Chapter Three: The Deal

Drent

There was something unsettling about her. I had asked for a spa therapist, but instead they had sent me something I found far more amusing. A tiny, curvy girl who I found surprisingly tempting.

Which was strange, because I had not felt that way about anyone in years. But it felt like a good sign. Maybe coming to this city to find someone had not been such a ridiculous idea after all.

My father had threatened to withhold the boxing company from me, the one my grandfather had built and passed to him, unless I proved to him I was capable of committing to a relationship. It was not my fault that I had gone through more heartbreaks before the age of eighteen than most men experienced in a lifetime. I had made a vow never to put myself through that again. But now, I needed to be in a relationship to secure the company. I had six months. That was part of why I had accepted this school tournament. It was a distraction more than anything, something to occupy my mind while I figured out how to find someone who actually made me feel something. Because no woman had clicked with me in a very long time.

Until now, apparently.

"Can you please start the massage?" I said.

"I'm on it."

I lay down as she applied the cream to my back. Her hands against my skin made me feel warm, and I let out a slow breath. But I could feel the tension coming through her fingers, the way she worked like she was nervous.

I had been through enough spa sessions to know when something was off.

"Do you know what you are doing?" I asked, lifting my head slightly. She did not answer right away.

"Y..yes," she stuttered.

"You are applying the cream incorrectly."

"I'm just prepping."

Prepping. I stayed still. Maybe she was nervous, or new to the work. But the rest of the massage was so poorly done that even her touch, which sent a strange calm through me, could not hide the obvious truth. This woman was not a massage therapist.

I sat up slowly and moved her hands gently from my back. I met her gaze.

"Who are you?"

"What?"

I stood and pinned her wrists to the wall. Her breath came fast and shallow against my neck. I could see the fear settling into her eyes. She was charming in a way that genuinely amused me, but I needed to know what she was doing in my room.

"I know you are not a massage therapist. I have been through enough sessions to recognise one."

She struggled but could not pull free.

"What are you implying?"

"That you are an imposter who snuck into my room. And I want to know why."

She stopped struggling. She held my gaze with a confidence I had not expected.

"Fine. I'm not a massage therapist," she admitted.

I stood back, genuinely entertained. "Who are you then? A thief?"

"I am not a thief."

"Then talk. This is trespassing. I could have you arrested for this."

"That won't be necessary. I'll talk. Just let go of my wrists. You're hurting them." It was only then that I noticed how close I was standing to her. Perhaps too close.

I released her arms. She rolled her wrists slowly, working the feeling back into them.

"I'm Renata. From Philz High."

I raised an eyebrow. "From the school hosting my tournament?" She nodded.

"Fascinating. And why are you here?"

"I need your help. It's life or death." I had trust issues, deeply rooted ones. But for some reason I could not bring myself to doubt her. Her eyes were too direct. There were no lies in them.

She wore baggy spa trousers that were meant to hide a woman's shape, but her figure was still visible beneath them. She was gorgeous. No woman had made me feel this unsettled in years, and yet here I was. Which gave me an idea. She could be exactly what I needed to satisfy my father's condition.

"You have a lot of nerve, sneaking into my hotel room. How old are you?"

"Nineteen. I'm in my senior year."

Young and striking. Only five years between us.

I walked slowly toward her. "Let's have dinner."

"What?"

"You snuck into my room. This is what you get."

"I'm not going to"

"Yes, you are."

She froze.

"You need my help. So let's talk about it over dinner." Truthfully, I just wanted to know if what I was feeling was real, or simply about her looks.

I called room service. "Two full premium dinner sets, please."

It arrived within minutes. Two chairs set opposite each other, a silk-draped table filled with the finest dishes the kitchen had to offer. She sat across from me, skeptical, with a trace of unease still visible in her expression.

"I don't bite," I said as I sat, watching her carefully.

"I'm fine," she replied with a boldness that I found refreshing.

"Tell me about your boxing."

And she did. She spoke differently when she talked about it. The guardedness softened and something lit up behind her eyes that had not been there before. She had been training for a year on her own, self-taught mostly, with some help from videos and an old trainer at a gym three blocks from her house who let her in free on Tuesday mornings.

"You're self-taught," I said flatly.

"Mostly."

"And you want to enter a professional tournament."

"I want to enter your tournament. Yes."

I set my fork down. "I can't put a girl in that ring. These are trained male fighters. The liability alone would be enormous."

"I'm not asking you to protect me." Her voice sharpened. "I'm asking you to give me a fair shot."

"That is not how this works."

"Why? Because I'm a girl?"

"Because you are untrained."

"Test me then." She pushed her chair back and stood. I caught myself smiling. She showed no fear whatsoever. She was like a small, fierce thing that had no business being as composed as she was.

"That's cute."

"Don't flatter me, Drent." She said my name for the first time. It landed differently than I expected. I had seen enough. She was not like the other women I had tried before. She knew exactly what she wanted and was ready to go after it.

I pushed my chair back and stood, towering over her. I reached out to touch her face and she slapped my hand away. No woman had ever done that. Most could not resist me.

"You know," I said, "if you scratch my back, I can scratch yours."

She looked at me, confused. "What?"

"I can get you into that tournament, but you will have to do something for me in return."

"You are Drent Ardent. The richest and youngest boxer in the city. What could you possibly want from me?"

I smiled.

"I want you to be my girlfriend." She froze. The blood rushed to her cheeks and turned them faintly red. I stood with my expression carefully neutral, expecting the usual reaction. The gasp. The excited yes. The disbelief that someone like me had chosen her. But her response dropped my jaw clean.

"Are you insane?" she asked.

"What?"

"We just met. I don't even know you. So no."

I did not let my desperation show as I pressed on.

"Look, it is not what you think. I just need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for six months, only until I can secure my father's company."

She scoffed, her eyes gleaming with dry amusement.

"Look," she said calmly, "I need this. But your family is known for dirty and shady dealings. I would do almost anything. Except that." She was right. My father was the most calculating and morally flexible businessman in the city. I understood her hesitation, but I was running out of options.

"You don't have to worry about my father. I'll protect you."

She sighed and shook her head slowly.

"I don't trust you. I'm sorry."

A sting moved through my chest, but I did not let it reach my face. I walked toward her, my eyes fixed on hers.

"Then you can forget about that tournament." Her eyes flickered with disappointment, but she was not willing to bend.

"And," I added, holding her gaze, "I always get what I want. I will get you, Renata. One way or another."

I meant every word. But she did not flinch. She did not shake. She turned and walked out, and my eyes followed her all the way to the door.