Going the Distance (No Excuses Book 1) (2 page)

It was a hot, blistering day in Carlsbad, California, and Sam felt her shirt sticking to her while her boss was yelling in her face.

“I don’t care that you don’t know jack about sports, girlie,” Mr. Alberts said, and resumed his spot behind his desk, “Tony is out and we need to get this interview. This is huge news and could put us back in the black again.”

Sam let out a quiet sigh. Their newspaper was struggling, to say the least, and suddenly they found themselves without a sports writer. That was bad enough, considering they were living in a community full of sports maniacs, but the interview she was supposed to be doing was with none other than Trent Page. The name had sounded familiar at first, but when her boss mentioned The Punisher, she felt as though all blood had drained from her face.

“Can’t we ask one of the other writers to do it?” she pleaded, knowing that getting an interview from Trent would be impossible.

Mr. Alberts shook his head, grabbing some papers off his desk. “You’re our best writer, Sam, and we need this interview. We’re barely making ends meet. Getting this article would save us.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Page doesn’t do interviews. Ever. And that was when he was undefeated. Now that he’s suffered his first loss, it would be a miracle to get him to talk. Everyone wants to know what he’s got to say. People will eat his words up. We’d be the most popular paper in Southern California.”

A heavy feeling settled in the pit of Sam’s stomach, both from the desperate tone in her boss’s voice, as well as from the knowledge that hell would probably freeze over before Trent Page talked to her again.

“If he’s never talked before, what makes you think he will now?” she asked, trying to think of a way to talk Mr. Alberts out of the idea.

“He has to! We’re drowning here. We need this interview to get people’s attention again. I don’t care if he wants to talk or not. Make him, Sam! Your job depends on it.”

Her expression fell at the statement. If she lost her job, she’d be in real trouble. There was no other paper in town she could work for and she wasn’t about to move simply to swap one low-paying job for another one. She supposed she could try to freelance for magazines, but that wasn’t stable and she had rent to pay. She needed a steady income.

“Do you have any pointers that could help get the interview?” she asked, deflated.

Mr. Alberts tapped the stack of papers in his hand against his desk. “Yes. Put on some lipstick and fix your hair. He’s got a thing for pretty girls.”

She growled at the understatement of the century. “I doubt he thinks of women as pretty girls, and what’s wrong with my hair?” She ran her hand through her tresses.

Mr. Alberts didn’t bother giving her a second look as he got up and walked to the file cabinet to put the papers away. “If you want to get the man’s attention, girlie, look like you’re trying.”

She gave a choked laugh as she stood. “Trust me, getting that man’s attention won’t be hard.”

“Good,” Mr. Alberts said quickly. “That’s the attitude we need around here. Now get to it.”

She clipped her pen to her notebook but stood rooted to the spot. After a few seconds, her boss gave her a questioning look.

“Isn’t there any other athlete who broke some world record or made a fool of himself on TV that I can write about?”

Mr. Alberts simply pointed at the door and shook his head. “Go!”

She walked out of his office, grumbling all the way back to her desk. Trent, stupid, Page. Out of all people. What kind of sick joke was the universe playing on her? There was no way he was going to talk to her, and for that matter, she also didn’t want to see him again. He’d probably make some sexist remark and slam the door in her face.

“What’s the matter with you?” Susan, the advice columnist, said from her desk, which was facing Sam’s.

“I have to interview some hotshot boxer who doesn’t deserve any woman’s time of day.”

“Wow, sounds like fun.”

Sam squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, plastering a cheery smile on her face. “It will be great.”

“There’s nothing you can’t handle, Sam,” Susan said with an encouraging smile. “You’re a great writer and an even better interviewer.”

“Thanks. We’ll see how far my people skills will take me.”

She got to work on her research about Trent. The last thing she wanted to do was show up clueless, not just about the sport, but about him.

When she entered his name into the computer database, endless articles and pictures popped up of him either holding up some championship belt, or wrapping his arms around girls who looked like Playboy bunnies. Typical.

