Making Him Sweat & Taking Him Down. Meg Maguire

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      He slumped. “Well, no. But we’re not hemorrhaging money, either. It’s just been a rough patch, with your dad being sick, and the economy… It’ll bounce back. Keep it open and you won’t have to think twice about it, aside from getting deposits in your account back in California or signing the random piece of paper—”

      “I’ve moved to Boston, actually. As of this morning.”

      He blinked, hazel eyes going glassy as he processed the news. “What do you think you’ll do if you shut us down? Sell the property? The market’s not great—”

      “I’m not selling it. If I do decide to close the gym, I’ll probably rent the basement to an outside business.” She indicated the office they were in. “I’m going to use this floor for a company I plan to open.”

      “You’re going to close an established business to gamble on a new one?”

      Jenna steeled herself, an invisible bell clanging to announce the official start of their bout. Her blood warmed and fizzed with adrenaline. Let the debate begin.

      “It’s not a matter of choosing one business over another. But I’ve sunk all my savings into a franchise I’m investing in, and I’m not bankrupting myself to keep the gym on life support. The basement rental could bring in close to ten grand a month. Can the gym do that?”

      His face fell. “It’s never made that much.”

      She’d seen the past decade’s bank statements—she knew it didn’t. Even in good years, the profit it turned was a modest one. The gym was only still in business because her father had owned the space outright, and because he’d loved the place too much to put it out of its misery, even after the scandal had gutted its membership and scared away all its former sponsors. Without doubt, he’d loved it more than his family. Jenna and her mom could have used that money in the early days, back when they’d essentially been homeless, moving every six months, crashing with one set of relatives after another.

      “Unless something seriously changes, the gym’s a charity I can’t afford to support.”

      “It’s your inheritance.”

      “The property’s my inheritance. My dad’s will made that clear, and I’m happy to conform to his instructions and keep it open until the New Year. It’s the least I can do, considering he left me a nice little slice of Downtown Crossing.”

      Mercer’s eyes narrowed, wrecking his poker face. A humorless smirk quirked his lips. “Unless you want to load this building onto a truck and move it a block north, you’re in Chinatown.”

      Fine, it wasn’t Summer Street, but it had a downtown zip code, and was rent-free. Jenna didn’t stand a chance of topping this windfall ever again in her life, short of winning the lottery.

      Two men in sweat-streaked shirts sauntered past the office windows, glancing in and making Jenna feel distinctly as though she’d been locked in one of those submersible shark-observation cages.

      “You can’t close this place.” If Mercer was panicking, he hid it well. Jenna’s own heart was thumping hard. She dreaded confrontation, but Mercer looked like six feet of unflappable muscle wrapped in a white T-shirt. Why did that make her feel so damn edgy?

      “It was your dad’s whole life, this gym.”

      Yes, indeed it was. “As much as this place might mean to you, it’s my choice. And I haven’t made my decision yet. I’m not allowed to until the end of the year, and you’re welcome to try to change my mind,” she added as a consolation. Jenna thought that time would be far better spent looking for greener pastures. “But this place has been in the red the past year and a half. And it’s got enough savings to stagger on for another, what? Maybe two years, at this rate, before that account’s bled dry?”

      Mercer’s jaw clenched. “And I can tell you all the reasons why we’re in the red, and all the things that can be done to change that.”

      “I’m sure you can.” And she was sure there’d be some ugly debates in her future over whether she’d be financing any improvements Mercer might have in mind. The gym needed full-on head-to-toe plastic surgery, but its budget would barely cover a concealer stick. Any money she agreed to sink into these changes would surely be too little, far too late. He hadn’t bothered suggesting she sell the gym itself. He knew as well as she did—as even the most foolish investor would—it was a lost cause.

      He rubbed his face. “What do you want the ground floor for, anyhow? Why not rent that out?”

      She felt her cheeks color, embarrassed to admit such a girlie endeavor to this no-nonsense man. “I’m opening a matchmaking business.”

      “Wait. Like fight promotions?”

      “No. You know, matchmaking. Arranging dates between compatible people?”

      Mercer’s eyebrow rose, the one not hampered by scar tissue.

      “Legitimate, romantic dates,” she elaborated, in case he was imagining something more akin to an escort service.

      “Hasn’t that gone extinct? Don’t all those desperate people just go online these days?”

      “Not everyone. Some people don’t want to shop for a relationship the way they might for car insurance or…” She trailed off, knowing her own feelings on the matter must be showing. “Anyhow, it’ll cater to busy professionals, people who want a personalized, more traditional approach to dating. And it’s not desperate at all. It’s very practical.”

      “And you’ll be using the office for that?”

      “I will. So during the time the gym stays open, I’ll need to move the display cases and everything in here downstairs.”

      Mercer’s gaze swiveled to the ceiling, nearly an eye-roll. “Of course you will.”

      “Don’t look so annoyed. I’m being put out, too, you know, consulting with potential clients with bruised, sweaty men staggering past the windows.” She jerked her head toward the entryway, just as another such specimen went by.

      “Some women might like that.”

      Jenna shot him a skeptical look.

      “When’s all this going down? Your evil plans and this new business?”

      “My evil plans? I’m not the bad guy here. I know what this place is about. I’ve read the articles.” She eyed the desk, wondering if that was where her father had sat, funneling drug money through the gym’s accounts.

      “That was more than a decade ago. And it was a handful of assholes who did that, not your dad. He was acquitted.”

      Not before he was convicted, and just after a whole bunch of evidence was very conveniently mishandled.

      Mercer leaned to the side, bracing a palm on the desk. It was unnerving, being in this room with this man, sitting feet apart in the same space, at complete and utter odds. There was tension crackling between them, hot and sharp, an electrical current. She wondered if this was what stepping into a boxing ring felt like, conflict as visceral СКАЧАТЬ