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Dressed as formally as his casual wardrobe allowed, Grayson arrived sans tie at the staff entrance of a local banquet hall. It was only a few blocks away from the three-story building where the newspaper had occupied for nearly a hundred years, and a short walk from his one-bedroom apartment he shared with a fluffy cat named Duke. The streets were wet from a rumbling rainstorm that had decided to take a short break, much to Grayson’s luck. Sparkling Christmas lights shimmered in puddles, covering the cobblestoned alley with a palette of cozy holiday hues. The banquet hall was similar in neo-Gothic architecture as the old newspaper building. Locals swore the place was haunted just by the sight of it. Secretly, Grayson hoped it was.
He rang the entrance bell and waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot. When there was no response, he rang again. Finally, the old door creaked open, revealing a scruffy man in a tuxedo, sporting large, black-framed glasses. The man eyed Grayson for an explanation for this intrusion.
“I’m Grayson Lane,” he said. When that didn’t get him invited inside, he continued. “I’m here to interview Sergio Cavallo.”
“You’re a reporter?” the man rumbled in a gravelly voice. For a moment, Grayson half-expected to see the swirl of cigarette smoke in the air as if he’d somehow stumbled into a classic film noir.
Sir, are you related to Humphrey Bogart by any chance?
“Yes, I am,” Grayson explained, shivering.
The man glanced him over and said, “You look like a delivery boy.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. “May I see Sergio now?”
With what looked like reluctance, the man with salt and pepper wavy hair nodded and pushed the door open wider. It creaked again and Grayson couldn’t help but wonder if the spooky sound was a warning.
Once inside, Grayson was led down a series of dimly lit corridors, all with walls adorned with framed paintings of the Scottish founders of the city and, apparently, the ones responsible for the building they were moving through.
Finally, they stopped. The man in the tuxedo knocked on a door before entering. He looked back and said to Grayson, “Come. Mr. Cavallo is waiting for you.”
Pausing for a moment in the hallway, Grayson drew in a steadying breath, reflecting over the hours of research he’d conducted to prepare for this assignment. Exhaling, he opened the door and entered the room. Glancing around, Grayson determined he was standing in the center of a private lounge that was trying hard to be swanky but really looked like the set of an adult film, complete with dimmed lighting in not-so-subtle shades of hot pink, electric blue, and amber. The furniture was leather, and the carpet looked thick and soft.
Positioned as if he were sitting on a throne was Sergio Cavallo, looking rather distinguished in a fashionable blazer, slacks, and crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone to reveal olive-tinged bare skin. The dark-haired Italian boxer looked like the undefeated boxing champ that he was, The King of The Ring as many commentators appropriately referred to him. No wonder many had fallen under his spell.
What Grayson wasn’t expecting was how flushed he felt when Sergio looked into his eyes and with a delicious and very inviting smile said, “Well…hello. You’re not what I was expecting.”
Trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering inside of him, Grayson held Sergio’s stare and responded confidently, “And neither are you. I’m Grayson Lane.”
The boxer leaned forward. His dark brown eyes held an expression of tenderness, despite his savage reputation of being a beast of a boxer. His facial hair was a few shades lighter than the almost jet-black hair on his head and looked like a modern version of a Van Dyke. “I’m curious,” said Sergio. Grayson felt the man’s eyes wash over his body as if he were drinking water from his pores. “Grayson, am I somehow a disappointment?”
Grayson spied an empty chair directly across from Sergio. Not waiting to be asked to sit, he took a seat, sinking into the soft leather. The comfort of the chair soothed his nerves, grounding him in the moment. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s not every day I get to interview a champion.”
Seeming satisfied with Grayson’s answer, Sergio grinned. “I like you,” he noted.
“Give it time,” Grayson countered with a playful tone to match the smile on his face.
“I’m ready when you are,” Sergio said, his words dripping with hot innuendo. “For the interview, I mean.”
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