The Fighter (The High Rise, Book 1)

  The Fighter

  The High Rise, Book 1

  Harper Bentley

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2016 Harper Bentley

  Editors: Franca, Mel & Sam

  Cover image licensed by SC Photography

  Cover model: Lance Jones

  Cover Photo design by Jada D’Lee Designs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior express, written consent of the author

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  To TC & Amy

  For your endless hours of

  support,

  encouragement

  and cheerleading

  You’re the best!

  Drinks on me soon!

  <3

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Harper’s Hot Recs

  Acknowledgments

  Gable—Chapter 1

  About the Author

  One

  I step off my treadmill and look across the weight room at the shirtless, tattooed god holding huge dumbbells in his hands and lifting his arms out to his sides. The striations in the muscles in his shoulders bulge like they’re going to pop right out of his skin and I mumble, “Holy hell.” I say this just before turning and running smack dab into a pole which makes my best friend Dani Hanson snort. “Shit!” I hiss moving my hand up to rub my aching nose then glance back to see that Hot Tattooed Guy saw everything and is now looking at me as if I’m totally the trainwreck that I am.

  Great.

  “C’mon, Laney,” Dani says grabbing my arm and leading me to the locker room still snickering at my idiocy.

  This is day three that Dani and I have been training for the marathon my dad’s company is sponsoring in May. He owns Kyle Properties, the company for which I work as a leasing agent and that also owns The Estates, the apartment building in which Dani and I live and have been working out in the gym the past several mornings. Uncle Edward, who is Dad’s half-brother and the superintendent of The Estates, somehow talked me into representing the company in the godforsaken run, and since Dani and I get a break on rent, I couldn’t turn him down. Thankfully Dani feels the same and has agreed to accompany me. It’s now early March so we’ve got about a month and a half to train so yippee.

  Since I’ve never been very athletic—Dani disagrees that filing my nails should count as exercising—I’ve been less than thrilled about our training but if it means I get to see Hot Tattooed Guy every day, it’s all good. He’s been here every morning working out which has made the last two easier for me to get my ass out of bed in the expectation of seeing him. Of course, every other woman in here has noticed him too. How could they not? He’s handsome, built and brilliantly tattooed. They’d have to be blind not to notice him.

  I swear, if they slapped his ass on a billboard, he’d definitely make a great marketing tool because if every gym in America claimed they had someone like him working out there, I guarantee their enrollment would go way up. And not just for women. I’ve seen several men watching him too, he’s that hot.

  When she opens the locker room door, Dani turns and says, “See you tomorrow, Craig!” and waves to the trainer who runs the gym facility, who from day one has given me the creeps. He gives her a head jerk with a somewhat smarmy grin as he checks out her ass when she turns and I make a gagging sound. “Stop,” she chides as we go inside to shower and change.

  “You know I don’t like him,” I reply. “He—”

  “I know, I know. When you leased him his apartment he gave off a rapist-slash-bad guy vibe. But I still think he’s cute.”

  “Yeah, in a rapist-slash-bad guy kinda way,” I retort as I check in the mirror to make sure my nose hasn’t swollen to the size of a lemon which is what it feels like. Once I’m assured I’m not going to be mistaken for impersonating Owen Wilson any time too soon, I shake my head at how dumb I am. “You’d think after all those years of ballet I’d have a modicum of coordination.”

  “Some people just have two left feet,” she offers with a shrug as she grabs her clothes and a towel before heading toward the shower cubicles. “Besides, I would’ve wiped out too from gawking at Hot Tattooed Guy if I hadn’t seen you bite it first.” She giggles as she closes the stall door. She’s used to my lack of poise from hanging out with me the last four years, the first two at UCLA as roommates our junior and senior years and the last two rooming together here at The Estates, so my gracelessness doesn’t even faze her anymore.

  “Guinness should be calling soon wanting to put me in their book as the clumsiest person on the face of the planet,” I holler after her, grabbing my own towel from the stack and a change of clothes from my locker. “And of course, HTG just had to be looking!”

  “You’re not that bad. Besides, maybe he thought it was endearing,” Dani soothes as she turns on her water.

  “Ha! Fat chance of that!” I say, reaching into my cubicle and turning on my water too. I pull off my t-shirt and shorts then curse like a sailor as I try to get my stupid sweaty sports bra off. Finally disrobed, I step into the shower and turn the showerhead to the hardest setting groaning when the hot water pounds against my sore muscles.

  “And he wasn’t paying any attention until you screamed out ‘Shit’ after you decided to make out with that pole!”

  “Well, shit,” I grumble as I turn to let the water blast my lower back and let out a deep sigh. “He’s probably a player anyway. Guys who look like him always are!” I call back to her.

  “My, aren’t we judgy today?” she answers.