She rolled her eyes and scrolled down the page. There were pictures of him with his trainer, promoter, sparring partners, and plenty of him in the ring, throwing punches. He was is excellent shape, but she didn’t need the pictures to show her that. Their encounter in Vegas had made an impression on her for more than the obvious reason. She’d wanted to punch the crap out of him, but she had to admit that he was easy on the eyes. Very easy. No wonder women flocked to him like he was made of gold.

She took in his sculpted muscles in the pictures on the screen, the tattoos winding around his midsection and upper arms, the defined calves and biceps, his killer abs, broad shoulders, and strong back. There were pictures of him practically naked during the weigh-ins, where the scale strategically covered his private parts. And the close-ups gave her a clear view of his face, complete with a broad forehead, dark brows, almost black eyes, a strong nose that according to the articles hadn’t been broken yet, and those lips that looked like they were made for kissing, but instead spewed nothing but demeaning garbage.

Too bad a man who looked like that had the personality of a Tasmanian devil. She looked at his stats and biography next. His parents died when he was young, and he was taken in by Emmanuel Berry, who introduced him to boxing and later became his promoter. Trent wasn’t married and didn’t have children.
Yeah right, probably not officially.
The man obviously slept around like it was a hobby, and she doubted he considered the repercussions of his actions. Then again, she might just be jumping to conclusions based on her negative impression of him. Hopefully he was having safe sex with all those women he slept with.

She continued reading about his background, taking notes about his boxing career and weight classes he’d fought in. He had been undefeated throughout his career until the night she’d run into him, when he’d lost by decision to an up-and-coming fighter from Russia. The loss had shocked the boxing community, especially since there had been no knockdown. The other fighter had simply thrown more punches and jabs, connecting with Page’s body throughout all twelve rounds, according to the articles.

Trent’s angry face came to mind when she’d turned him down at the club. No wonder he had been mad. He’d lost for the first time in his career and she’d made a spectacle of him in front of hundreds of people at the club. Good Lord, he’d probably wanted to wring her neck.

And now she had to find a way to convince him to give her an interview. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of the situation. What could she possibly say to him to make him forgive her? Much less to agree to an interview, when he’d never given one in his life?

The odds of carrying out her assignment and keeping her job were…well, there were no odds. It was impossible for her to succeed.

***

A week after his humiliating defeat in Vegas, Trent was back in the gym, working out harder than ever. He’d played the tape of the fight over and over again, analyzing what he’d done wrong, and ultimately, the other guy had simply been younger and faster. Not that Trent was washed up at thirty-two, but after years of being in the ring, his body was beginning to show signs of wear and tear.

He hadn’t suffered serious injuries, which meant that he could start training again. His next fight wasn’t scheduled, but he wanted to get ahead and be in the best possible shape. Losing again wasn’t an option.

“Hey Trent, there’s some broad here to see you,” Ramirez said as he came up to the ring.

Trent stopped circling around his sparring partner and gave Ramirez a disbelieving look. “What broad?”

“I dunno, man. Some reporter.”

“You know I don’t do interviews,” he said, annoyed to be bothered with this. Every guy on his team knew the rules. No reporters, no interviews, at least not from Trent. What was wrong with Ramirez’s brain all of the sudden?

“She’s pretty stubborn, man,” Ramirez shot back. “Said you’d wanna talk to her. Says you know her.”

That got Trent’s attention. He didn’t know any reporters, much less female ones. Despite his better judgment, he indicated to his sparring partner to take a break, then got out of the ring and had Ramirez pull his gloves off.

“Where is she?”

“Out front. Told her to stay put.”

He made his way across the gym, aware that the guys were watching him. This was the first time he was going to talk to a reporter. He had no idea who it could be, but was curious to see who was ballsy enough to show up at his gym and lie about knowing him.

