Boxer

“What do you want?”

“Cappuccino? Coffee? Jack and coke?” Andy Rumpert pulls the menu down from in front of his face, an eyebrow raised. “Why are we rushing things?”

“Why did you come to New York?” I pull out a chair at a rickety old table that’s supposed to look antique, but to me, looks like a flimsy set of toothpicks just waiting to collapse under my weight. “I know it wasn’t to visit friends.”

“Is that right?”

“A guy like you doesn’t have friends.”

“Take a seat,” he urges. “Stay awhile. I promise you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” I’m perched at the edge of the table, my knuckles white. “Say whatever you want quickly because I’ve got a flight to catch.”

He sighs, as if this is the greatest chore in the world. “You’re acting like a child.”

“Last chance, Rumpert.”

“If you hadn’t gotten tangled up with Jocelyn Jones—”

Whatever he’d intended to say never got the chance to exit his lips. I took two steps around the table and towered over the guy. He might look smooth and slick to most people who weren’t well over six feet tall and built, but to me, he looked like a shiny little beetle from up here, and I am in a beetle-squashing mood today.

“Get to the point, and leave the lady out of this.”

“I would, see, but she’s the whole reason we’re here today.” The flash of fear in his eyes that had given me a glimpse of satisfaction, vanishes as he pulls something out of his pocket. “Alas, here she is.”

He splays a set of photographs onto the table, flipping them right side up before I can do it myself. My hand comes down, clenching around Rumpert’s shoulder as I lean over him. My stomach tenses as I catch a glimpse.

A bitter taste forms in my mouth, next. Lips curling, I survey the series of photos starring Jocelyn and myself. She’s wearing her pink dress, and my hand is on her waist in the first one. The second, I’m kissing her. The third, I have her tucked into my body as I lean in, hungry for the rest of her. The chemistry between us sizzles, and there’s no way anyone is mistaking these photos for anything other than what it is—a relationship. Romance.

“Where’d you get these?” The question sounds stupid, but I already know the answer to when. This morning—the only time I’ve ever seen Jocelyn dress in a color besides black. “How the fuck did you get these?”

“With a camera. It’s not like my friend,” he pauses to enunciate the word, “had to work hard to capture them. It seems neither of you care to be discreet.”

“I don’t care who sees us together.”

Rumpert shakes his head. Sighs. “So it is love.”

I grit my teeth together and remain silent.

“What about her?” he asks. “I’ll bet she cares. I’ll bet she cares a great deal.”

I stay silent. He’s egging me on, just begging me to get mad enough to cause a scene. That’ll make for an even better story than what he’s got now, but I won’t fall prey to his tricks. Even if my blood is boiling and my fist is itching to say hello to his little jaw. Not because I’m a hero of any sort, but because Jocelyn doesn’t deserve it. This. Any of it.

“I see you’re following my train of thought,” Rumpert says. “So, if you’ve decided not to go caveman and knock me unconscious over your new girlfriend, why don’t you sit down so we can discuss terms and conditions like two businessmen?”

“You’re not a businessman,” I tell him. “You’re scum.”

“One and the same, isn’t it?”

A few heads have turned our direction and, as much as I hate the attention, people do recognize me on the street now and again. I have to be careful now that someone else—someone I love—is involved.

I sit and order a coffee like a good little boy, all while battling back the lava burning inside of me. No wonder the weasel wanted to meet in a public place. He didn’t want to risk being an asshole in private where we could handle this like two men—no, he wants the drama. It’s disgusting.

“Great, there we go,” Rumpert says, his smile growing in wattage. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I sit back, arms folded across my chest. “I’ve got a flight.”

“Straight to the point, then. Here’s my contract. Sign with me, and we’ll keep these photos quiet.”

“Why do I care about the photos?” I don’t think he’ll take my bluff, but it’s worth a shot. I already gave myself away when I debated clocking his head. “I love her, so what? Let the world see it. You going to sell these to a tabloid somewhere?”

“The two of your names mashed into one article will raise some eyebrows in our industry,” Andy says. “I know Miss Jones better than you might think—we’ve been colleagues of sorts for years.”

“Right. Colleagues,” I add sarcastically.

“She’s worked for how long to build up a name and reputation for herself? An article like this—rumors that she might be sleeping with a potential recruit—get circulated, she’ll be ruined. At least, her credibility.”

“She’s not sleeping with me to get my business.”

“I don’t care all that much what you two are actually doing; I care what this looks like. And it looks like she’s wooing you by opening her legs—”

I stand up, my fists slammed to the table. “Shut up, Rumpert. Another word, and I don’t care who sees, I’m going to smack you into tomorrow.”

That flash of fear appears again, giving me the smallest blip of satisfaction before he gathers himself. “Sorry, man, I’m just telling you how it looks.”

