Mopping up the beads of sweat from her face, Shayne stopped outside of Asher's office and poked her head inside. He sat behind his desk, glasses on and dark, curling hair tied away in a messy bun that had always been his style long before it became a trend.

Setting a hand to the door, she nudged it wider and sensing the movement, Asher's gaze popped from the computer and landed on her.

"Hey. When'd you get in?"

"About an hour ago. Susan said you wanted to see me?"

"Yeah. Sure." With a flick of his wrist, Asher shut off his monitor. "Keep it open," he added before she crossed the threshold.

Smirking, Shayne plunked down in the available chair facing him. Considering all the things they'd done in this office, keeping the door open now was oddly comical. "What's up?" she asked, boosting her feet on the edge of his desk.

"I had a call the other day while you were in Toronto."

"Cool."

"There's a fight happening next month. They want to slot you in before the headliner."

An itch flashed across her palms. The kind of itch when something big was going to happen. Shayne curled her fingers, the blunt edges of her nails pressing firmly against that sensation.

"The call was with an organizer for UFC. There's a bantamweight title fight happening next month and a spot opened up against Pacheo, putting you in the ring with a top twenty contender before the title fight between Nunes and Rousey."

Her feet dropped to the floor. "Shut the f*ck up."

"I'm locking down the details this afternoon, but it's looking solid," Asher continued. "That gives us six weeks to get you ready."

The rush of shock and excitement was so swift she could barely see straight. Clinching this fight would kick open a few important doors and put her name on the map in a big way. Shayne pressed a hand to her chest where her heart thundered with purpose. "I can do this."

Asher bridged his fingers. "It's not a lot of time."

"I can do this."

"I want your ass in here every day, Melo. No excuses. You push as hard as I tell you to for as long as I tell you do." He pointed a finger at her, cocked a brow and a proud smile struggling its way onto his face. "No talk back, no guff, no excuses."

She popped out of her seat with a whooping cry, and was around the desk and in his lap before Asher had time to blink. Her mouth planted on his with a firm, celebratory kiss.

"Up. Off. Now," was all he could manage around her barrage of kisses. "That brings me to my next point. A major contingent to this deal."

"You're seriously killing my hard-on." Sighing, Shayne slid out of his lap and edged back on his desk. "Don't tell me you've been drinking Ms. Tugonon's Kool Aid while I've been away?"

"She's right Shayne—your reputation could use a bit of polish. UFC likes you, but they're concerned you may be a loose cannon and if we want these guys to take you seriously, she could help swing things around for the better." Reaching in the top drawer, Asher fished out a business card and held it up between his fore and middle finger.

Accepting it, Shayne read over the embossed script of the Gym's logo, and flipped it around to the see a hand written address on the back. "What's this?"

"That's where Rita's staying."

"This is a local address. Not a hotel."

"I know." Amusement coloured his voice, flickered in his eyes. "She's here for the next eight weeks whether you want her to be or not. So I suggest you go over there and get this ball rolling in the direction we need it to go."

Shayne exhaled heavily, ruffling the choppy edges of her damp bangs. "And how do you suggest I do that?"

"Start with apologizing." Asher smirked and reached for his phone. "Now get out of here, I've gotta call my divorce attorney."

#

Apologizing was like swallowing a pack of razor blades. The words never came out smooth and sliced one's dignity to ribbons.

But if she was expected to prostrate herself and beg for forgiveness this early in the morning, she wasn't about to do so empty-handed and stopped briefly at a local bakery before commencing her pilgrimage to Rita's.

Jogging the short distance to the address Asher had provided, Shayne was charmed by the row of skinny townhouses and manicured gardens. Close enough to the pier that she could smell the salt in the air as the breeze brushed through the palm trees dotting the street lined with parked cars.

Shuffling up the stairs, Shayne stopped before unit 3B and knocked sharply.

It wasn't long before the door whisked open and Rita filled the doorway, dressed in black leggings and an over-sized t-shirt, the logos faded into obscurity and chewed collar, either from a surviving a billion washes or a puppy cutting its teeth.

