A video interview with Lori on Back in Black and Out of the Light, Into the Shadow.

CHAPTER ONE

Gillian Noode stood against the back wall of the popular bar, Roger’s Rodeo, where many fighters hung out. She was close enough to observe him, but not close enough to get noticed. Yet. At least, not by him. Plenty of other men had already given her the once-over, showing appreciation for her trim black skirt, her low-scooped white blouse and strappy sandals. A few had even tried to strike up a conversation. Though tempted, she'd politely declined.

She'd come here for a reason, and Drew Black was it.

Dressed in well-worn jeans and a comfortable black T-shirt bearing the logo of the SBC fight organization, the president of the extreme sport sat at the polished bar. Currently, he held close conversation with two long-haired lovelies whose bloated busts defied believability. No woman that slender had breasts that large.

But Drew showed no signs of disbelief. Like a king of his own making, he ogled with commitment to the boob ruse. Appreciating his commitment, the girls played with their long hair, flirted, and giggled.

Gillian fought a gag.

From the many interviews and television spots she’d watched, as well as her current scrutiny, Gillian surmised that Drew Black had a fighter-type physique, sculpted with honest muscle rather than the steroid-induced kind. He wasn’t quite as shredded as the actual fighters, who made workouts and diet a regular part of their routine, but he looked strong and capable.

Obviously his ego demanded that he stay in shape. After all, he was often surrounded by younger men in their prime, elite fighters with rock-hard bodies and astounding ability.

Drew Black intrigued her beyond the job at hand.

As an entrepreneur he showed great intelligence; no one could have accomplished what he had without a lot of smarts. He'd taken a mostly dead sport, banned in many states, and turned it into an astounding success.

And motivation? The man had it in spades. He couldn't possibly sleep more than six hour a night given his enthusiastic work load and insane social calendar.

Good looks, great body, intelligence, enthusiasm and money... Drew Black would be quite the catch if he wasn't such a sexist foul-mouthed jerk with the tact of a mountain goat.

With her external analysis now complete, Gillian moved closer, just a short way down the bar. She could hear Drew's deep voice – not that she expected much enlightenment from his conversation.

But Drew surprised her.

“Will you call me?” bimbo one asked him with a pout.

Lacking malice, he gave a low and mellow laugh. “No, I won’t.”

Look-alike bimbo number two said, “How about me?” She toyed with his ear in a way that made Gillian twitch. “I can promise you a really good time.”

“I just bet you can.” Drew took her wrist and moved her teasing hand away. “But I have to pass.”

Gillian raised a brow. She'd expected him to suggest a threesome, and instead he'd rejected both of them.

Interesting.

The bimbos combined their whining complaints and attempts at persuasion until Drew appeared to get annoyed. “Girls, what the fuck? C'mon, I have shit to do and it doesn’t include having my ears ring. Go find something – or someone - else to do, okay?”

“But Drew, we waited a long time to get to talk to you.” Bimbo one whined.

Drew leaned around the woman to eye his male companion. “A little help here?”

Gillian recognized the other man as a fighter. Grinning, he held up big, capable hands. “Sorry, Drew. I have a girl waiting at home.”

“We aren't at your home, damn it.”

He smirked. “Yeah, well, Spice doesn’t like to share me.”

Drew pulled back. “Spice? What the fuck kind of name is that for a female?”

“The kind that suits her.” Unruffled by the implied insult, Brett finished his drink. To Gillian, it looked like juice. She gave Brett points.

“Look,” Drew said to the closest bimbo, “you're too fucking young and frankly, too damned pushy.”

“We have to be pushy to get near you. You're just so popular -”

“How about I give you a couple of tickets to the next SBC fight instead? Good seats. How's that?”

The girls bounced with enthusiasm. Gillian couldn't take it. She asked the bartender for a martini. By the time she'd been served and taken a few fortifying sips, Drew was alone at the bar with Brett.

“You're brutal, Drew.”

“Did you see those girls? Not only were they phony from head to toes, the damn giggles were wearing on my nerves.” He worked his shoulders, as if releasing tension. “Jesus, I do have some standards you know.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You want the whole list, huh? Well, it doesn’t apply here, but she has to be less than forty. Older broads are too independent.”

Brett laughed. “Those two together weren’t forty.”

“No, but young and not-stupid don’t have to be exclusive.”

Brett grinned. “So what else?”

“She has to be childless, because let’s face it, the whole kid thing is a major pain in the ass. No way am I fucking anybody's mother. And before you say it, yeah, I know, those two are still children themselves.”

Brett saluted him with his juice.

“On top of being good looking and sexy, she has to have a modicum of intelligence – at least enough that I can carry on a conversation with her. And no squealing. God Almighty, I detest broads who squeal.”

Brett commiserated. “They were squealers.”

“Can you imagine how loud they'd be in the sack, riding out a big O?” Drew laughed. “I'd need fucking earplugs.”

Brett grinned. “Braggart.”

That nasty mouth of his, Gillian thought as she shook her head. Riding out a big O. Who talked like that? The things Drew said, the crude language he used, was not befitting the force behind the fastest growing sport in history. That mouth had gotten him into trouble, whether he realized it yet or not.

It was her job to clean up his act, and to make him a more presentable figurehead for the SBC franchise.

Daunting, but maybe not impossible. She always enjoyed a challenge.

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