how you’re feeling? Oh gosh, you’re right. I do sound like a chick.”

      He laughed. “Yeah. I can’t believe you’re Monty’s daughter. But sure, I’ll go. Only ’cause now I don’t have to spend the weekend hustling for work. So, thanks.”