"Good morning," she said, pushing a lock of dark hair out of her unmade face. "What are you doing here?"

Shayne lifted a plastic bag holding a square box, her token offering of peace. "I come with apology donuts."

Eyeing the bag, Rita widened the door so she could enter.

The entire space was open concept with lightly stained hardwood floors, white walls, simple furniture of a furnished rental, but all brightened up with lots of flowers. Everywhere she looked there were various arrangements either in pots or vases. And not the professionally assembled variety. Theses blooms were cluttered, imperfect and most of the stalks cut too high to flatter or suit the arrangement but there was something endearing in their lack of finesse.

Something...honest.

"Great spot." Shayne said, following Rita into the heart of her townhouse.

"I prefer to keep close to my clients."

"I'm not your client."

"Yes you are," she said with a smug lift of her chin. "That's why you're here."

"You're pretty sure of yourself." The words trickled out of Shayne with unfiltered admiration. She'd always appreciated confidence. Was there anything sexier? And as soon as the thought entered her mind, she'd thrust it out. Nope. Don't go there.

"I'm good at my job. Nothing wrong with being proud of that. Contrary to what people will tell you, self-deprecation is not a reflection of modesty, and to think so is stupid." Settling behind the counter, Rita flicked off the switch on a steaming kettle. "I was about to make myself a green tea. Want one?"

"Got any coffee?"

"Sure."

"I'll have that instead." Dragging out a bar stool, Shayne slid onto the seat as Rita opened an upper cabinet and set down a package of coffee beans on the counter next to a cylindrical tin of green tea. "You don't do instant?"

"I prefer fresh," she said, and spooned out some of the beans into a grinder. Capping it, the blades whirred and cracked loudly. Pulverizing the beans into coffee grounds. "So, why don't we start with your apology, and then we'll go from there?"

"God, you're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Rita answered the question with a sweet, innocent flutter of her lashes.

"Alright. best to get it over with then." Shayne shook her head with a sighing laugh. "I was an a$shole when we first met and I'm sorry."

"Did that hurt?"

"Like a kick to the face."

"Good. A few more of those and maybe you'll start to think twice before acting up."

"Did anyone ever tell you that a video surfaced of you attacking those men in Prague?" Over the edges of Rita's voice, she could hear the sound of pouring water, smell the bitter notes of coffee swilling in the air. "It was only about three minutes long but the footage was...damaging to say the least. a month ago your grandmother received a suit from one of those men. He'd made the connection between you and your family and set out to blackmail them. Your grandmother bore the brunt of a two hundred-thousand-euro settlement and made the matter go away."

Shayne sliced her tongue along the edge of her teeth. "She shouldn't have done that."

"Well, she did." Rounding the counter, Rita set small fists to slender hips. Standing barefoot, she was barely taller than five-five, her eyes bright with challenge. "And perhaps you should be grateful someone cared enough to save you from your mess."

"She did that for herself. Just as sending you here is about her agenda. Saving the family legacy from further taint. From me." She bit down on the words, on the rise of venom the came with them, and had to remind herself this was Rita standing before her.

Not her grandmother. Not the enemy.

Because she always felt more confident and secure on her feet, she pushed out of the stool and shuffled a few steps into the living room. Drawn to a collection of photos set out on display. Family. Friends. Rita Tugonon appeared to have a full and happy life. Filled with so much love it invariably jolted beneath the skin of anyone who'd lived their own in deficit.

"What did my grandmother tell you about me?" she asked, not turning away from those images.

"She said that you were wild. Unpredictable. Beyond her control."

Shayne snorted derisively. "I was never what she'd considered acceptable. Far back as I can recall, she hated me."

"I don't think—"

"She hated me," she interrupted, tone firm and uncompromising. "I was fifteen when I came out, when I plucked up the courage to tell my parents how I felt, deep inside, she had the nerve to try and have them force me into therapy. She'll get it over it. It's just a phase. She's testing you. We can't have a queer in the family. Those are the last words I ever heard her speak about me. And I haven't been home since." And Shayne's hackles rose in memory, pushed as close to a breaking point as her eighteen-year-old self could handle, and of the heated blowout that had ensued. While she didn't doubt her parents had loved her, they hadn't exactly defended her, either. Only her brother. Only Mateo.

