Torn: (#12 The Beat and The Pulse) Read online

  Torn

  (#12 The Beat and The Pulse)

  Amity Cross

  Torn (#12 The Beat and The Pulse) by Amity Cross

  Copyright © 2019 by Amity Cross/Nicole R. Taylor

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Pirating sucks. Please support your favourite author by purchasing their work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, song titles, song lyrics, products and brand names either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

  Contents

  1. Amber

  2. Amber

  3. Lawson

  4. Amber

  5. Amber

  6. Amber

  7. Lawson

  8. Amber

  9. Amber

  10. Lawson

  11. Amber

  12. Amber

  13. Lawson

  14. Amber

  15. Amber

  16. Lawson

  17. Amber

  18. Amber

  19. Lawson

  20. Amber

  21. Lawson

  22. Amber

  23. Amber

  24. Amber

  25. Amber

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  About the Author

  “Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

  ― Maya Angelou

  1

  Amber

  Name: Amber Wright.

  Age: Twenty-eight.

  Designation: The common denominator in her failed life.

  I’d started over so many times that the notion had just about lost its meaning.

  Staring up at the sign over the door, I smoothed down the invisible creases in my crisp, white shirt with a sweaty palm. The words Phoenix Health and Fitness were written in black with white trim, the background grey. A single boxing glove sat in the middle, giving a clue as to who the main clientele were—boxers and MMA fighters.

  I didn’t mind gyms, but I wasn’t exactly lining up to run on a treadmill anytime soon. Now I was working at one in one of the poshest suburbs of Melbourne. A sweaty gym, full of boxers and fighters.

  I swallowed hard, my stomach churning. The first day at a new job was always nerve-wracking. I should know because I’d had a lot of first days.

  Behind me, a tram rumbled past, the driver ringing the bell furiously. Ding, ding, ding, ding.

  I checked the time on my mobile phone—the same phone that never received any texts or calls because I had no one left to call me—and sighed. I had five minutes.

  It was a miracle I’d even gotten the job considering the length of my résumé. I was known as a serial job hopper—nothing could keep my attention for long. Job after job, each as different as the last. It took a heartfelt speech to even get my foot in the door, let alone land the job.

  Maybe that was what was stopping me from pressing the button to the intercom beside the door. Maybe he’d had second thoughts.

  A frustrated sigh broke through my rising anxiety.

  “Either you’re going in or you’re getting outta my way,” a male voice barked.

  My heart skipped a beat, and I cursed under my breath. Looking up, my gaze collided with a sex god and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  I stared at him, frozen to the spot. He was the kind of guy I used to fantasise over. Handsome, in a rugged way, with piercing green eyes, a sharp jaw covered in a fine layer of stubble, scruffy hair, muscles, tattoos—the works. Basically, he looked exactly like a hero out of a romance novel. My body began to zing, and I felt the temperature rising in my cheeks.

  I pushed my internal baggage away and scowled at his shitty tone of voice. Handsome didn’t mean he was a good guy. In the real world, well, he was just as likely to be an arsehole as the next guy.

  “Well?” he snapped.

  I tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind my ear and stepped aside. He was at least a head taller than I was, and I was up there on the scale. His glare intensified as he looked me over and obviously found my plain Jane appearance wanting.

  I felt my heart twist as old feelings rushed to the surface. You’re not pretty enough. You don’t say the right things. Your tits are flat as a surfboard. You don’t wear fashionable clothes. Your look doesn’t scream ‘sex kitten.’

  He’d just dismissed me with a single look, and I didn’t even open my mouth. Arrogant son of a bitch. Who did he think he was?

  I scowled at him as he pressed a key fob to the sensor beside the entrance. When the lock clicked, he shoved inside and let the door slam in my face. Staring after him, I felt my fragile confidence begin to fray at the edges. Fuck, he was even perfect from behind.

  Don’t let him get to you, I thought. He isn’t worth the heartache. He’s just some jerk who lifts weights and guzzles down protein powders. Forget him.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I pressed the button beside the door. A moment later, a voice crackled through the intercom.

  “Yeah?”

  “Simon? It’s Amber.”

  “Cool. I’ll be right down.”

  I waited on the street, studying the shops around the gym. Phoenix Health and Fitness stood on the corner of a busy intersection of Chapel Street, the main shopping district of the inner-city suburb of Prahran. Tram tracks crisscrossed the road, traffic was banked up, and pedestrians covered the footpath, lingering in packs at the traffic lights beside me. Further down the shopping strip were designer boutiques and nightclubs. Across the street were a noodle joint, a chemist, a shoe shop, three bars, and an upstairs nightclub. It was a real melting pot.

  “Amber,” a voice said. “Good to see you.”