  I shrug knowing she can’t see me. But since I’m pretty sure I’m right about Craig the rapist-slash-bad guy and I’m definitely positive that the last several men I’ve dated were total players, I think I have a right to be a tad judgmental. And HTG appears to fit right in with the lot of them. To prove my point (and expertise at my now finely honed ability of spotting a jerk a mile away), I holler, “Riley Jackson!”

  “Fluke!” she retorts.

  “Brance Cunningham!”

  “Another fluke!”

  “Jimmy Aaronson!”

  I h
ear her chuckle. “Okay. Player. But one out of three isn’t bad!”

  I let out an unbelieving huff as I lean back to get my hair wet. “Riley was texting other women throughout our entire date! Then he asked for another chance, which I gave, and nothing changed! I wanted to set his phone on fire! Brance basically told me he had another date to get to when he dropped me off after our date! Another second chance, another date after dropping me off!”

  She starts laughing. Ugh.

  “And Jimmy, well, he was something else altogether!” I holler as I roll my eyes.

  “Hey, we’re two attractive women, Lane. What guy wouldn’t want a threesome with us?” She now lets out a cackle.

  I’d dated Jimmy for two weeks. We’d just had sex for the first time and after I went to the bathroom, I come out to see him propositioning Dani in the hallway asking if she wanted to join us.

  After I requested he leave, he’d called the next eleven days straight begging for a second chance, which I stupidly gave. Things had actually gone well on our next date, and just when I’d thought he was a changed man, while we were making out on my sofa, he’d asked that once we went to my bed if I’d call him Kanye and that was the last straw. I’d kicked his ass out and told him to lose my number.

  I knew it’d be the last second chance I’d ever give. And I’d told myself that from now on, I was walking at the first sign of jerkiness. I also decided that I was taking a timeout from men. I was now at six months and counting.

  Dani’s still laughing and I can’t help but chuckle. Man, I’ve hooked up with some total dogs. “Okay, okay, judge away,” she concedes after her laughter dies down.

  “Thank you,” I mutter feeling somewhat validated.

  I’m lost in showerland having shampooed and rinsed twice before Dani calls from the next stall, “I’ve gotta run! I’ll see you tonight!”

  “Okay! Have fun!” I reply knowing she’s already gone when I hear the locker room door shut.

  She works as a personal assistant for Chastity Chastain, an up-and-coming TV actress who thinks she’s already made it big. Although she’s only made bit appearances on a couple sitcoms, which is pretty awesome, she still isn’t “somebody” by Hollywood’s tough standards. I’ve met her before and everything about her screamed “Star” including her bossing Dani around, but Dani loves working for her and says the pay is good, so more power to her, I guess. Oh, and the stories I get to hear when she comes home are mega-interesting, so there’s that too.

  I stay in the shower much too long recognizing this when I see my fingers are starting to prune. I reluctantly get out, drying off and putting my hair up in a towel. I then pull on shorts and the giant 49ers hoodie I stole from Jimmy—it being the only halfway decent thing to come out of our relationship—before gathering up my sweaty clothes to leave, hoping I don’t run into anyone I know, which of course means I will.

  The minute I open the locker room door I take a quick look around then make a beeline to the elevators. Once there, I put my key in and push the up button, impatiently waiting for the doors to open and humming a few off-key bars of The Struts’ “Kiss This.” I’m actually singing, horribly I might add, and shaking my hips a little to the silent beat when I hear someone let out a deep chuckle from behind me.

  Shit.

  No way am I turning around to see HTG laughing at me. And I know it has to be him because that’s just my luck. Instead, I hold a hand to my ear as if I have earbuds in and can’t hear him because, you know, that doesn’t look ridiculous.

  The elevator doors open and I get in quickly hoping he isn’t paying attention and the doors close on him before he notices, but, alas, I’m not that fortunate. HTG follows me in and as I stare straight ahead, softly humming and bobbing my head to music I’m still not hearing and more than likely appearing even more ludicrous than I did before, I know he’s staring at me. Several seconds go by before I’m finally forced to look at him since he’s still just standing there. Crap. I glance over and give him a weak smile noticing he’s even more good looking up close. God. Dark hair that’s a little long on his neck, chestnut eyes that are sharp and alert, and a chiseled jaw to match all the hotness he has going on everywhere else. He’s now wearing an old Alice in Chains t-shirt that stretches tightly across his well-developed chest and I have to purse my lips to keep from drooling. When he raises his eyebrows at me, I’m forced to take a nonexistent earbud out and raise my eyebrows right back at him in question.

  “What floor?” he asks, lips twitching and I know he’s trying not to laugh at the absurd girl next to him.

