I left the Louboutins at home even though the black Chanel suit looked better with four-inch heels. I wasn’t sure what to wear, and was almost tempted to wear my old casual clothes. I didn’t relish the idea of all that sweat and dirt from the gym being all over my business suits. But, I eventually decided on a pantsuit that looked chic, and didn’t look too bad with my Converse sneakers.

I arrive at McNeilly’s Gym in a part of Chicago I’m not too familiar with. When I walk in, a musty, damp-ish smell assaults my nostrils. I count four boxing rings, two of them occupied. There are a handful of people scattered around, mostly young guys.

I can see an office in the corner, diagonally across the open-plan floor. The door is closed, but I can see from the half-windows around it that there’s a guy inside. He’s on the phone, walking around. The guys in the gym glance at me, and then get back to what they were doing.

I’m insignificant, even though, or perhaps because, I’m the only woman in here.

“Can I help you?”

I turn at the sound of a soft voice. It’s another guy, old enough to be my grandpa, from the looks of it, and he has the same soft manner about him.

“I’m from the Chicago Daily Herald,” I tell him, and hold out my hand.

“Ahh,” he says, his eyes lighting as if this now makes sense. “I’m Ernesto,” he shakes my hand.

“Harper,” I say, smiling, because he’s made me feel welcome. “Harper Lindstrom.”

“Lou said we’d be expecting someone, but I wasn’t expecting a woman,” he says. There is nothing untoward in that sentence. Nothing sexist or slimy. It’s just a fact that he points out. “I’m pleased to meet you, Harper.”

“This is kind of a new experience for me,” I say, finding myself immediately drawn to him.

“I don’t suppose boxing is a sport you have much interest in? My granddaughters don’t like it much either.” His smile puts me at ease.

“It seemed like a good opportunity, interviewing Elias Cardoza,” I say, hoping to get an insight into the man.

He nods. “Eli will take some getting used to,” he says, and it doesn’t seem like a warning because his eyes are soft.

I want to ask him what he means by that but he says, “Let me take you to meet Lou.” Before I can say anything, he motions for me to follow him, so I do.

Nobody bats an eyelid as we walk past. The guys fighting in the ring carry on. I sense that nothing, not even a hurricane, would shift their focus.

Ernesto knocks on the office door, then opens it without waiting for a response. The other guy is still on the phone, and he hasn’t even looked up as Ernesto and I hover around the open door.

“He’s always on the phone,” Ernesto whispers.

I smile, because there’s not a lot I can say to that. Instead I look behind me at the gym area, and see if the boy wonder is here.

“Those are some of the regulars,” Ernesto explains, lowering his voice. “There’s Santos and Jake,” he points to two guys stepping into the ring. “They’re Eli’s sparring partners. The rest,” he gesticulates at the other guys, “are regulars. Some come with their trainers. Lou only trains and manages Eli, and he’s always busy, because he owns the gym. I try to help out, but he’s busier than ever now that Eli’s got this fight.”

“Is he ready?” I ask, because I’m not sure what to say until I’ve met the man, and then I can gauge how I’m going to get through my month here.

“I believe he will be more than ready by the time he steps into that ring.”

“What can I do for you?” I turn around. Phone guy is off the phone and fixes me with a questioning look.

“This is Harper,” says Ernesto. “She’s from the paper.”

“You’re from the paper?” This new guy isn’t repeating it, he’s asking it as if it’s a question, as if he’s shocked.

“Yes.” Suddenly I feel self-conscious, as if I’m not properly qualified for this assignment. I’m used to it, but I feel slightly out of place.

“Lou,” he says, “I’m Eli’s manager.” He eyes me as if there’s a problem. I’m relieved I had the sense to wear my dark pantsuit instead of my pencil skirt, and that I swapped out the heels for my sneakers. I wish I’d gone easy on the makeup, too. It’s probably not a good thing that I’ve come in looking all dolled up, because I feel way too overdressed for this place already.

I bet Merv knew this. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he was probably even cheering for it.

“I’m Harper Lindstrom.” We shake hands, and I shake harder than usual.

“She works for the Chicago Daily Herald.”

“I’m aware of who she works for, Ernie, I was the one involved in the discussions.” He gives me a smile, but still looks at me as if he doesn’t know what to make of me.

“Go get Eli, will you?” Lou asks.

“No, don’t,” I say quickly. The reception from Lou hasn’t been so great, and I’m worried about meeting Elias. I’ve read that boxers are focused, and train like crazy. “I don’t want to disturb him.”

The two men grin at each other, and I have no idea what’s so funny.

“You should meet him. It’s better you get this over and done with now,” Lou insists, and nods at Ernesto to go bring him.

“What do you know about boxing?” Lou asks as soon as Ernesto leaves. I’m beginning to think that he and Merv must have been separated at birth, because they both seem to regard me with the same level of condescension.

“Well… I don’t know much,” I say, deciding that it’s better to confess. “But this isn’t so much about the techniques of boxing, as it is about the man who’ll be fighting the current heavyweight champion of the world. This story is inspirational to say the least, especially knowing about Elias’s past and how he came from a broken home.”

“You did your research, eh?” Lou asks, walking back to his desk and sitting down. Then he turns to some paperwork which is lying on his desk and diverts his attention there. I’m left feeling as if I’m not important since he can’t even spare me a few minutes of his time. I consider that rude given that I’m going to be here for a while.

I glance at my fingernail and wonder if it was worth getting my nails painted again yesterday given where I am today. Would it really matter in this place?

Lou’s still engrossed in his paperwork and doesn’t even look up at me, but I’m not left hanging for long because the door flies open and Elias Cardoza walks in.

His face is dotted with sweat, and he’s still wearing his boxing gloves. The room seems to shrink because it feels as if this guy takes up so much space. He’s not huge. There are no bulky, football-shaped muscles on him, but there are tattoos. Beautiful tattoos all over his chest. I can’t stop staring.

He’s lean, and toned, and a sheen of sweat coats his naked torso. He’s not a beast, but his presence is overwhelming in that suddenly small office.

I forget to talk. I forget to breathe.

He ignores me, even though I’m standing directly in front of him, and instead, he stares at his manager.

“Eli, meet Harper Lindster,” says Lou.

“Lindstrom,” I correct.

“That’s right,” says Lou, making no effort to get my name right. “Harper, meet Eli, the next heavyweight champion of the world.”

With this glowing break-the-tension introduction, I expect Elias’s face to soften, but the guy throws me a look of pure loathing. I hold my breath because I’m not relaxed enough to breathe. It takes me a few seconds before I inch forward. “Nice to meet you,” I say, but I stop myself from lifting my hand. Even if he wasn’t wearing those boxing gloves, something tells me this guy wouldn’t want to shake my hand.

He observes me with suspicion. If he’s surprised that I’m a woman, I can’t tell. In fact, I don’t think that face of his is capable of expressing surprise. He’s hard, and impassive, and he looks pissed even though, as far as I’m aware, I haven’t said or done anything offensive.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to get in your way,” I say, to fill the awkward silence that slithers around me. I feel uneasy and I can’t tell if it’s because my body is on high-alert due to his blatant dislike of me being here, or if it’s because I’m reacting to this man’s overt sexuality.

I have to admit, he has an aura about him, something physical, and sexual, that rolls easily off his bare skin. I don’t think he’s aware of it, because he’s not looking at me as an object of any remote interest whatsoever.

He’s looking at me as if I just messed up his day.

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