Submission Specialist(Still a Bad Boy #2)(7)

“That’s the beauty of it. The action in the decagon is going to stay real, we don’t script that. It just means the writers need to prepare different versions of the story depending on who wins,” said Ian.

“And you, Austin, are going to be our first major storyline.”

“I fucking am not. There’s nothing in my contract about this. Like Ross says, we don’t have time for it.”

I stood to leave and Ian raised his hands, fingers spread, waving me down like he was playing a keyboard on a high shelf. “Wait, wait, hear me out. I think you’re gonna like this.”

“What’s to like about this place turning into an off-Broadway play?” I asked, grudgingly returning to my seat.

“We don’t anticipate this is going to involve that much extra work for you. You already do interviews and record TV spots to promote your fights and events, for the most part we just need better… uh… management of what you say in those circumstances,” said Robbie.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, the storyline we’ve got worked out for you is a heel-face turn. That’s when a villain becomes a good guy for some reason. Wrestling fans love it.”

“I’m a fighter, not an actor. I don’t understand what you expect me to do here. If somebody gets in the cage with me I’m going to fuck them up, that’s what I do.”

Ian waved my objection away. “Yes, yes, of course. Nothing changes there, it’s just that… well, take the post-event press conference today.”

“What about it?” I asked.

“Well, instead of calling your opponent a stupid fucking asshole who had no business getting in the ring with you, you could perhaps just say he’s a skilled fighter who was beaten by a better man on the day. Same goes for the promo spots.”

I could feel my face screwing up in disgust, my knuckles were getting white with strain holding on to the armrests. Robbie here might have a two hundred and thirty pound surprise waiting for him in the parking lot if this wasn’t some kind of joke.

“When do we get to the part I’m supposed to like?” I said through gritted teeth.

Ian sat back in his chair again and clasped his hands over his stomach with a “checkmate-motherfucker” kind of look on his face. He glanced at Robbie before answering.

“Title shot.”

That got my attention. Undefeated in five years as the reigning heavyweight champion, and another five before that as he moved up the ranks, there was nobody I wanted to face in the cage more than Brenton Southgate. Fuck I wanted to see the look on his bloodied and bruised face when I finally decided to make him tap out.

I must have been wearing my heart on my sleeve, because Ian put his hand into a gun shape and pointed it at me with a smile. Robbie’s face mirrored the same expression.

“You don’t really deserve the title shot, of course,” Ian said, “after the losses to Coles and Harbinger, but the crowd loves watching you fight so, Austin, you do this for me, and beat the current number one contender, and I’ll give you your shot at Southgate.

Holy shit, beat the number one contender? I was going to rip his fucking head off so fast the crowd would want their money back.

“OK, when do we start?” I asked.

“Hold up, what’s the extra compensation for this?” Ross asked.

“Nothin’,” said Ian. “Not directly, anyway. You’ll get a bigger purse just for it being a title fight, and… ah, screw it, I’ll throw in an extra hundred kay into your purse if the ticket sales and pay per view buy-ins break records. And they will, if you do your part.”

Fuck it, they had me at “title shot”. This was no time for Ross to play hardball. I gave him a look and he shrugged.

“I’m in. What do I do?”

“Well,” said Robbie, “there’s just one more thing.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“We needed a reason for the heel-face turn. The writers pitched a bunch of ideas, and the best one involves a whirlwind romance and marriage with a suitable woman,” said Robbie.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Title shot,” said Ian, drawing the words out in a singsong voice.

“We’ve already got your wife lined up,” said Robbie.

“What? Who?”

“Ariana Gray, the new ring girl. Maybe you saw her out there tonight?”

Apparently I was wearing my heart on my sleeve again, because Ian and Robbie looked like they’d landed the sale. This was the weirdest fucking meeting I’d ever had though.

“Like we have to really get married? Why?”

“Public record,” said Robbie. “Once we’ve been doing this for a while, people are going to cotton on to the fact that certain situations have been scripted. It won’t matter in the long run, it’s common knowledge with professional wrestling and that doesn’t stop the cash flowing in, but we can ride the reality train for a better return on investment until then. I mean, what do you care, right? You’re gettin’ a title shot over here.”