  Turning, I smiled when I saw my new boss, Simon, leaning out the open door. He was wearing a T-shirt with the gym’s logo on it, shorts, and trainers, and I began to feel overdressed. He looked over my black pencil skirt, heels, and white business shirt and scratched his head.

  He was a decent enough guy and good looking in his own way. Blond hair, blue eyes, perfect bone structure, muscles. Just another man to intimidate me with his perfect body and nice personality.

  He held the door open for me, and I stepped inside. There was a customer service desk in the foyer, full of flyers and gym merchandise—T-shirts, hoodies, gym bags, water bottles, sweatbands. It was a complete mess, but that’s why I’d been hired.

  “Am I wearing the wrong thing?” I asked, my grip tightening around my bag. “I wasn’t sure… You never said…”

  “It’s just a little formal for simple guys like us. Here”—he ducked behind the counter and fished out a cardboard box—“what size are you? We’ve got these cool women’s shirts. We’ve got black, black, or black.”

  “Um, large and, uh, black, I guess?”

  Simon handed me a shirt and nodded toward the change rooms. “If you wanna change, I’ll wait.”

  Nodding, I took the T-shirt. Ducking into the women’s change room, I was surprised to find it empty. All the shower stalls were vacant, the mirrors were polished to a high shine, the soap dispensers were full, and not a drop of water was on the floors. I was the only person in here.

  I closed myself in a stall and unbuttoned my shirt. The air reeked of testosterone. Out in the gym, I could hear the dull sounds of fists hitting punching bags, rock music playing over the speaker s
ystem, the metallic clink of weight machines, and male laughter. Looking down at my bra, I frowned. Was I the only woman in here? If I were looking for a bit of fun, maybe that would be an awesome prospect, but I wasn’t, and I couldn’t help but worry.

  Sure Amber, give up men and what’s the first thing you do? Get a job at a male dominated fighter gym. Thumbs up!

  Pulling the T-shirt over my head with a sigh, I tucked it into the waistband of my skirt, pulling the edges so I looked less formal. I combed my fingers through my hair, checked my makeup, and then shoved my white shirt into my bag. I didn’t have to be perfect on my first day, right?

  When I ventured out into the gym again, Simon was talking to another employee. I stopped in my tracks, my hackles rising. It was the arrogant sex god from outside, and I almost asphyxiated on my own spit.

  Outside, he’d been wearing a plain tank top, but now, he was squished into a tight-fitting black T-shirt that said ‘trainer’ over one of his perfectly sculpted man boobs. I could even see his erect nipples pressing against the fabric. He worked here?

  “She works here?” he asked, eerily echoing my thoughts. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. Just the one. The quirky skill didn’t detract from his unimpressed assessment of my employment status.

  “Yes, she works here,” I snapped, speaking to him for the first time. He still hadn’t bothered to speak to me, I might add. What a tool.

  Simon snorted, and his lips curved into a grin. “Lawson, this is Amber. I brought her on to help with the admin.”

  The guy, Lawson, turned and glared at me. My gaze met his, and everything came alive. Everything naughty. Quivering thighs, hard nipples, the works. The juice factory was open and in full production. It was trouble. Big, bad, epic trouble. He was the kind of guy who would chew me up and spit me out. What helped stop me from falling instantly in lust with him was the coldness in his stare…and the fact he’d slammed the door in my face earlier.

  I glared back at him, and it was instant dislike. Hate was a strong word, and I hesitated to use it, but it was borderline.

  “And payroll,” I said, curling my lip.

  “Day one and she’s already a bitch?” Lawson asked Simon. “You sure know how to pick them.”

  “I’m a reasonable person,” I declared. “All this is just a reaction to all that.”

  Lawson’s head snapped around. The look of anger he shot me burned away at the thin layer of confidence I’d brought along that morning. After a moment, he grunted and stalked away, weaving through a row of gym equipment.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, getting all flustered. “It just came out.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Simon said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll have a word with him, but I should be giving you a gold star for that comeback.” He winked and ushered me through the gym. “Lawson’s harmless. He’s a bit of a dickhead but a harmless dickhead. All bark, no bite. That kind of thing.”

  Sure…

  We walked past weight and rowing machines, exercise bikes, cross trainers, and all kinds of mysterious gadgets until we reached the back where the offices were. An old spiral staircase was set into the back wall, and we climbed upward to the floor above, which sat partially out over the gym below. The rest of the ceiling was devoted to skylights that let a great deal of natural light in.

  Upstairs, Simon led me into the office that would be my domain.

  Two walls were full of windows, one looking out to the street below and the other affording a view of the front section of the gym floor. The space was white and sparse, the only decoration a couple of desks, a double filing cabinet, a water cooler, a printer, and a fancy iMac computer.

  “Here it is,” Simon said, gesturing to the desk. “Home sweet home. You remember the downstairs from the interview, right?”

  I nodded. “Kitchen, change rooms, private classroom, gym.”

