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“You sure about that?”
“I guarantee it…” I shook my head at the memory of the guy following me into the bathroom and staring at me as I unzipped my pants and washed my hands. I was used to fans doing weird things around me in public, so I simply ignored him until he pulled a taser gun from his pocket and demanded that I listen.
“I hate to say this but, I wish your parents could come back to life and then get killed again so you can fight like you used to. You cost me eight hundred bucks and I missed my rent betting on your last fight.”
I’d gritted my teeth and let his callous comment slide, but then he slapped me across the face with that taser.
So, I let him have it.
“I saw your name in the news, too,” I changed the subject. “Apparently,The Untamed Playboy of Manhattanis embroiled in yet another lawsuit over his dating app.”
“He is, but he’s more focused on his upcoming wedding…to your sister.”
“Screw you, Hayden.” I ended the call as the headlights of my custom Audi rounded the corner.
The valet didn’t drive close enough for me to take the keys, though. Instead, he parked near the dumpster and flashed the lights. Then a man wearing an all-grey suit stepped out of the driver’s side and put on a fedora.
I squinted, slowly realizing who he was.
Ralph Windsor. My former manager.
He plucked a cigar from his pocket and lit it before walking toward me.
“Long time, no see, Travis. How have you been?”
I said nothing.
We’d ended our business relationship on the worst of terms, and I was convinced we’d never speak again.
“You know, I recall a conversation we had two years ago,” he said. “It was right before you fired me.”
“Give me the keys to my car, Ralph.Now.”
“I told you that you were getting way too cocky and surrounding yourself with way too many ‘yes-men’ who didn’t have your best interests at heart,” he said. “You were flying too close to the sun and you were bound to burn.”
“Thank you, Shakespeare.” I held out my hand for the keys.
“You shouldn’t have lost that fight,” he said. “Juarez is nowhere near as good or talented as you.”
“Do you want me to refer to you as ‘Captain Obvious’orShakespeare now?” I asked. “You can’t have both.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Have you filed the papers for a rematch yet?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“That’s none of your concern,” I said. “That’s something my current manager will have to figure out.”
“Your manager just released a five page essay about you being the worst fighter he’s ever worked for inThe New York Times. He called you a tyrannical bastard. Have you read it?”
I had no idea the article existed, but I nodded. “It was very one-sided and biased.”
“Let me help you again, Travis,” he said. “ It pains me to see the state of your career and we both know that I’m the best manager you’ve ever had.”
I crossed my arms, wanting to say something sarcastic, or lie and tell him that it wasn’t true, but it was undeniable.
“What’s in it for you?” I asked.