“No, you’re telling me how you’re going to spin the story when you sell it to the media.”

“I’m not spinning anything, just... offering photos. Really, they speak for themselves.”

My eyes are drawn to the photos again, and if they hadn’t been captured in such a creepy, secretive sort of way, they might be beautiful. Mementos or keepsakes of our trip together. But the fact that Rumpert, or one of his buddies, had followed us around in the hopes of blackmailing us has me seeing red. This morning had been perfect, beautiful. And now it’s blemished.

“How do you know that’s not what she’s doing, anyway?” Rumpert asks, leaning over, his voice syrupy sweet with suggestion. “How do you know she’s not playing with your heart to get your business?”

“She wouldn’t.” I respond before I can think about it. Even so, I take another look at the photos, and a flash of doubt streaks through my mind. That’s how this whole thing had started, wasn’t it? As a ploy to earn my affections as a friend, and then a trusted business partner. When had things changed?

“How well do you know her?” he asks, narrowing in on my hesitation. “She’s a ruthless business woman. She’ll do anything for the job.”

“I know her well enough.”

I clear my throat and push the photos back, annoyed and angry at myself for letting his vile suggestions spend even a second in my mind. He hadn’t been there last night, hadn’t kissed tears off Jocelyn’s cheeks or seen the way she smiled this morning, sweet and innocent in that pink dress of hers, as if this were the first time she’d fallen in love.

Maybe it was. It certainly is the first time I’ve fallen so hard for another. Because of this, I know I’ll protect her, no matter the cost.

“If I sign with you, these photos get burned?” I ask, tapping the contract.

“Take them with you, frame them for all I care,” Rumpert says. “I don’t have copies.”

My mind flicks to the idea of grabbing these, ripping them to shreds, and then leaving here for good.

“If you really do love each other, there’ll be more where they came from,” Andy says with an easy shrug. “Take them and run. I never figured you for a runner, though. I always thought you’d stand and fight.”

“This contract is for five years. Make it one,” I tell him. “We’ll go from there.”

Rumpert grins. “Thought you might say that. Here.”

He withdraws a second contract with slightly better terms. I pick up the proffered pen. “I should have my lawyer look at this.”

“You should,” he offers. “Or you can trust that everything’s there. I’m not trying to pull any funny business on the contract. I do truly want to work with you—in fact, I want to work with you so badly, I had my friend play paparazzi for the day. I don’t do that for just anyone.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Great. Then sign here.”

I pick up the pen, sign it, fold the paper in half, and then hand it to him just as the coffee comes. “These are mine?”

He pushes the photos toward me. “Have a ball. There’s a great frame shop in Santa Monica. I have a guy there, if you need a recommendation.”

“Shut up, Rumpert.”

“Glad to be working with you, Boxer. We’ll talk back in Los Angeles. Safe flight, have fun visiting your daughter.”

My fingers flex at his ability to know seemingly endless amounts of information. One of these days, I think, I’m going to let my hand do as it may. I have a feeling it won’t end pretty.

I tuck the photos into my pocket and stomp back toward the car. I growl out the name of the airport and grouch my way through security. It’s not until Charli calls me five minutes before take off that my blood pressure notches down a bit.

“I love you, daddy,” she says after updating me on her latest dream, a story that takes no less than twenty minutes to tell in a rambling fashion. “Is your best friend coming too?”

“No, Jocelyn’s on her way back to LA. We’ll see her soon though.”

“Okay. I miss you. And her.”

“Me too, honey. Me too.” I sigh as we begin boarding, and I’m forced to hang up with Charli. One night away, and everything turns into a disaster. This is why I can’t have nice things.

As I buckle my seatbelt on the plane, I fashion a few messages to Jocelyn. None of them sound just right, and I can’t manage to put my thoughts into a coherent text that doesn’t sound absolutely nuts. She’s still in the air, so calling is out of the question.

Finally, I settle on a simple message:

Joss, I miss you. Please call me tonight. Would love to chat.

It’s simple, to the point, and hopefully doesn’t send up too many alarm bells. But, if I know the way the world works, she’ll hear the news before she lands.

Rumpert is a jerk, but he knows what he’s doing, and he’ll make sure Jocelyn knows, too. I sigh again, fumbling to type out a second message when the stewardess asks us to put our phones in Airplane mode.

“Missing someone?” the woman says, kindly watching me switch my phone off with a reluctant glance upward.

“You could say that.”

She pats my shoulder and moves onward.

Missing someone doesn’t even cut it. My gut aches, I have a headache, and I’m lost not being able to talk to Jocelyn, to see her face to face. Everything happened so fast, and now I have six hours of no cell service to stew in my own thoughts.

It ain’t gonna be pretty.