Page 20 of The Knockout Rule

First the idiotic flexing, now this.

Talk of dating apps must have infected his mind, reminding him how isolated he was socially, romantically. Useless thoughts that didn’t serve him while training.

Preston breezed into the gym as they finished, wearing slacks and shiny shoes, always stylish. “How’d it go?”

Isla glanced at Eric and bit her bottom lip, a question in her eyes, as though asking if things had actually gone well. He gave her small nod.

She beamed at Preston. “We’re off to a solid start. We’ll split our time between his Achilles and any other issues that come up. Your boy’s in great shape.” She bustled through the space, gathering her things, not giving Eric a second look. “See you this afternoon,” she said, then slipped out the door.

Whit trotted over to the closing door, like he wanted to follow her. Eric watched the door, suddenly restless and antsy.

Preston clapped. “See? Told you you’d like her.”

Eric blinked, unsure why he felt fidgety. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. He crossed his arms. “She’s smart and knows her stuff.”

“Yeah, we talked a bit on the plane.” Preston glanced at the door she’d walked through. “She was honest and interesting. Also turned me down flat, which of course makes me like her even more.”

Eric tightened his crossed arms. “You asked her out?”

“I told you before we boarded—Graham kind of suggested I date her. He doesn’t like her doing the online dating thing. Thinks we’d be a good fit.”

Nothing about Preston and Isla was a good fit. He binged Netflix regularly; she preferred reading. He thought studying and learning was a waste of time; she loved poetry. But Preston was loyal and loved his family. Chivalry might be pushing it, but the man could turn on the charm. “She hates boxing,” he blurted.

Preston glanced again at the closed door, head tilted. “Maybe that’s why she won’t go out with me.” His attention shifted to Eric. “Do you have more intel? Anything that might help me?”

“It’s a bad idea for you to date Slade’s daughter.” He winced at his harsh tone, but he needed stability on his team. Focus and support. “If it ends badly, Slade might be pissed. Tension between you two could rub off on me. Make training harder.”

“You come before everything,” Preston said, adjusting his cufflink. “And I admire Graham. I wouldn’t dick over his daughter. If you won’t help me, I’ll woo her on my own.”

Isla’s profile had said she appreciated chivalry. Wooing certainly fell under that category, and Eric agreed with her father. Dating online could be dodgy. Plus, Preston and Isla were adults. They knew how important Eric’s training was. They wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his fight. This might actually be nice, helping two good people get together. Eric pictured Isla and Preston out together, laughing, enjoying each other’s company, but the effort of it—the bitter taste in his mouth and his reaction during this whole conversation—had his fingers digging into his biceps.

This wasn’t good. Not even a little. The last thing he needed was to be attracted to his physiotherapist, but the idea of Preston and her on a date had him clamping his jaw. A flicker of jealousy he needed to squash. Eric wasn’t in a position to ask her or any woman out. For the short term, his life was all boxing all the time, and she was his employee. For the long term, she hated boxing, which meant she hated boxers. And him.

He swallowed roughly, ready to nip this awkward situation in the bud. “I learned a few things that might help.”

“Yeah?” Preston edged closer, like an eager kid, excited about his first crush.

“She loves reading, poetry in particular. Not so much a Netflix woman.”

Preston frowned. “I don’t know shit about poetry.”

“Do some reading. It’ll give that atrophied brain of yours some exercise.” Eric could use more exercise now. A grueling run. An hour with a speed bag.

“Come on, man. I need more than that. You’re the fucking genius here. Give me a line to use. A poetry passage that’ll sweep her off her feet.” He bounced on his toes, threw a couple of jabs at the air. “I’m killer on dates and can do the rest.”

Preston looked ridiculous air boxing in his slacks, and Eric chuckled. Yeah, giving his manager some pointers was a good thing for them all. Preston and Isla might really hit it off. Eric’s sudden interest in her would fade. He thought back to Isla’s tough demeanor when they’d first met, how fragile she’d seemed when she’d been upset this morning, her cute humor as they’d relaxed around each other. The surprising depth in her profile. The quote he had in mind was one he’d found on the internet, a passage he’d read by some random guy name Eric Enyert.

The romantic note spoke more of his own sudden fascination with Isla—a fascination that would pass—but it would work for Preston, too. “Yeah, okay. I have a quote for you.”

7

At night, Las Vegas was all flashing lights and drunken tourists outside. It was also flashing lights and drunken tourists inside the casinos. Neither scene appealed to Isla, and thankfully her father wasn’t a gambler, his spendthrift nature aside. She, however, wasn’t sure where he was. He was the reason she was in Sin City, away from her business, and they hadn’t spoken all day. His curt replies to her five texts didn’t count.

She knocked on his door, ran through a list of choice words she’d launch if he wasn’t inside relaxing. Careless. Reckless. Heedless. Along with a bunch of other less-es. She had a spare keycard for his room. He’d said it was only for emergencies, in case she needed anything and he was asleep and couldn’t answer. He’d warned her not to use it to check on him.

She reached to knock again, ready to pull out the forbidden keycard, but the door opened.

Her father was wearing the hotel’s plush robe. He looked annoyed, but then again, that was his resting face. “What’s up?”