  “Oh! Um, seventeen, please,” I tell him watching as he pushes the button then put my “earbud” back in and face the front mentally cussing myself out for being so dumb.

  “Never seen those before.”

  I turn toward him again and take out the “bud” knowing I’m just making myself look more idiotic as the moments pass. “What?”

  “I said I’ve never seen invisible earbuds before.” He smirks at me before facing the front himself and I know the jig is up. “Great song, by the way,” he adds with a chuckle.

  My shoulders sag at having been found out and I turn toward him ready to face the music, as it were.

  “You’re right. Look, I know you saw me run into the pole or at least after I nailed it and now I’m pretending to listen to music so I don’t have to talk to you because I’m embarrassed. And I also know you’re more than likely a player.” At his look of surprise, I clarify, “A jerk, a tool, a cad.” I see him mouth the word “cad” as he frowns. And still I soldier on. Go me. “Guys who look as good as you are usually pricks and because of that, it wouldn’t do me any good to talk to you since I’ve had it up to here with assholes lately.” I raise my hand to the top of my head and flick my wrist to prove how fed up I am. Perfect. “So can we just forget this ever happened?”

  He smirks and now I want to die of embarrassment at my verbal diarrhea. Yep. I’m a great first-impression kind of chick.

  His smirk turns into a handsome grin which turns into an even more handsome smile as he looks down at me. “Are you always this honest?”

  I nod shrugging sheepishly. In the silence that follows I find myself biting my lips to keep my stupid mouth shut. But as he continues watching me, the pressure’s too much and it opens. “Yep. Don’t ever ask me for the truth because I’ll more than likely tell you.”

  While I am tactful about telling it like it is, he doesn’t need to know this. And I’m thinking this all needs to stop now because I’m feeling some chemistry between us which is not good, so I throw in the next part to scare him away. Not that he’d fall for me or anything. No, the reverse is more likely to happen because he’s totally hot, and I’m one-bazillion percent sure I couldn’t resist jumping in bed with him if he so much as blinked an eye my way because of the guy sabbatical I’ve been on.

  So all the nopes to this shit.

  I most definitely don’t need him being nice, making me develop a crush on him only to find out that he really is a jerk turning my suspicions to realities because I think it just might devastate me. So I hit him with my worst making sure to drive him away. “And don’t tell me any of your deepest, darkest secrets because they could come out just like that,” I lie, snapping my fingers for emphasis.

  He laughs. “I’ll make sure to remember that.”

  With that out of the way and since we’re here and I’ve decided this is going nowhere, I might as well make the most of it and find out what his story is since I know I didn’t lease him his apartment.

  “So when did you move in?” I inquire curiously. I know Diane didn’t hook him up because she would’ve bragged about how good looking he is making sure to let me now that he asked her out. She’s in her late forties, very pretty but kind of a snob (okay, so she has a huge stick up her ass) so I doubt she’d go for the tattooed type. Maybe it was Walter. He’s older and wouldn’t give a flip what this guy looks like as long as he made a commission.

&nbs
p; “Two weeks ago.”

  “Yeah? Who was your leasing agent?”

  He raises an eyebrow at me and teases, “Is this one of those secrets I shouldn’t tell you?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “No. I work for Kyle Properties and I know I didn’t work with you, so I was just wondering who did.”

  I see his whole body suddenly go rigid and his smile is now gone. This makes me frown at his change in demeanor and I wonder what just happened.

  “Actually, I went through a proxy so I’ll have to ask them who it was,” he informs, his voice sounding clipped.

  Dang. What the hell did I do to instantly piss this guy off? And, hm. That’s unusual. Most people do their own leasing but whatever. Maybe this guy’s someone famous or something and wants to keep his privacy.

  “Nope. Not famous,” he answers gruffly and I guess I must’ve said that out loud.

  Jeez. I’m on fire today.

  “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.” I shake my head in disgust at myself.

  “Heath Noble.”

  Heath Noble? Is that who leased to him? I’ve never heard of him and I know he doesn’t work in realty around here. Maybe he’s new. I look up at HTG with a frown. “Who?”

  “Me. I’m Heath Noble.” His dark eyes are narrowed on mine as he holds out his hand for me to shake.

  I gaze first at his handsome face then glance down at his hand. My eyes next wander up his arm with the full sleeve, mesmerized by the gorgeous colors of the tattoos on it thinking Heath is a perfectly badass name to go with his amazing body before realizing I’m staring. “Oh, um, Laney Kyle,” I respond wanting to smack myself in the forehead before putting my hand in his which is huge and envelops mine completely.

  “Of Kyle Properties?”

  “That would be correct,” I answer. He squeezes my hand a little too tightly for a moment then abruptly lets it go. Well, ouch, kinda. In the silence that follows, I gaze over at and quip, “So are you?”