I don't think anyone had really expected me to beat Caesar. I'm good, but that dude is a machine. It was the closest fight I'd ever had. I honestly wasn't sure what would have happened if I hadn't gone all rabid dog over Grace and Jonah. But there's no point wasting time on hypotheticals.
I studied the man in front of me. His face betrayed nothing besides a hint of amusement, but I got the sense he was a man accustomed to disguising his emotions. Was he pissed that I'd KO'd his star? Maybe he wanted a rematch?
I decided to test the waters. "How'd your boy shape up after the other week?"
Task chuckled. "He's fine. A little bruised, but I think his pride was hurt worse than anything."
I nodded. He hadn't taken the bait, so now I was done with small talk. The ball was in his court.
Five seconds of silence later, he cleared his throat. "Well, the reason I'm here is to talk about your future."
I felt a sick little sneer creep onto my face. My "future." What a fucking joke. People like him love to use those big sweeping terms. They sound a hell of a lot better than the dirty reality of their pitch. The army had talked a lot about people's "futures." Free training, travel, lifelong comradeship. It was all true, to a point, they just neglected to mention the fine print. That's what you've got to watch out for.
"Oh yeah?" I replied. "What about my future?"
"In a nutshell, we want to offer you a contract. You were very impressive against Caesar, and the way you recovered tonight just confirms it. We think you'd be a valuable asset to our organization."
A "valuable asset." This guy had the corporate lingo down, alright. With just a couple of words, he'd effectively reduced me to my monetary value. Numbers on a page.
"And what would this contract entail?" I asked.
His smile widened a little, apparently taking my curiosity for enthusiasm. "The details need to be finalized, but our goal is to make you one of our A-listers. Fights in every state we have a presence in, major publicity, not to mention what I expect will be a sizable increase in compensation. We think you've got what it takes to be the next big thing, and we're willing to invest heavily in making that happen."
Scenarios ran through my head. Media tours, fan signings, my body crushed against an airplane window with businessmen crammed in like sardines around me. More money would be nice, sure, and I'd welcome some stronger competition, but the rest of that stuff was unthinkable. And then there was Charlie to think about.
"That all sounds very generous, but what happens with Final Blow?"
He made an apologetic face. "Exclusivity is standard TPW practice. When we invest in someone, we want to know they're not going to get hurt fighting anywhere with...lower standards, let's just say."
"Lower standards?" I spoke softly, but there was no disguising that he'd made a mistake.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly. "Charlie has done very well for himself out here, all things considered. We just like to have complete control over our fighters, that's all."
He spoke with the sort of neutral business voice designed to keep everything friendly and polite, but I could hear the undercurrent of condescension. I took a moment to compose myself. I was on thin ice with the police as it was. I didn't need the shit that would come from knocking this guy out.
Even if he wasn't pissing me off, there was no question of taking the offer. I couldn't walk away from Charlie. I wasn't conceited enough to think Final Blow would collapse without me, but it would certainly be set back. Charlie had given me everything. He'd saved me. I couldn't abandon him. Besides, I finally had my life under control. I had a rhythm and structure that worked for me. Rocking the boat was the last thing I wanted to do.
"I appreciate the offer, but no thanks." I returned to my cool down, but the dismissal was apparently lost on him.
"Think about it for a few days. This is a big opportunity. You don't want to rush your decision."
"I don't need to think. I'm happy where I am."
Task's smile slipped. This wasn't a man who was used to being turned down. He'd expected this to be a cake walk. And why wouldn't he? Most unknown fighters would kill for a chance in the big leagues. But I wasn't most fighters. "You're happy wasting your nights working in this dive, instead of reaching your full potential? You're happy getting paid peanuts when you could be clearing six, maybe seven, figures a year? That's right. I've done my research. I know all about you Logan. This is a chance to turn your hobby into a career. Don't throw that away."
Something inside me snapped. "I've got a career," I replied, stepping in close and letting the full weight of my anger play across my face. "It involves throwing unwanted customers from this 'dive' out on their asses. And guess what? You just made the list."