The F King: A Bad Boy Romance(66)

“And you’re doing a good job, but that’s not what I’m talking about. This is a Media Relations play. You know what professional wrestling has that we don’t?” Ian asked.

“A bunch of pussies?” I guessed.

“Week after week, month after month, SWE events outsell, absolutely dwarf, NHBFC events. Why?” Robbie asked.

Ross and I glanced at each other but said nothing. This was beginning to piss me off. I could have cornholed a published model by now if it wasn’t for this little pep talk about pro wrestling.

“Drama.” Robbie answered his own question. “SWE has a team of writers scripting and manufacturing drama every single day and the crowds love it. That’s what I’m going to bring to NHBFC.”

“I’m no fancy businessman, but I think if you start having people get in the cage in stupid outfits and hitting each other with chairs, the organization is going to be circling the toilet pretty fuckin’ quick,” I said.

“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.