2. Chapter 2

Bradley was pacing the little boxing ring like he always did with days to go before a fight. He'd been sparring with a partner, but they needed some time out after a particularly rough knock to the head that warned anyone else away from getting into the ring. He was wearing a black vest and head padding, as well as shorts that showed off way too much of the muscular expanse of his thighs. I'd taken my usual seat at the edge of the spotlight that surrounded the ring. It let me keep my emotions and blushes hidden.

"You're going to wear a hole in the canvas, and my patience," I said. Bradley only grunted in response. "Oh, and Jason says you need to work more on your shoulder roll, whatever that means."

"And where is Jason?" he spat. "He should be with me all day every day in the week leading up to a fight."

"A doctor's appointment. I've booked him a taxi and he should be here in the next twenty minutes." I looked down at my phone, where Jason's AirTag told me he was ten minutes away. But if I told Bradley twenty, then his patience would start running out around the time Jason walked through the door. I'd learned to work with his quirks over the years.

"Well, he needs to hurry," said Bradley, finally coming to a stop, then kneeling and resting his chin against the ropes. I looked into his eyes and tried to stop myself from laughing—unsuccessfully.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I promise," I tried.

"Arthur…"

"Bradley." I fixed him with my sternest stare, which wasn't particularly effective when my target was double my weight and had six inches on me in height.

"Tell me," he implored.

I looked down at my phone again. Five minutes. Maybe it would help to distract him until then. "Fine. It's just…when you stare like that, you go from big scary boxer to puppy dog eyes in about thirty seconds."

Bradley ducked underneath the top rope and strode over to where I sat, towering over me. "Are you saying I'm not intimidating?"

I determinedly kept my eyes locked with his as I stood. I was still a whole head shorter than him, but his imposing ways didn't scare me the same way they used to. Now, he had my heart racing for a whole other reason.

He leaned in, and I patted his arm in the most casual way possible. "I'm sure you're a very scary boxer. But not to me.".

"Still not scary?" he asked, lowering his voice to a growl. I just about managed to stop myself from whimpering. We were inches apart and even the smell of sweat wasn't putting me off. Perversely, it seemed that was part of the attraction nowadays.

"Still not scary," I whispered. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get there. Gain another couple of kilos of muscle."

Bradley pinched my arm. "You're one to talk, lanky."

"I'm…lean," I protested. "Bet you I'm stronger than you per pound."

Bradley laughed, leaning away from me at last and allowing me to breathe. He gestured toward the ring. "Go on then, let's have a go."

"Me with you? In the ring? No thanks. I might break you," I said.

"You'll…break me?" Bradley laughed. "Sure, Jan."

"I regret ever teaching you that meme," I said. "Anyway. I'm hardly dressed for boxing."

"Why don't you grab that exercise gear I know you keep in a locker to use the running machine before I turn up for the day?" Bradley smiled. "Let's punch it out."

"I…" I started, and was thankfully saved by the bell—quite literally. Jason was stood to one side of the room, jangling the rope and chain. "Bradley Tyler, I don't see you training particularly hard considering we are four days away from your next fight. Now stop flirting and get to training."

I wasn't sure who was blushing harder as Bradley stepped away and climbed back under the ropes. Jason climbed in with him, but seemed to struggle with getting down low. For a man in his sixties, he was still pretty healthy but wasn't moving as well as he did when I'd first started my job.

Brad wiped off his face with a towel and threw it in my general direction. I dodged it. "It's not my job to deal with your sweaty towels!"

"It quite literally is," he retorted.

"I'm hiring you a second assistant," I muttered to myself.

"So long as their pay comes out of your wages."

"On second thoughts, I'll just adjust my own job description." I pretended to type away on my phone, then a real notification popped up. "Your sports masseuse is booked in over lunch. Do you want me to shift lunch time, or cancel the appointment?"

"Shift lunch time; should give you more time to get lunch sorted, right?" Bradley asked.

I growled to myself. If Bradley actually wanted to see me box, he could put me in the ring with his very pretty, very unprofessional sports masseuse. How was I meant to compete with a twenty-two-year-old who looked like he'd been plucked from a dodgy Czech porn film to specifically torment my dreams?

"Sorted," I said. "Now, if you don't need me, I'll be prepping lunch." Bradley wasn't listening. He was already ducking and weaving around Jason, who stood mostly stationary in the middle of the canvas and holding up the boxing pads.

I walked to the back of the gym, where I'd made magic happen over the past three years. After a slow start to my employment, we finally settled into some kind of routine. Bradley's budget had increased as his star-power did, and I'd been allowed to bring more of my duties in house, though the main gym itself still looked as grotty and dark as the day I'd started. Apparently, adequate lighting wasn't a priority—no matter how many times I'd tried to sneak contractors in.

