“I didn’t think you’d keep something this f**king important from me either. Since we decided—together—to try to make this work, I have laid myself open for you. You know things about me that no one else does. Not only in our intimate relationship, but in my business relationships. What I’ve done for TP and Max? Very privileged information. It’s a testament to how much I trust you that Max spoke so freely in front of you tonight.”
Shit.
“I’m not surprised Okada chose your designs, because you have the talent and drive to get to the next level. But since this is my family in the mix, and I know what my family is capable of far better than you, you need to understand that I don’t trust it. I don’t want you to be beholden to them.”
“Excuse me, but you’re the one who suggested my company for the project in the first place. After all the bullshit that went down between us, I put it out of my mind. So it’s a huge ego boost that Shiori didn’t toss the designs in the garbage. She passed them on to the appropriate people in the company, and those designs stood on their own merit. That is completely different from you throwing your girlfriend a bone because you’re feeling sorry for her and you had the means to contribute to her self-worth.”
“Did you ever consider that I’d like to be a part of celebrating your achievements? Since you’re helping me celebrate mine tonight?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are the reason I asked ABC Brazilian jujitsu to become part of Black Arts. You suggested I needed to think outside of my little dojo box and I did. I value your opinion. But I see now that you don’t value mine.”
Her eyes searched his. “Ronin. That’s not even remotely close to true.”
“You’re always asking me to share my feelings? Well, here it is. I’m pissed off at you. I don’t even rate the courtesy of you telling me that you’re working for my family’s company. I’m pissed off that you were concerned enough about my health to snoop around for answers but not ask me directly. I’m pissed off that you’ve been goddamn hedging about moving in with me. I’m pissed off you still haven’t told me that you love me even when we both f**king know you do. This has become a one-sided f**king relationship, and you know it.”
Dammit. Don’t cry. He’s right, and your tears will just aggravate him further and come across as manipulative.
“So either accept that I want a long-term, open and honest intimate relationship with you on every level, or don’t. Your choice.”
For the first time ever, Ronin walked away from her.
And not for the first time, she slunk away, embarrassed by her behavior.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TWO f**king days since Ronin had heard from Amery.
Two. Fucking. Days.
Since he’d left it up to her to contact him, it’d been torture not storming over to her place. Not calling her. Not tracking her down in a parking garage and doing a hojojutsu capture on her for real.
He’d spent all day Saturday with Blue, Knox, and Gil, hashing out revised class schedules. They’d gone over the receipts from the night’s event. Charted what worked and what hadn’t. Devised a strategy for the next event in six short weeks.
That’s when his train of thought jumped the track, wondering if that much time would pass again before Amery approached him.
Maybe you won’t hear from her again. Maybe she got what she wanted—a lucrative contract with Okada—and she doesn’t need you anymore.
His logical side tried to stamp down the ridiculousness, but a small niggling fear remained.
Sunday he worked out—swimming, weights, hand work, foot work, cardio on the treadmill—until Shiori arrived late in the afternoon. As the highest belt rank in the dojo, her continued training fell on his shoulders. She was a tireless pupil, and they spent two hours working on what she called drills, skills, and thrills.
Then, at Shiori’s request, they’d gone over the DVD of her match, dissecting the high points and the mistakes. Although she’d insisted the only reason she fought was to keep the fight card full¸ Ronin understood that she had the same need he did to physically prove herself. She admitted that she and Sophia had discussed starting a women’s MMA basics class, just to see if it garnered interest. When he questioned if her time in the dojo was interfering with her position at Okada, she changed the subject. He assumed any questions about Amery’s project with the company would elicit the same response, so he didn’t bother to ask.
Ronin had been tempted to invite Shiori to his penthouse for dinner, but he decided it would be awkward if Amery showed up.
Wishful thinking on his part, as it’d turned out.
A shower and an hour of meditation centered him.
Still, he’d slept poorly, so Monday started off on a bad note. Katie’s constant chattering got on his nerves, and he passed her off to Blue.
He thought he’d found solitude in his office when Knox barged in. “You have got to keep me in the loop on some of this shit, Ronin. There’s this big dude out there who swears he has an appointment with you.”
“Be nice if one of these kids actually made an appointment,” he muttered. “Send him in.”
Knox returned with a young man nearly Knox’s height, which put him close to six foot three. He was solidly built, but not excessively bulked up like some gym rats who equated brawn with strength. He’d dressed appropriately—khaki pants, short-sleeved polo, shined shoes. His hair and eye color were all Max.
Ronin stood and offered his hand. “Ivan?”
“Yes, sir.”
Manners too. “I’m Ronin Black. That’s Knox Lofgren. He also runs the MMA club. Knox, this is Ivan Stanislovsky. He’s a prospect.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Ivan said.
“Same. We do use formal titles at Black Arts, so as Sensei’s second-in-command, call me Shihan.”
“Yes, Shihan.”
Ronin pointed to the chair for Ivan and the edge of the desk for Knox. “I spoke to your father Friday night. I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
He frowned. “Really? He assured me I had an appointment with you first thing this week. I’m sorry if I misunderstood.”
Not the kid’s fault that his father was a pushy bastard. “Luckily I have time right now. He mentioned your interest in training in an MMA program. What is your athletic background?”
Ivan blushed. “My mother put me in dance when I was four years old. She had visions of me becoming the next Baryshnikov. I trained in classical ballet in Denver, New York, and Russia until I was sixteen.”