Fighting for What's His (Warrior Fight Club 2)

Which was why, after he cleaned up, he logged into his email, opened the message from a new prospective client that had hit his inbox earlier that afternoon, and agreed to a meeting to talk about the marital infidelity surveillance work she wanted to hire him to do.

If he had to stay out of his house for a few days to get his shit together, he fucking would.

“Hey, Shayna. Some of us are going out after work. Would you like to come?” Havana Jones asked.

Shayna looked away from the photo editing p

roject she’d been assigned, surprised to see that it was already nearly five o’clock. “Wow, where did the day go already?” she said, smiling at the woman who was quickly becoming one of her favorite people at work.

Havana had worked for the paper’s graphic arts department for about nine months and always had such a warm smile and a big laugh that she immediately put you at ease. Plus the fact that she’d grown up and gone to college in DC meant that she knew all the best places to go.

“I don’t even know, but it’s a good thing when time at your job flies by.” Havana leaned her hip against the desk. “So, you in?”

“I’d love to join. Thanks. When did you want to go?” Shayna asked, wondering if she could finish her work on the two remaining photographs.

She’d been assigned to the team of news editor, Joe Daniels, and picture editor, Rose Kim, and these photos were part of her second editing assignment for her new bosses. This particular community feature wasn’t running until next week, so she had a few days to finish them. Still, it would be good to get in the habit of working ahead of deadline.

“Maybe half an hour? I’m gonna round up some other folks and then we can officially celebrate the fact that it’s Friday.” Havana’s tight black curls moved as she rounded Shay’s desk.

“Sounds good,” Shayna said, excited to be getting to know people better and to make some friends. Especially since it’d been so quiet around her house all week. Billy had taken some surveillance job that necessitated he work nights, which meant that their schedules were complete opposites.

She hadn’t seen him for more than five minutes since The. Kiss.

Oh, man, the kiss.

A kiss that had literally been the stuff of which dreams were made. Because she couldn’t stop thinking about it, even when she was asleep. And when she was awake, just the memory of how good it’d been was enough to turn her on, which was probably why she’d gotten herself off thinking about it—and him—three times in the past five days.

It was as if, with just one hit of him, she’d become an addict, incapable of thinking about or wanting anything else. It was bad.

But, on the plus side, at least there hadn’t been much opportunity for things to be weird between her and Billy, who no doubt had long forgotten what’d happened. The guy was older, a hero with a Purple Heart, a world traveler, and hot as hell. Shay wouldn’t be surprised if their little moment ranked way down his list of hottest-things-that’d-ever-happened.

Meanwhile, despite the fact that she’d had more than a few boyfriends and two no-strings-attached, on-again/off-again fuck buddies in her day, her up-against-the-wall make-out session with Billy ranked somewhere close to the top of hers.

Le sigh.

“Stop thinking of the stupid fuckstick, Shay,” she whispered to herself. But, then, of course, She. Could. Only. Think. About. Billy’s. Fuck. Stick. For. Fuck’s. Sake.

On a sigh, she dropped her head forward and heaved a deep breath.

In her mind’s eye, she saw that old Seinfeld episode. No fucksticks for you! Come back one year!

And that was precisely when she knew her Friday night was going to require alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. All. The. Alcohol.

An hour later, she and five other new and newish Gazette staff members crowded around a high-boy table in a bar a few blocks from the office. The place was popular and the music was loud, so they were all leaning close just to be able to hear one another.

“To surviving your orientation week,” Havana said, raising her glass.

Shayna joined the others in raising her strawberry mojito and clinking. “Here, here,” she said, everyone laughing and joking.

Leah Scott, Malik Morrison, and Rob Cho were among the other newbies who had started the week with Shayna, and of them, only Rob had been assigned to her team. So it was good to have the chance to spend more time with them out.

“Did you all hear that reporter in the newsroom earlier?” Leah asked. Petite with a short, pixie-like haircut, she was loud and funny and talked non-stop, and was one of the new reporters.

“Who? Maxwell?” Bran Morgan asked. Shayna had just met him on the way to the bar, and all she knew of him was that he was a sports reporter.

“I think so,” Leah said. “Short, bald guy.”

Next to her, Rob pushed up black glasses that matched his short hair. “Yeah, that’s him. I met him yesterday.”