3. Chapter 3

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and…something, I could never tell what Arthur was baking with but whenever I let my guard down and took a bite, it never mattered. My stomach rumbled. Lapses weren't allowed in the week before such a big fight. In just four days, I'd be fighting in front of 70,000 fans in the Millennium Stadium, and millions across the world at home. My fee was in the high seven figures but still, there was something missing. And I knew what it was.

"Did that mixer come out of my budget?" I asked Arthur, pointing at the monstrosity taking up half the space on the kitchen island.

"Maybe," he said as he carefully measured out vanilla essence before tipping it into the mixture.

"And what benefit do I get out of your cake making skills in the week before a fight?"

"I stay happy. And having a happy assistant is worth far more than the five hundred pounds I took out of your account to pay for it." Arthur smiled as he turned it on, then grimaced as he was blasted by a puff of flour. "Blegh. That wasn't meant to happen."

I looked away to hide my own grin. I'd spent years trying my best to keep up with Arthur's intelligence and his witty retorts. And normally I'd have one lined up to throw back at him. But he was right. A happy Arthur was worth more than five hundred pounds. But that had less to do with his skills as an assistant and much more to do with the fact I was hopelessly and utterly in love with the man.

It had been just over three years since Arthur had thrown himself into the PA role. If I had to put a number on it, I'd fallen in lust with him the second he stood up to me in the changing room. And it wasn't long before I realised my feelings ran that much deeper. I'd do anything for him, if in my own way.

I watched as he dipped his finger into the mixture, then brought it to his mouth, his tongue darting out to catch some fallen sugar afterward. And then his lips moved and broke out into a smile.

"Earth to Bradley," he teased, waving his hand in front of my face. "Were you listening to a word I just said?"

"Yes? Something about how good it tastes?"

"No. I was talking about the fact you've still not asked me to book a holiday for next week. You always want to go away after a big fight." Arthur had his phone out, tapping out as he always did, then pushed it across the table to me. "See? You could go to the Maldives this time. You've always wanted the Maldives."

"I know. And I'm only going if you do. You deserve the break all the same. Come on. Let's fly first class, go to the best restaurants."

Arthur grimaced. "Unfortunately, my wage does not stretch to first class."

I rolled my eyes. We'd had this argument a million times. "You literally pay your own wage. You could pay yourself ten times the amount if you wanted. I've had to force a pay rise on you every year. And this would be my treat. Think of it as your Christmas bonus."

"It's June."

"Think of it as the last three years of Christmas bonuses then. Come on." I was practically begging but as always, I found it hard to actually beg for anything from Arthur. I wasn't exactly known for being in touch with my feelings. Boxing was a dog-eat-dog world. But something was coming. Something that might let me break out of my shell.

"If I pay to go on holiday with my boss, it's weird. If my boss pays for me to go on holiday with him, it's work." Arthur tapped away on his phone again, the mixture to his side forgotten. "I'll just book myself another nice Cotswolds holiday. It's cheaper, and I always have fun."

"Then let me come with you."

"Why?" Arthur's response was instant, and felt like a knife to the chest. I'd wanted to confess my feelings plenty of times over the years but there were lots of times where I thought I imagined that our feelings might be mutual. I had myself convinced that he only put up with me because of our professional relationship.

"Because we get along," I said. "And…this job doesn't get me a lot of friends. And I think you're my friend."

Arthur ducked his head. "I am. I just…I don't want you spending thousands on me. It doesn't feel right."

"I want to." Because I love you.

"Fine. Relax after this flight and we'll book somewhere. Maybe not the Maldives, though. Somewhere in between. So I don't feel too guilty."

"Deal." I grinned. This was the best news I'd gotten in forever. I'd jump for joy if I was allowed. Instead, I just allowed myself that little smile.

Arthur's phone pinged, and his lips turned downward. His tap-tap-tap on the screen in response was fast and furious.

"Everything okay?" I asked. I stepped around the island to have a peek at the phone screen, but he turned it away from me.

"Fine." Though his tone said he was anything but.

"Is it the venue? My opponent?" I pressed.

"No, no…nothing like that." Arthur's brows were so furrowed they were practically one.

"Want to talk about it?" I wanted to hold his hand, to reassure him. I didn't, though.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "It's my dad. Wants VIP tickets to the fight."

"Well, that's easy! You know you can get them any time," I said.

"I filled all of them with celebrity requests."

"Jase said you managed to get his daughters into VIP though," I argued.

Arthur glared at me. "Fine. Maybe I don't want my dad and his friends there. Okay?"

"Why? Don't you get along?"

"No, it's…complicated. It's easier to just tell him I can't get the tickets." Arthur frowned. "Though I did say…"

"Do whatever you think is best," I told him. "But don't stop on my account. You've arranged for my cousins to get their tickets right?"

"Cory and Xavier? Yup. All sorted." Arthur put his phone down and finally got back to his batter. I watched as he spooned out little circles onto a baking sheet and turning to the oven to put them in.

"What would I do without you?" I asked.

"Starve. Miss big fights. Not leave the house." Arthur was joking, but we both knew he was totally right. He was a super-assistant.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" I asked. Arthur had an annexe connected to my house with its own separate kitchen and bathroom. Him being in my own kitchen was usually a sign of one or both of us needing the company.

"Nah, was just going to watch some films, eat my cookies, help myself to your most expensive red wine," said Arthur.

"In the cinema room?"

"Unless you were going to use it. It's your house."

"Mind if I join you?"

"I remind you once again…it's your house. You can be anywhere." Arthur rolled his eyes like it was a lecture he'd given me a thousand times—which he had.