Shifting her gaze to Rita, she braced herself for pity maybe even tears, but Rita's face was calm and placid though softened around the edges with understanding.

"She cares about you, Shayne."

"No. She cares about the name. The legacy. But sad the truth? Unless you're Prince William—no one gives two sh!ts about Spanish nobility. Our name, our legacy is a dusty relic that belongs in a museum. Ancient history. We have no power, no influence. Only titles. And even fewer of us have any money. But so do thousands of other people without a drop of blue blood. We're not special. When I came to LA, I stepped off that place and there were no line of paparazzi or throng of spectators; I was nobody. And I like it that way."

"So then why are you here? Why are we having this conversation at all?"

"Because I promised my brother I would be there for him. This is me keeping that promise. I can't say I'm going to make it easy. And I can't say I'll see this through to the end, but I'm willing to try." Taking a calming breath, Shayne levelled her gaze. "I'm a fighter. I will be a fighter even when I'm too old to climb between the ropes and touch gloves. This is what I do; I won't give it up."

"No one's asking you to."

"Clearly you don't know my grandmother."

"I don't work for her." Reaching between them, Rita gathered Shayne's hands in both of hers. Her fingers small and delicately boned. Rita's skin soft and cool against her warmer palms. "I'm here for your brother. For you."

And it was that simple declaration to dissolve what remained of Shayne's resistance. Something cracked open deep inside of her and she swallowed around a thickness in her throat, masked it with sarcasm and humor. "I knew I'd grow on you eventually."

Rita rolled her eyes with a laughing groan, dropped her hands. "Look, I get it—you're young and like to push boundaries but you're barking up the wrong tree. A straight, happily married one." To emphasize her point, she gestured to the collection of framed pictures, and there, with pride of placement in the center, was a shot of Rita dressed in bridal splendor and in the arms of her husband.

"I'm just messing with you. Honestly. As a rule, I don't play with straight girls anymore. They tend to blame the queer when faced with a crisis of conscience or religious morality. And life's too short to carry around someone else's baggage when I've got enough of my own." Because her palms still tingled, Shayne tucked them into her back pockets as she studied a photo of Rita and her husband with a discerning eye. They looked happy. Young, but with that glow of love thick between them. "How long have you been married?"

Picking up the frame, Rita weighed it in her hands, her face brightened with such simply joy Shayne was momentarily awestruck. "Ten years this November. Twelve since we first met."

"That's quite a stretch."

"It's not a prison sentence."

Shayne jerked a shoulder. "Depends on who you ask."

"It goes faster than you'd believe." Setting the frame back in its place on the bookcase, Rita adjusted it carefully. "Sometimes too fast."

"So where's the Mister? Sleeping upstairs?"

A hint of sadness dulled the edges of joy in her features. "No. He's handling a contract in Bolivia. He's a geologist and majority of his clients are in mining and travels to various mine site locations for weeks at a time."

"Sounds...tough."

"It can be. But, we go where the work takes us, and all the time we spend apart makes the time we do spend together all the more precious. We don't waste those moments."

Shayne nodded knowingly though in truth she didn't have a clue what that kind of love or devotion felt like. She'd fallen in love a couple times, sure, but even then...had she ever felt so connected?

Not really. Not completely.

"So how do you propose we fix this sh!t-storm?" she asked needing a change of subject as Rita returned to the kitchen to pour out the steeped brew into a mug. She'd come here with the intention of focusing on the subject at hand and somehow the conversation had veered to the intensely personal. Deep, dark waters she'd never been comfortable swimming in.

Complicated memories led to complicated emotions, and Shayne preferred an uncomplicated life.

"I've been on major political campaigns both stateside and abroad; if there's one thing I know its image and how it can sway public perception. Cream? Sugar?"

"Both please. And how do you plan to sway public perception?" she asked as she accepted her mug and took her first salivating sip. The fresh grounds were strong, spicy and her palate sang with approval.