About a year ago, a kitchen had been built in a quiet corner of the annexe, and I used it as my personal meal-prep palace, removing the need for me to work in Bradley's kitchen for hours after we left the gym. As it was, I'd prepped all of the chicken and salad for the week to come, so preparing it for him was a doddle. I threw a couple of raw eggs, some skimmed milk and two scoops of protein powder into a blender and poured the resultant goop into a cup. Out of curiosity, I scooped a bit out of the blender with one finger and tasted it. Bleh. As bad as the last time. And the time before. You'd think I'd learn.

I grabbed three Tupperware—the bigger one for Brad, the smaller for Jason and I—and tossed the salad and chicken. I added a big dollop of spicy mayo to the smaller ones, but left Bradley's bare. Apparently if the stuff tasted good, he would get fat. And maybe he'd trade his precious six-pack for a four.

I headed back to the ring with the food balanced on one arm like a prize-winning waiter. Jason was panting on the side, but Bradley was nowhere to be seen.

"Massage?" I asked. Jason simply nodded and held his hand out for the food. "Everything OK with you? That's the fourth appointment you've had this month."

"‘M fine," he said around a mouthful of chicken. "Just check-ups. Not as young as I used to be."

"Hmm." I wanted to respect Jason's privacy, but something was up. As Bradley's PA, I had access and power of attorney over his medical records. However, that didn't extend to the whole team.

"Brad said to take the food and shake into him," said Jason. "Thinks he can eat lying down on his front."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he did. But taking the food in meant that I'd have to face that beautiful sports masseuse—and my own jealousy.

I put my own lunch down on the canvas and headed to the changing rooms, where the sports masseuse always set up his table.

"…ooh, yes, Bradley, you're right. You are awfully tight here." The masseuse's voice carried through the changing room. I started to wonder if I might actually be half decent at boxing.

I shook my head like that would somehow clear the violent thoughts. It wasn't Rory the Masseuse's fault that I had a huge crush on my boss. His comments didn't make being congenial easy, though.

"Got your food, Mr Tyler," I said, placing down the chicken and the protein shake on the bench nearest the massage table where he was lying face down with little but a towel to cover his modesty.

"Mr Tyler? Since when have we been so formal?" Brad asked. "Should I start calling you Mr…what was it again?"

I was unable to stop the eyeroll that followed. "Mr Penrose. You'd have thought you would have looked over my credentials at least once in the last three years. And I'll continue to be this formal as long as other staff insist on being too informal." I threw a look toward Rory, who was so engrossed in Bradley's biceps and armpit that he didn't even notice I was talking about him. Same, girl.

Bradley noticed, though, and his face turned down into a frown. "Everything okay, Arthur?"

"All good, Mr Tyler. I'll go and talk to Jason about your schedule this week."

I tried not to flounce out of the room. But my attitude may have been a little bit…flouncy.

"Thanks for the lunch, son," Jason said as I finally sat on the edge of the canvas to eat my own. Even with the big dollop of full-fat mayo, the meals I'd been eating for the last three years were a massive improvement on the crap I'd eaten my entire life.

"Any time, Jase; it's what you pay me for."

"No, you get paid to look after Brad. Everything else is above and beyond," Jason said quietly.

"Looking after you is looking after Brad. He loves you, so I'm looking after you until you retire. And probably after that too," I confessed.

"No wonder he likes you so much."

My heart stuttered. Bradley liked me, that I was certain of. In the way I wanted him to like me? That I doubted. Not when he was a rich muscle god with access to any man or woman he wanted.

"That masseuse needs taking down a peg or two, the way he was talking to Bradley when he came in," Jason said. Is he reading my mind?

"I volunteer as tribute," I joked.

"Well, if he…" Jason started, but tailed off as the door to the changing room swung open. Bradley stood silhouetted in the light, all muscle and water-slicked skin. A second later, Rory pushed past him, portable table tucked under his arm. He wiped his spare arm across his face as if dispelling tears before he left the gym.

"Sorry, Arthur, I don't mean to step on your job. But I felt like I had to let Rory go. He was being way too unprofessional." Bradley said the words matter-of-factly, but Jason stifled a laugh.

My stomach gave a guilty lurch. Damn. Had I been responsible for a man getting fired? I took out my phone and tapped out a note to myself to give him an excellent reference—even if he was an unprofessional, flirtatious prick. I promptly deleted that note. Screw him.

"Right, back to training, young Bradley," Jason said. "You've got a big fight coming up. And the crowd will have their blood."