  “I know it’s not much to look at, but feel free to bring in a plant or something,” he said with a grin. “Decorating isn’t my forte.”

  “There are not many women here,” I said, sitting behind the desk and stashing my bag on the floor.

  “I’m working on that,” Simon replied sheepishly. “I’ve had the place barely a year, and it’s taking more time than I’d like to build up a mixed clientele.”

  “Oh.”

  “The place used to be a hardcore fighter gym before I bought it,” he went on. “Does the name Gabe O’Connell mean anything to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “That’s refreshing.” He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “The guy was a real scumbag. He was a pro-MMA fighter and got banned for life for trying to break a guy’s neck in the ring. This was where he used to train, and he owned the place, so it’s still got the stigma.”

  “Even with the new management?”

  “People rarely forget something like that,” he replied.

  I thought about my own life but couldn’t compare it to the struggles Simon was facing getting his business up and running. Not even those of that Gabe guy. Having someone else’s mistakes ruin your future before it even got off the ground? I couldn’t relate.

  “That’s a real shame,” I said. I wanted to offer some help, but I wasn’t sure what to do. Fitness was so far outside the realm of what I’d been hired for.

  “There’s a real boys’ club mentality in the fighter circles,” he said.

  “Lawson?” I prodded, tilting my head to the side.

  Simon laughed and shook his head. “That man is a force all by himself. If he gives you any trouble, let me know, okay?”

  I snorted and couldn’t help smiling. “I’ll lodge a workplace harassment complaint, don’t you worry.”

  Simon crossed his arms over his chest and regarded me for a moment. I squirmed, and then he finally said, “I’ve got a good feeling about you, Amber. A really good feeling.”

  I felt my cheeks begin to heat. The old Amber would’ve said nothing and developed a crush on the guy over that single throwaway comment, but the new Amber just narrowed her eyes and said, “Thanks, but I’ve sworn off men.”

  “Good because that means there’ll be more cock for me.”

  Embarrassment flooded my face, and I bit my bottom lip.

  “Glad we got that out of the way,” he said with a wink. “I’m masculine, but I float both ways. But what I want to know is why you’ve sworn off men?”

  “Um…” I glanced around the office. “I’m not sure that’s first day material?”

  “Hey, do you know that feeling when you just instantly like someone?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t get him. He was meant to be my boss, but here he was trying to be my friend. The dynamic was confusing. It might get me kicked out the door, but he’d already started talking about cocks, so it was worth the risk.

  “Why did you hire me?” I asked.

  “You’ve got life experience, Amber. Some people look at all those jobs and automatically peg you as a flight risk. Maybe you are, hell if I know, but what I need in my business right now is someone who knows a lot of different shit. There are a ton of demographics out there, and they come into places like these to get fit. Women, men, mothers, fathers, gym junkies, professionals, corporate types, hipsters, hippies, and Yogalates-chai-tea-drinking wannabes. Then there’s the staff. All male, all arrogant, all the time. We need a calm female touch to balance it all out. You follow?”

  “Somehow, I do.” I pulled a face. “You don’t want me to be the glue that holds all those things together, do you? I thought I was just here to handle the admin work.”

  “Yeah, but nah.” He propped himself on the edge of the desk. “What do you want, Amber?”

  “Huh?”

  “You gave me that heartfelt speech, remember? It seemed to come from a place of…” He shrugged. “You tell me.”

  I lowered my gaze, my stomach churning. How did you that explain your obsession with finding love ruined your life to the point it held no excitement for you anymore? What were
the appropriate words to tell your new boss about your last chance at getting it together?

  “I know you didn’t make it up,” he went on. “I saw the look in your eyes. Maybe one day, you’ll tell me about it because what I want from this place is for the people who work in it to like coming here. To hopefully become a family. To care for one another and what we do. You seemed to want something like that.”

  If that was what Simon wanted for his business, I wondered why Lawson worked here.

  Anyway, I didn’t know what to say to please the guy. I didn’t want to lose this job on the first day because I wasn’t sure I would get another one before rent was due…or at all.

  “I want to do a good job?” I offered.

  Simon smiled, but I could tell he wasn’t buying my evasion. Still, he didn’t press.

  “Then, let’s get started.” He clapped his hands together. “What do you know about turning on computers?”

  2

  Amber

  After a few days in the office of Phoenix Health and Fitness, I began to settle. The tenseness I’d been carrying around had almost evaporated, I’d learned the ropes—not that there were many—and I felt comfortable coming and going.

  I was much more into the dress code now that I had a Phoenix T-shirt. Grey acid-wash jeans and a pair of boots finished off the look, and I felt more comfortable squishing my feet into them than those heels. I was still left of centre from the sweats and trainers everyone else wore, but thankfully, I was just the office chick, and the boss was cool with it.