AllFreeNovel
Share Us
For more pining bosses, check out the other books in the Marrying the Boss series:
Wife Projectby Chloe Maine.Nothing makes me happier than helping my serious, reclusive boss…but his next project requires a wife!
Baby Proposalby Evie Rose.My boss walked in on me buying “magic juice” online… And now he’s demanding to be my baby’s daddy!
And for a bonus instalove story, grab your copy ofRide or Die.She’s sweet and innocent—and that’s like catnip in this strip club. It’s okay, though. I won’t let the pretty bartender out of my sight.
Happy reading!
xxx
Teaser: Fight Dirty
I dither on the sidewalk, my clammy palms tucked into my hoodie sleeves. It’s evening, the sky pink above the city rooftops, and all around traffic rumbles and feet thud against the sidewalk.
Lights change and horns blare. It’s my favorite time of day.
Tonight, though, I’m too wired to enjoy it.
I’m downtown, where the delicious scents of curries and roasting meat mingle in the air and crowd out the traffic fumes and cigarette smoke. My stomach growls under my baggy layers, nudging me to go somewhere else,anywhereelse on this block so long as they serve something spicy and sweet. Any of these restaurants with their steamed over windows will do.
But I ignore it. I’m a girl on a mission.
Tonight, I’m going to find Jax Sutherland, and I’m going to talk to the famous fighter, and I’m going to persuade him to teach my reedy ass how to fight.
Iam, damn it.
Shifting from foot to foot, I stare up at The Corner. I wet my lips. The lights are bright inside, all the doors and windows thrown open, and the grunts and thumps of fights float out to the sidewalk. I hide a wince.
The sign above me is black and white, all business and no frills. Men and women pass by in a steady stream, entering the boxing gym with neat workout clothes and staid expressions, while the folks coming the other way are flushed, sweaty and rumpled. They all look like they’ve been electrified.
That doesn’t seem so bad. Right? I like an adrenaline rush as much as the next girl. At the fairground, I’m always the first one making a beeline for the roller coaster, and I’m…
I’m stalling again.
Come on, Casey. Get your ass in there.
As I fidget before the doorway, the scraps of paper crinkle in my hoodie pocket. They may be lighter than a fistful of feathers, but every time I notice them, it’s like they’re weighing me down to the bedrock beneath the city.
They’re the reason I’m here. The reason I can’t fail tonight.
Ineedto speak to Jax Sutherland, and it’s that reminder that finally gets my feet stumbling forward, my shoulder brushing the door frame as I enter.
The Corner is even bigger and brighter and louder than it seemed from the street, the walls painted white and lights dangling in wire cages overhead. It’s a few degrees warmer than outside. Music thumps from speakers clustered on the walls, a steady beat without any lyrics, and all around pairs of people square off, swinging fists and ducking, weaving, kicking.
There’s a boxing ring in the center of the huge room, and punching bags hang from thick chains all around the walls. Mats are piled high near the door, and a few pairs have dragged mats down to the floor so they can grapple, rolling together in a vicious tangle.
“Holy shit,” I mumble, drifting forward in a daze. Despite my time spent lurking on the sidewalk outside, I am not prepared.
It’s just sobigand loud and overwhelming. When a flushed man with a shiny bruised eye looks my way, I flinch, skirting around the edge of his mat. He looks like he could pick his teeth with my bones—and mean enough to do it, too.
Focus, Casey.
Jax Sutherland. Jax Sutherland. How the hell am I gonna find him in here? This boxing gym is like a cavern hidden downtown in the city, the ceilings soaring high overhead and the open room sprawling wide. There must be dozens of pairs fighting here, spread out so much that they’re lost in their own private worlds.
Fingers trembling, I fish my phone from my pocket, walking slowly through the maze of mats and sparring fighters. The photo of Jax Sutherland is already loaded on my screen—and I frown down at it like I haven’t stared at him for hours already. Like I haven’t committed his scowling hazel eyes and broken nose to memory. Like I’m totally, one hundred percent normal about this complete stranger.
Nope. I check each man I pass, glancing down at the photo now and then. No. Nuh-uh. Hair too light. Too wiry. Too young.
