The other man gave me the once over and cocked an eyebrow. Obviously, he liked what he saw, and he wasn’t so bad himself. He had eyes that were supposed to be blue, but in the light of the studio, they were a steely gray. His jaw was dusted with a healthy dose of stubble that would make most guys look unkempt, but it just added to his swagger, which I could see he had a lot of already.

“This is Caleb Carmichael,” Dad said, giving the introduction before I could ask.

I didn’t know much about the world of boxing, but I did recognize the name Carmichael and it made up for the fact he didn’t seem as fit as the fighters I hung around. Boxers did lean like nothing else.

“I can see that look in her eyes,” Caleb said to my Dad.

“She’s just star-struck is all.”

“She’s standing right here.” It had overtures of the first day Ash had come back to Beat, and I was pretty sure I’d said the same thing. The difference was I was in a much better headspace these days. “And she’s not struck by anything.”

“She’s feisty, too,” Dad said with a chuckle.

“I’m not into bullshit,” I said, sticking out my hand. “Ren Miller.”

“Ren ‘One-Shot’ Miller,” Caleb said, taking my hand with a grin. “You have a mean right hook. Wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that my first day.”

“Ah, so you’re the new manager,” I retorted, snatching my hand back. I’d had my fill of cocky men swooping into Beat, but I’d learned pretty quick smart that cocky came with the fighter territory, no matter the code.

“A boxing studio needs a boxer at the helm,” he replied.

“Going back to basics, Dad?” I asked, giving him a look.

“Just rounding out the experience,” he retorted, dropping his arm from my shoulders. “Them there are boxing gloves painted on the door.”

“Maybe we can teach each other some things,” Caleb declared, eyeing me with appreciation. “Different codes and all.”

“Where’d you find this one?” I asked Dad, ignoring Caleb’s cocky question. Like I said, I didn’t do bullshit and since fighting was such a boys club, I especially didn’t do it on principle.

“I go way back with Caleb’s father,” Dad said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We were rivals back in the day.”

“I’ll say,” Caleb declared.

At one time, my dad, Andrew Miller, had been right up there with the Australian boxing greats, which was something I’d never known about the guy until I came looking after Mum had died. After he’d retired from fighting, he’d opened Beat. It began its existence as a boxing studio, but with the rise of mixed martial arts in the professional circuits, it had morphed into an all-round fighter gym. Boxing had been lacking in recent years with his move to coaching the Hayes twins, Lincoln and Dean, who were pros in the Australian Ultimate Fighting Championships.

“We had our moments,” Dad replied before glancing at me. “I’ve only got a few hours before I have to go meet with the sponsors, so can I leave you guys to it?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll show the newbie the ropes.”

“Great. I’ll call you later to see how you’re getting on.” He turned to Caleb, and the two men shook hands. “Thanks again, son. I’m sure we’ll see great things from you here.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

I waited for Dad to move off and disappear out the front door before I turned to Caleb.

“So, I hear you crash here,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow, but I didn’t bite. “I’ll show you the office.”

He bowed his head slightly. “Lead the way, One-Shot.”

Stalking across the mats, I stomped up the stairs with Caleb on my tail. Opening the office door, I pulled up a chair at the desk, ready to run him through the day-to-day running of Beat, but not before I worked him out a little more. All I knew about the guy was that he used to be a pro boxer, our dads were old mates and he was one self-assured son of a bitch.

I watched Caleb do the rounds, poking through paperwork and peering at the framed photos on the wall before he leaned against the wall next to me.

“The dress code is loose here,” I said, giving him the once over.

“You don’t approve of guys looking good?” he asked with a grin.

“It’s just weird. I’m used to being around trainers who wear little else but shorts and T-shirts.”

“Well, at least you’re not a prude.”

I raised an eyebrow at his tone. “I’m also taken.”

Caleb held up his hands in mock defense. “Duly noted.” He craned his neck and nodded at my back. “Pulse Fitness? Isn’t that the guy who ditched the AUFC last year?”

I snorted. “That guy is Ash Fuller and the boyfriend.”

He shook his head with a smile. “Just let me keep digging my hole here, Ren.”

“People are quick to judge when you turn down a multi-million dollar contract to go out on your own.”

“I know what you mean. No need to explain it to me.”

Leaning back in my chair, I asked, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow and I could see he was going to be trouble. He had smooth operator written all over him.

“I figured you’d ask sooner or later why I’m taking a job here when I could be doing pretty much anything.”

“None of my business,” I retorted.

“People always make a big deal, you know? Treading around the subject, giving me looks like I’m gunna break.”

I looked him up and down and began to wonder if he actually liked the attention it gave him. I mean, he was harping on about it.

“Do you want the long story or the short?” he asked, leaning against the wall.

“Short’ll do it if you feel the need to get it out of your system.”

He laughed and said, “I won a few belts boxing with the big boys, got the stuffing knocked outta me one too many times, and now I can’t fight. If I do, I risk never getting up on my own two feet again.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a shrug. He didn’t want me to make a big deal, so I wouldn’t make one.

“That’s it?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yep,” I said, popping the ‘p’ at the end. Fighters got injured all the time. Some more than others, and it just so happened that Caleb was in the more category. It wasn’t my business to pry into touchy subjects like a man’s pride.

“I think I like you already,” he said with a wink.

“I told you how I do it,” I said. “No. Bullshit.”

“Then we’re going to get along just great.”

I looked him over again. Not in a checking out ‘how hot he was’ kinda perusal, more like a ‘how’s his form’ way.

“Boxing, hey?” I asked.

His lip quirked. “Interested?”

“Slightly.”

“I’ll run you through some techniques sometime. I mean, you MMA fighters are all undisciplined yahoos. You could use a little technique.”

“Are you forgetting I have a mean right hook?” I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Nup. But I’m sure I know how to duck and weave before you even get close.”

I raised my eyebrows for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty minutes. “Oh, you’re on.”

Caleb smirked. “Like Donkey Kong.”

Four

Ash

I strode through rows of blackjack tables, trying to find a way out of the maze that was Melbourne’s Crown Casino.

Meeting a guy for an appointment in a sports bar smack bang in the middle of a gambling mecca wasn’t my idea of a casual get together. Nor was it my idea of a fancy business meeting, especially not when they were asking me to sign on the dotted line for some endorsement for Pulse. Those whack jobs thought fighters were all muscle and no brains. I didn’t give a shit how much money was attached to it, the guy treated me like I was a caveman, not a business owner, so I walked. I had no idea why I went in the first place. Maybe because it had a big name attached, and I was curious.

Shit, I couldn’t wait to get back to the gym where stuff was easy, and I didn’t have to contend with marketing types.