"Simple. Transparency. No more bullsh!t." Drizzling honey into her green tea, Rita stirred smoothly. "Your brother is going to have to give a very candid, very public address about the faults of your uncle and where things have gone awry."

Shayne snorted. "That'll going over about as smooth as a hurricane."

"I don't care." She deposited her spoon in the sink and it clattered with a hint of aggravation. "It's his mess and your brother shouldn't have to shoulder all of it quietly. We need to show the people that their new King will be an honest one; open and forthcoming and approachable. That's where you come in." Nails skimming the side of her mug, Rita's smile spread, warm and soft. "You have a distinct reputation. You're loud, brash and quick to solve your problems with violence, but our canvas shows that majority of the general public views you as someone trustworthy. They like you, Shayne. We can use that. Enhance that."

Shayne almost sprayed her coffee. F*ck me. "Well, if that's all true—then why do I need you in the first place?"

"Because public opinion is fickle. One second you're on top, next you're on the bottom. My job is to keep that reversal from happening. And while the general opinion isn't a bad one, it still leaves a lot to be desired. We've got a long, challenging road to restore your family to where they could be. And the effort, if we're going to succeed, has to be collaborative one. Not individual."

Her lip curled with the dread of understanding. "You're talking about a makeover."

"Minor tweaking. Small adjustments." Rita's lips twisted into a wry smirk. "You can't exactly show up to your brother's address wearing ripped jeans and a crop top under a leather jacket."

Stark terror clutched in her belly. "If you try and put me in one of my grandmother's pastel two piece monstrosities I'll take my donuts and walk, so help me God."

"No pastel two-pieces. Promise. It'll be a middle ground. We can make you tasteful more press appropriate but still true to 'Shayne'."

Finished with her coffee, she set her mug aside. "I don't see how."

"Let's start next week. Give me a full afternoon of your time and if you're not convinced, I'll back off and leave you to it. But you have to promise to give me your full effort and commitment during that afternoon."

"Fine. But only if you agree to do the same?"

Rita perked up a little straighter. "Excuse me?"

"I bet if I went upstairs and opened your closet I'd find nothing but boring suit after boring suit. Maybe a dowdy blouse or a boxy dress, but not much else. Am I right?"

"Well..." She squirmed slightly in her seat. "My choice of clothing is hardly the point of issue."

"And in your drawers—nothing but more of your husband's t-shirts you wear around the house. Sleep in." She had a flash of interest at the thought but immediately casts it aside. Jesus, Shayne, you really need to get laid.

"I prefer to be comfortable."

"Comfort doesn't have to be heinous. If my Sister Cait was here she'd take a blow torch to your wardrobe as a crime against humanity. Forget fashion. You're too attractive to hide behind your clothes."

Rita's gaze narrowed, thin as the line of her lips. "You're not going to budge unless I say yes."

"I never go down without a fight." Unwrapping a lollipop from her jacket pocket, Shayne slipped the bright pink candy into her mouth. Twirled the stick. "And I haven't lost a fight yet."

https://youtu.be/mZq-fE4YOko

**AN**

Hey peeps.

So, this is my first time writing a girl on girl building attraction, and I have to admit - I'm really enjoying this shift of dynamic. Shayne is such a fun character to get inside of while writing. I admire her strength and determination. It makes for interesting push and pull between her and Rita.

I'm excited to see how their shopping day (date?) is going to go down.

She's not used to not getting his way, and isn't used to respecting marital boundaries, so that's going to present unique set of obstacles between them.

And as for the song connected to this chapter, it's a modern remake of an older classic. If anyone has seen the movie FIRST WIVES CLUB, you may recognize it. (If you haven't seen the movie - I suggest you watch it and thank me later;) lol). I felt it connected nicely to how Shayne thinks and feels regarding her grandmother's disapproval of her lifestyle/choices.

If anyone reading this is LGTBQ and was brave enough to come out to their family - how old were you when you took that step? Did you have to practice before you let it all out? And how did your family receive it?