He opened the door and let his eyes adjust to the sunlight as he ran a towel over his sweaty forehead. All he could make out was a shadow approaching, so he stepped to the side until the awning provided some shade. When he laid eyes on the Vegas slapper, his stomach turned. “You got some fucking balls, lady. What’d you want?”

She stopped and ran her gaze over his naked torso. He wanted nothing to do with her, yet he couldn’t help get hard as she licked her big, pouty lips while her eyes continued to stare.

Since coming back home, he’d tried to put her out of his mind. Hell, he’d tried to put that whole fucking night out of his mind, but no luck. His loss in the ring was as much on his mind as the vixen now standing before him. Apparently a hard slap was all it took for a girl to make a lasting impression on him.

A car drove by, reflecting sunlight into her face, which made her take a step forward.

“I’m here for an interview,” she blurted out, blushing.

He gave her a dry look. “You’re joking, right?”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, looking serious enough, “but I’m here to give you the chance to do something you’ve never done before.”

A laugh escaped him. “What’s that? Fuck your brains out?”

The thought was appealing, despite how she’d treated him in Vegas, but her expression almost made him take a step back since she looked like she wanted to slap him again.

“Can you for once not talk like a garbage disposal?” she shot back.

His eyebrows rose. “I know you’re not showing up at my gym telling me what to do. Why the fuck are you here?”

She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and let out a heavy sigh. “I’d like to interview you.”

He didn’t respond, but merely stared at her. She was out of her goddamn mind, first giving him a blow almost as good as Povetkin’s, then asking for favors. She was fidgeting, however, making him wonder if she was nervous.

He let his gaze run over her from head to toe, enjoying seeing her squirm under his scrutiny. She wore a white blouse with an ass-hugging black skirt, black heels, and enough bling for him to notice. Her long, brown hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her face was made up, but flushed from the heat. He hadn’t seen her this clearly at the club in Vegas, and was now taking in her defiant green eyes framed by black lashes, arched eyebrows, rosy cheeks and glossy lips which he could suck on for hours. Or which could do the sucking.

He cursed under his breath, willing himself to stop having such thoughts, otherwise he’d throw her against the wall and fuck her right there while the whole world watched.

“So?” she broke his assessment of her.

“No.”

“No?” She looked mad.

“That’s right. A big, fat NO, lady.”

She let out another heavy sigh, seeming to consider what to say next. “I’m sorry I slapped you in front of all those people. I know you must have been embarrassed.”

That felt like a bucket of ice hitting him. “I wasn’t fucking embarrassed. But I should hope you’d apologize for acting like a lunatic. So now you wanna take it back?”

She shook her head. “No, you deserved that for what you said.”

He growled.

“I’m apologizing for creating a scene in front of others. I hate drama and that wasn’t my intention.”

He glared at her, not sure what to think. “I don’t have time for this shit,” he finally said, turning to leave.

Her footsteps came up quickly behind him and she grabbed his wrist just like he’d done to her at the club. He looked at her fingers wrapped around him and she immediately dropped his hand.

“Don’t you want to tell the world your side of the story?” she asked.

“My side of what story?”

“Of the fight you lost.”

Now he was starting to see red. “That’s none of your goddamn business and I sure as hell am not going to talk to you or the rest of the world about it.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“I’m surprised you’re even here, since you’ve never heard of me,” he continued.

She merely frowned at that.

“So now I’m no longer a stranger?”

“I know who you are,” she replied dryly.

“Oh good, you’ve done your homework.” He got up in her face. “Then you must know that I don’t do interviews.”

She swallowed, but didn’t back away. Instead, she held his gaze and raised her chin. “Maybe it’s time you get over yourself and break your silence.”

“You’re still talking shit while asking me for a favor?”

“You make it hard to be civilized,” she mumbled, gazing into his eyes and then at his lips.

He couldn’t help but smile for once. “I take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

He reached around and grabbed her ass, pulling her hard against him and enjoying the way her eyes widened with shock.

“Changed your mind about my offer then?”