Lena

Despite my best efforts to persuade Adrian to hand Jase Rawlins to another member of the team—because we clearly aren't a good fit for each other—Tuesday morning rolls around and I'm stuck with him. I'm on my second coffee of the day, a hazelnut mocha whip, when Breanna, my favorite person in the building, marches into my office and drops a tabloid on my desk.

I greet her with a smile. "Hey, Bree."

At a smidge over five feet, with flawless brown skin and more curves than an hourglass, Breanna is basically my opposite, except when it comes to levels of sass. In that, we're equal.

"You see the news, Lee?" she asks, wasting no time with pleasantries. Smoothing out the magazine, she points to the headline. "Your latest pet project won a front page spot. I hope you have an appetite for damage control because that's all that's on the menu today."

I lean over to get a better look at the headline, which reads, "Scared into silence? Jase 'The Wrangler' Rawlins stalks battered ex-girlfriend outside her workplace".

Oh. Fuck. No.

That idiot. That monumental, moronic, miniature-brained man. Champion fighter or not, I could kill him with my bare hands.

"Tell me he didn't," I say, going straight to the damning photograph of Jase towering aggressively over the petite blonde I know to be Erin Daley. The date in the corner shows it was taken yesterday. Shit. I scramble to order my thoughts. Breanna is right; this will take an act of God to counter, and I don't have a direct line to the man upstairs.

"That's one of three mags I've seen today with different takes on the same theme," Breanna tells me, sliding into the chair opposite and giving me time to read. It seems Jase took it upon himself to pay a visit to Erin at her work yesterday after I returned to the office. The article says he was overheard speaking to her with a raised voice and threatening her if she didn't keep silent.

I finish reading, flip it shut, close my eyes, and groan. "This is bad."

"Worse than any frat boy crap your usual clients pull," Breanna agrees. "What are you going to do?"

Straightening, I tug a hand through my hair, grateful I decided to wear it loose. "I don't know. Give me ten minutes, I need to think on it."

She eyes me dubiously. "Don't take too long. You need to start putting out those fires."

"I know." I've been trying to put out fires ever since Jase Rawlins sauntered into my life, and it seems like I'm only adding fuel to the flames. Was it my conversation with him that prompted him to confront his ex? God, I hope not. "On second thought, sitting around here isn't going to fix anything." Standing, I shove my chair back and grab my purse. "I'm going to track him down and demand to know what the hell he was thinking."

"Atta girl." She slaps my butt as I pass her on the way out. "You tell that big alpha fighter how it is, Lee."

"Oh, I plan to."

Jase Rawlins doesn't know what's about to hit him. Fuming, I make my way through the office and give the stink-eye to the cute security guard when he tries to flirt with me, then stomp all the way to my car. It's a good thing I've been wearing heels since the same age I developed boobs, otherwise I'd have broken an ankle by now. The drive to Crown MMA Gym only worsens my mood because I hit traffic the moment I leave the parking building and it doesn't let up the whole way, giving me plenty of time to stew.

Pausing, I reapply my lipstick and smooth my hair, which, thanks to my nervous habit of messing with it, is no longer sleek and professional. Satisfied I don't look as frazzled as I feel, I snatch the magazine from the passenger seat and stalk across the asphalt. Someone whistles, and I snap around, my gaze landing on a guy who's leaning out of a car window. I flip him the bird.

"Aw, don't be like that," he calls, but I step inside and slam the door.

A dozen men swivel to face me, possibly curious who has the audacity to interrupt their workout. Most of them resume training a few seconds later, but Jase's eyes widen and he falls back a step. Gabe is holding pads for him, and he gives me a slight nod. I start forward, only remembering to remove my shoes at the last moment. When I try to tug them off, the buckle-up pumps don't cooperate, and I have to sit, my skirt riding up my thighs. Both Jase and Gabe watch the show without offering to help. Jackasses. Finally free of the shoes, and unfortunately several inches shorter, I cross to them and slam the magazine against Jase's chest.

"Want to tell me what the hell you werethinking?"