“Similar?” she scoffs. “Given the fact that you've got a mansion and a car with a driver and I have to rely on – you – to keep a roof over my head, forgive me if I'm not seeing the similarities.”
“I only mean that you have a hard time asking for help,” I say. “Or accepting it when it's offered. We're a lot alike in that way.”
A bitter little grin touches her mouth. “Given who you are, I also have a hard time believing you need a lot of help.”
“You might be surprised,” I say. “Where are you from? Originally, I mean. You're obviously not from Texas.”
She looks at me for a long moment, her arms crossed over her chest. The look in her eye is one of skepticism and suspicion. It's like she's debating with herself just how much personal information to give me.
“San Francisco,” she finally says.
“Ah, a California girl.”
“Oh, you know a little geography, good for you,” she says. “Apparently, those private tutors worked out well for you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “You know, you're pricklier than a porcupine,” I say. “Makes it hard for somebody to get to know you.”
“I don't want you to get to know me,” she snaps. “I want you to leave me alone.”
“But you haven't even heard my business proposal yet.”
“We have no business together, Mr. Keating,” she growls.
I shrug. “Well, not yet,” he says. “But if you hear me out, I think –”
“No, I don't want to hear you out,” she says. “My life is in ruins right now and I need to figure out how to put it all back together.”
I slip my hands into my pockets and try to give her a reassuring look. “And I think that's where I can help you,” I say. “And you can help me.”
Her expression is one of a woman who just had a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. And I can't tell whether she's going to hear me out or scratch my eyes out. I'm coming to realize that's just part of her charm.
“Look, I appreciate what you did for me. I really do,” she says. “But I really don't want anything else to do with you. I'll get you your money back as soon as I'm back on my feet. Now, if you don't mind, I really need to go.”
Without waiting for me to reply, she turns on her heel and marches swiftly down the street. I shake my head and sigh. This girl is going to be one tough nut to crack. But I'm a Texan and we're as stubborn as the day is long. And we don't give up that easily.
Chapter Thirteen
Amanda
I sit in my apartment stewing. It's been two days since Brady saved my ass and kept me from being homeless. Two days of stewing about it, two days of filling out applications, and two days of not getting a phone call for a single interview. Not one.
As I sit there stewing about it, a dark and oppressive feeling settles down over me. Depression. No doubt, that's what my old therapist would have said – right before she prescribed me a dozen different pills to fight it off. That's one reason therapy doesn't work for me. The last thing I want to do is walk around in a drugged-out haze feeling like a zombie. That's not how I want to spend my life.
I take a deep breath and let it out again, trying to focus on the positives in my life right now. Of course, it doesn't take long to count them. I don't have to worry about not having a roof over my head – because of Brady Keating.
Knowing that I'm not sleeping behind some dumpster in an alley only because of that man makes my blood boil. He's an insufferable prick and I hate the fact that I am indebted to him. Just seeing his face and hearing that slow Texas drawl of his makes me want to scream – and punch something.
Which is what I decide to do. I need to go blow off some steam and clear my head – and of course, punch something.
I put on my gym clothes, grab my bag, and head out the door. A good, intense workout down at PowerCore is exactly what I need.
ooo000ooo
A twenty-minute walk later, I step into the cool air of the gym. The music is bumping and people are working out on the bags and are lifting in the weight area. I feel like I'm in my element – one of the only places in this stupid city I feel like I belong.
I drop my bag in the locker room and head out to do a little bag work. I'm definitely going to need to do some sparring, but I want to warm up a bit. I let the music fill me, get my energy up, and start my usual warm-up routine on the bag.
“I can't believe you didn't tell me.”
I turn around to find Adrian standing there staring at me. He looks a little perturbed, but mostly just concerned. I don't even have to ask him what he's talking about though – I already know.
“It's not a big deal,” I say, hoping I sound convincing. “Just a bump in the road, right?”
He holds on to the bag for me as I throw a series of jab and kick combinations to it.
“But why didn't you tell me?” he asks. “Why did I have to find out from Misty when I went in to get a coffee the other day?”
I stop what I'm doing and stand there to catch my breath for a moment. “Because I don't want you feeling sorry for me,” I say. “Or feel obligated to help me. You already do so much for me by letting me work out here, Adrian.”
He scoffs. “Please. I've seen those bathrooms,” he says. “You earn every minute you spend in this gym, believe me.”
I grin and shake my head. “Seriously though,” I say. “It's all good. It'll work out.”
His look of concern deepens. “What about rent and keeping a roof over your head, Amanda?” he asks. “I've got plenty of room in my place –”
I shake my head. “It's covered,” I say. “I'm – good.”
I just refuse to tell him how it's been covered – it's a bitter pill I still can't swallow myself just yet.
“Food? Bills?” he asks.
“I've got a little bit in savings,” I say and smile. “Enough to last until I get another job. I'm not going to starve. I'm just not going to be able to go on those wild shopping sprees I usually go on.”
He laughs. “Right,” he says. “You pinch pennies harder than anybody I know.”
“Which is why I know I'll be okay until something comes along.”
There is, of course, no guarantee that I'm not going to starve. I may have a roof over my head, but my savings is dwindling and I really don't know when I'm going to catch a break and get an interview somewhere.
“Promise me that if things get hairy, you'll call me,” Adrian says.
I give his arm a gentle squeeze and give him a smile. Adrian is one of the best guys I've ever known. He's sweet and genuine. And for whatever reason, he really seems to care about me.
“I promise,” I say.
He looks me in the eye, trying to determine whether I'm telling the truth or not. “You not only pinch pennies harder than anybody I know, you're also one of the most stubborn and proud people I know,” he says. “But this isn't a time for that shit, Amanda. I'm serious. If you need something – anything – you call me right away.”
I nod, a feeling of gratitude coursing through my body. “I really, really don't deserve you, Adrian.”
He squeezes my hand and smiles. “No, you really don't.”
I clear my throat and try to diffuse the awkward tension that's settled down over me. “Anybody up for sparring today?”
“Actually, yeah,” he says. “Guy just came in and thinks he's hot shit. He actually asked to spar with you by name.”
I shake my head and groan. “Please tell me Armando isn't back looking to settle up with me?”
“No, no,” he says. “Some guy who's new to the gym, actually.”
“And you're going to let him spar already?”
He shrugs. “He paid extra for the privilege,” he says. “Who am I to say no? Besides, I'm starting to think that you're becoming a legend after what you did to Armando. Guys are paying to come in to take a shot at you. I think I can turn a few bucks on you.”
I punch him in the shoulder and laugh. “Ass,” I say. “But hey, if this guy wants to spar, let's get it on. I need to beat somebody.”
“Just – don't kill him,” he says. “It's his first time and he pays, so I'd like to keep him around a bit.”
“I'll do my best,” I say and laugh, feeling a bit better than I have in days. “No guarantees though.”