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As you know, it always begins at The Riviera, where he treats his closest team members and friends to a private and formal brunch.
However, this is no longer the case.
Yesterday, while fans anxiously waited outside in hopes of getting a glimpse of him, the restaurant manager informed us that he never showed.
Hours later, he was spotted across town sitting alone in a coffee shop.
The other night, one of our lovely readers revealed that she saw him aimlessly wandering around aSailor Moonfandom conference. (We have the pictures to confirm this.)
If you’re betting on him winning this weekend, you may want to reconsider…
Stay tuned for more news & updates,
The Snarky Glove
FORTY-FIVE
PRESENT DAY
TRAVIS
Las Vegas, Nevada
Two Nights Before the Rematch
“I’m betting one hundred thousand dollars on Christopher Juarez, all day, every day,” the sports anchor on television said. “He’s got the hunger, the momentum, the scrappiness.Everything.”
“Turn this shit off, Harry!” Ralph called out my trainer from across the room.
“No, please leave it on.” I flexed my hands. “I’m looking forward to sending him a ‘Sorry for your Loss’ card once this is all over.”
“Good to see that level of confidence in you, sir.” Harry smiled. “Juarez won’t know what hit him.”
“Oh, he’ll definitely know.” I rolled my wrists. “The entire world will.”
“Alright, everyone!” Ralph clapped his hands. “Let’s break for dinner and reconvene in the penthouse. We’ll run through the final checklist before Mr. Carter gets his mandatory eight hours of sleep.”
When the last person left the room, Ralph shut the door.
“I’m quite pleased with what I’ve seen from you this weekend,” he said. “You’re one hundred percent locked in, and I like it.”
“I’m only sixty percent focused, and you know it.”
“Just wanted to hear you say it first.” He shook his head. “Your wife didn’t get on the private plane that you sent. It arrived empty.”
“What about my sister?”
“She came via your best friend’s plane,” he said. “No pun intended.”
“How is that a pun, Ralph?”
“She said she felt uncomfortable joining the ‘mile-high club’ in yours.”
“You could’ve kept that shit to yourself.”
“Sorry. Anyway, onto your security for the night,” he said. “Do you want two or three guards outside your place?”
“Send the plane back for Mrs. Carter, please.”
