In Her Corner. Vicki Essex

seemed familiar, but he would’ve remembered a body like that.

      She lifted her sunglasses to rest on the crown of her head. When he saw the glass-green eyes her family was famous for, he knew he’d made a huge mistake.

      * * *

      “BELLA FIORE.” SHE extended her hand again, cooler now that she knew what Kyle Peters was really like. Any man who cared more about his car than a human life didn’t rank high on her list.

      It wasn’t even a very nice car.

      She watched his expression shift from embarrassment to frustration to regret and then, surprisingly, to anger. “You recognized me and didn’t introduce yourself?”

      “In the middle of traffic? I didn’t think it was the safest place to do so.” She kept her smile polite, even though she wanted to laugh at him. The guy was a lot more high-strung than his reputation suggested.

      He opened his mouth as if to retort, but then shook his head and pushed into the gym. Bella followed, unable to resist a peek at his shapely behind. It’d been seven years since he’d wrestled professionally, but he still had the great glutes of an Olympic medalist. Actually, all of him was admirable—thick muscles on his upper body, a narrow waist, strong thighs and not an ounce of extra meat visible on him. He was the living portrait of a Greco-Roman wrestler, complete with broken Romanesque nose and dark brown Brutus-style haircut. She wondered idly if he’d ever wrestled naked like the pugilists of those bygone days.

      The scent of rubber and sweat filled her nostrils as they entered Payette’s. Some things didn’t change gym to gym. The main reception area included a few café tables and a bar where a fridge supplied clients with bottled water, energy drinks and protein supplements. In one corner, UFF merchandise and workout gear—gloves, hand wraps, apparel and so forth—were displayed for sale. A faded sign proclaiming everything at 50 percent off hung askew from the ceiling.

      Kyle paused at the front desk where a young woman with dark blond hair gave him a cursory smile. “Morning, boss. You got a call from Hadrian Blackwell.” She handed him a slip. Kyle scowled at it as the receptionist—her name tag read Liz—turned a brighter smile on Bella. “Hi, how can I help you?”

      “I’m early for my ten-o’clock appointment with him.” She hitched a thumb toward Kyle, who continued to stare at the phone slip, his brow bunched.

      The receptionist’s face brightened. “You must be Bella Fiore. It’s so good to meet you.” She shook her hand vigorously. “We’ve been really excited about having you here. I’m a huge fan.”

      “Of my brothers, my cousins or my grandfather?”

      “Of you,” Liz said with a light laugh. “But of your whole family, too, of course.”

      Bella kept her smile modest. She couldn’t walk into a mixed martial arts gym and introduce herself without getting a lot of oohs and aahs over her lineage. The Fiores were like royalty in the MMA world.

      “Liz, please show Ms. Fiore around. I need to make this call.” Kyle barely looked at her as he strode away.

      Bella watched him go, chewing on her lower lip. Apparently, Mr. Three-Time Olympic Gold Medalist didn’t have to use his manners. But her oldest brother, Marco, had said Kyle Peters was one of the best wrestling coaches around. He’d helped a lot of MMA fighters, including the current UFF welterweight champion, Dominic Payette, for whom the gym was named, climb to stardom. That he was willing to make time for her in exchange for her working at the UFF gym was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.

      Liz gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Kyle’s kind of a bear before his first cup of coffee. And he hates having his morning routine thrown off.” She rounded the counter. “Let me give you the fifty-cent tour.”

      Bella had seen photos of Payette’s, but they didn’t do the state-of-the-art facility justice. The place was enormous, big enough to fit a full-size MMA cage and a boxing ring on the same floor with room for universal machines, free weights and other fitness equipment. The second floor housed a separate multipurpose martial arts studio covered in thick rubber mats. Mirrors lined one wall. Six men of various sizes worked on the heavy bags chained to the exposed metal beams. One of them looked up and shouted across the room to where a man slouched against a pillar reading a magazine. They both came at Liz’s beckoning.

      “These are our senior coaches,” Liz said as they approached. “Tito’s our physical therapist and Muay Thai instructor—” Bella shook hands with the stouter of the two “—and Orville’s our judo teacher. Boys, this is Bella Fiore.”

      “I trained with your cousin Robert a few years ago in New Jersey,” Orville said to Bella, a big grin splitting his face. “When I heard a Fiore was coming here, I thought it was going to be him.”

      “Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

      “Oh, I don’t mean—”

      She waved him off, giving him an understanding smile. She didn’t mean to sound defensive or self-deprecating, but she knew what everyone was thinking: Why on earth was a Fiore training outside of a Fiore-run gym?

      “Rob devotes most of his time to teaching at the family studio in Dallas now,” she said. “I’ll tell him hello for you.” There was no need to explain herself further. No need to get into the details of her break from the family, though people would probably hear about it sooner or later.

      Liz led her back downstairs and showed her the ladies’ locker room. “I’ll let you get changed while I pull the paperwork together. Feel free to explore, use the equipment, warm up. This’ll be your gym, too, for the next six months.” She glanced toward the office at the end of the room, her lips pursed. “Kyle’s probably going to be in his office for a bit.”

      “A bit” wouldn’t hurt, Bella decided. She needed time to get her head into the game and figure out what Kyle Peters’s problem was.

      * * *

      “BELLA FIORE, EH?” Kyle pictured the president of the UFF, Hadrian Blackwell, sitting back in his executive office chair. With his thick, dark hair and perpetual five-o’clock shadow, the man looked and sounded like the real-life Fred Flintstone. “A perfect 6-0 record, with three KOs and one submission. She’s got talent, that’s for sure.”

      “She does.” Kyle had a YouTube video of Bella’s most recent fight running on mute on his laptop. She’d dominated her opponent in the three-round matchup in April. She had a mean right hook and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to the other woman’s head that made Kyle wince. “But it’s not as if she has a lot of competition in her weight class.”

      “She would if she dropped ten pounds. The women’s 145-pound weight class has got some serious contenders and lots of up-and-comers.”

      “You’re watching girl fights now?” The UFF president had once infamously said that women’s MMA was an insult to the sport and that no woman would ever enter a UFF cage unless she was in a bikini and holding round numbers.

      “MMA’s my business. I watch everything that has to do with my world.” Hadrian said it so sharply that Kyle’s humor shriveled. “And speaking of business, what’s going on with my gym?”

      Kyle had been anticipating this conversation. He took a deep breath. “Economic downturn. People just aren’t signing up for memberships.”

      “According to the numbers, people are leaving Payette’s. None of the other gyms are losing business. What gives?”

      Kyle’s throat felt tight. “We’re working on a new campaign strategy. I’ll be forwarding details to you soon.”

      “I don’t give a crap about ads and handing out free passes. The reputation and quality of the trainers speaks for itself. You’ve got what should be the crown jewel with all your heavy hitters. So what’s the problem?”

      Kyle dug his thumb into the knot of stress between his clenched jaw and his ear. “I can’t