Maybe that’s why rumors abounded that TP had multiple mistresses. Just like Ronin’s grandfather—but at least he didn’t have a wife literally overlooking his affairs.

“I never fooled myself into believing I was a handsome son of a bitch like you, Black. I’m fat. Obnoxious. Cocky. Crude. I don’t score with the ladies because they’re getting a night with Brad Pitt. I’m rich. That’s my appeal. I knew it when I married my wife. I know it whenever I hire a new assistant. I’m good with that.”

“Does that throwback attitude keep you from doing business with women?”

“No. I know women are highly capable of running their own businesses. I just don’t want them running mine. Men like us? We do what we have to do. We don’t piss and moan about it and wring our hands. We don’t hold a focus group to determine the best course of action. We just do it.”

Ronin wasn’t anything like TP . . . Was he?

“Can’t go back and change the past, Ronin. Only thing you can do is move forward.”

“I fail to see how asking me to do you a favor—given the types of favors I’ve done for you in the past—is allowing me to move forward.”

“So tell me no.”

“Jesus, TP, are you off your meds?”

TP grinned. “You paid your debt to me years ago, Ronin. It’s your sense of loyalty that keeps you doing the occasional favor for me. I’m not above taking advantage of that for no reason other than I trust you. And you can be guaran-damn-teed if I’ve asked for your help it’s because I’ve exhausted other options.”

There was a compliment in there somewhere. “What’s going on?”

He sighed. “My daughter Katie. She’s twenty-three, beautiful, sweet, and dumb as a post. I say that with pure fatherly love and no malevolence.”

“What’s she gotten herself into?”

“Three months ago, she called her mom, claiming her boyfriend was holding her against her will. Prior to that, we hadn’t seen the girl for damn near two months, so we had legitimate reason for concern. Katie has fallen for every dirtbag to come down the pike since she turned sixteen. When these guys figure out who she is, they swear it’s true love.” He snorted. “She even married one of these bastards. It lasted one month. That cost me a chunk of change. Every time she’s been in a situation, I’ve bailed her out.”

“Of jail?”

“Not so far, knock on wood.” He rapped on the table. “Like our other kids, when she turned eighteen, she started receiving monthly dividends from her trust fund. For the past five years, at the beginning of every month, the balance on the account is close to zero because she—or her douche bag boyfriend of the moment—has emptied the account. But during those three months, she hadn’t touched the money. Long story short, my PI found her, and my security team dragged her out of the roach-infested place she’d been held. The wife picked out a rehab place in California that specializes in rebuilding or re-creating self-esteem in poor little rich girls or some such new-age shit. After she completed the program, she returned to Denver, and she’s been driving me batshit crazy ever since.”

“While I’m glad it sounds like everything worked out, why are you telling me this, TP?”

“Come to find out, the guy she’d shacked up with was an MMA fighter.” He blew a smoke ring. “Evidently you refereed one of his amateur underground fights.”

“Still not seeing where you’re going with this.”

“Katie discovered you and I are acquaintances. Somewhere along the way, she’s convinced herself she belongs in the MMA fight-promotion business. Specifically building one with Black Arts.”

Ronin couldn’t stop his look of shock.

TP laughed. “Exactly my reaction when my daughter demanded I set up a meeting between the three of us to discuss options.”

He fought the urge to look over his shoulder to see if TP’s kid was joining them.

“Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna foist my ditzy daughter on ya without your permission. I like you too much. But my wife, who is not privy to my business, is riding my ass about this. So I gotta come up with something besides losing a shit ton of money.”

“Jesus. I need another drink.” Ronin walked to the bar in the corner of the room and grabbed the bottle of Chivas, bringing it back to the table. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Like I said, tell me no.” TP refilled both their glasses. “I won’t hold it against you.”

Ronin knocked back the scotch. “Christ, TP. This feels wrong.”

A sheepish look crossed TP’s face. “Look, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I adore this kid—she’s sweet and she’s got a damn good heart. It’s the first time I’ve seen her excited about anything besides a man in years. She did manage to finish a two-year community-college degree in administrative business.”

An odd notion occurred to him.

“What? I see the wheels turning. If you’ve got an idea—no matter how damn crazy it sounds—I’d consider it.”

“It is crazy. But do you think she’d buy that being a ring girl for an event is the best way to learn the fight-promotion business from the inside?”

“Possibly. The girl’s got the body and the looks for it.”

Most fathers thought their daughters were beautiful. What if Katie . . . wasn’t? Ronin needed a backup idea. “Would she be willing to enroll in martial arts classes?”