"And I'm asking if I can join you."

Arthur hesitated. "Sure. But I'll be in my PJs. And I'm not keeping the cookies away from you. I'm off the clock, you can fight your own food demons. And we are not watching a stupid fighting film."

"I'll let you take the lead," I said with a smile. If he wouldn't let me pay him what he deserved, the least I could do was let him pick what film he wanted to watch. So long as it wasn't Legally Blonde again. I didn't think I could cope with that chick-flick shit.

Twenty minutes later, I made my way to the cinema room with my own PJs on. Arthur was already waiting, sat in a pair of tartan trousers and a fluffy dressing gown I was sure had belonged to me at some point.

"Oh God, not another chick flick romance," I groaned as I spotted the face on the screen.

"Tell me her name and you can pick a different film," Arthur challenged.

"…bastard," I conceded. "I don't know. I just know she does all those romances you like."

"Anne Hathaway is a serious, Oscar-winning actress of great renown," said Arthur. "And this is Devil Wears Prada. You might learn something."

There were multiple seats in the cinema room with a two-person sofa front and centre. The sensible thing to do would be to keep some professional distance. So, I switched the light off and plonked myself down right next to him. I was a glutton for punishment. Then again, if my plan worked out, maybe I wouldn't need to keep any professional distance soon.

"Fuck, those smell good," I said, gesturing to the cookies.

"I know I said I was off the clock, but if I do give them to you Jase will have my testicles in a vice," said Arthur. And then he nudged them closer.

"I hate you," I lied.

"I know. But I'll bake a batch for after your fight." Arthur reached over to the remote and with my heart hammering against my ribcage I knew it was time for part one of my confession.

"Can we talk a second?" I asked just before he pressed play.

"Sure. What's up?" Arthur turned to face me, and I felt as if his eyes were looking deep into my soul.

I hesitated. I was about to admit what only Jason knew so far. "This is going to be my last fight. I want to go out on Saturday, win, and retire."

"What?" Arthur seemed shocked. "You're joking, right? You're always winning."

"And I want to keep it that way. I've seen way too many older boxers lose it. And some who are really seeing the effects of so many hits to the head as they age. No, not for me. I'm retiring after this fight."

Arthur went quiet for a second, then turned away. I thought he was grabbing another cookie, but he made no effort to do anything. "So, I guess you won't be needing me anymore."

Ah.That. "I will," I said. "I'm not skipping off into the sunset. I still need someone to keep me in line."

"I won't outstay my welcome because you think I need a job. I can stand on my own two feet."

Without thinking, I put my hand on his arm, but he didn't move away from my touch. "Believe me, Arthur. I need you."

His eyes met mine again. Those deep grey pools that could make me do anything he asked. "I know." He gave me a weak grin that I didn't believe. "What are you going to do when it's all over?"

"I don't know, I have a PA who's supposed to fill my diary for me."

"Then I'll give you a week off. After that, you'll be scrubbing the floors until I can see my face in them. That clear?"

I laughed and Arthur finally gave me a genuine smile. Then he moved his arm subtly away from me, turned the film on and the moment was gone.

"Watch this," he whispered. "You might learn something."

I knew Arthur didn't like talking during films: he had once told me that he abhorred it. I assumed that abhorred meant like until I Googled it after talking through a film for three hours. So, I sat back and watched the film. It took me a minute to understand exactly what was going on but by the time I turned to look at Arthur, he was asleep over the opposite arm of the sofa, dangerously close to the cookies. I moved them off the sofa and onto the floor, allowing myself a quick sniff of the gooey deliciousness on the plate, then sat back to watch a chick flick all by myself.

After an hour, I was enjoying the film. Until Arthur decided to interrupt that enjoyment by shifting in his sleep, now resting his head on my shoulder. A couple of minutes later, he shifted to my chest. Then slid down to my lap without waking. He was breathing softly, and I let myself put one hand on his shoulder, stroking his hair with the other. Was that creepy? I didn't know. But having Arthur laying there just felt right.

I couldn't focus on the rest of the film. I managed to gently place a pillow under his head so that I didn't get hard with my employee's head in my lap—especially with the rules Jason liked to put in place before a fight. I was sure what we were doing was all kinds of wrong, but I didn't want it to stop. Hopefully, after my last fight, I could confess everything. And hopefully, he'd be receptive to the idea of something between us. I was sure I'd seen it in him. But I needed to do things right.

The credits rolled, and I manoeuvred myself so I was out from beneath Arthur. For a second, I considered leaving him there. But no matter how comfortable the sofa I couldn't do that to him. So, I looped my hands under him and carried him bridal style out of the cinema room and through the house.

"S'appnin?" he mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Just taking you to bed," I whispered. "Go back to sleep."

He didn't reply, so I carried him down the hallway and to the door that led to his little apartment. It wasn't the easiest process to open the door without jostling him, but I managed.

His apartment at the back of my house was small and sparsely furnished, and I navigated the darkness to his bedroom, I realised I'd hardly been in the place in three years. Arthur always entered my space, not the other way round. I'd even considered offering him the bedroom next to mine, but didn't want things to get awkward if he ever wanted to bring a guy round. Or I did. That hadn't happened in years, either, but this space gave Arthur his privacy.

I laid him down gently on his bed and did my best to wrap the duvet around him so he didn't get cold. "Love you," he mumbled as I successfully burritoed him into the covers. My heart pounded. He probably had no idea who I was in that moment. I was just a kind force keeping him warm.

Still, I couldn't resist. So as I closed the door behind me, certain I wouldn't wake him up, I whispered the words I'd been keeping inside for so long. "I love you too, Arthur."