It had been one minute after six when I’d put my car into park.
In front of the bar.
That was supposed to be his office.
“You can't even be serious right now."
His lips quirked into a crooked half smile and he shrugged. "Why not? I was punctual. Doesn't seem so much to ask that you do the same. We’re both professionals here."
He took a long slug from his glass, peering over the rim with slightly unfocused eyes and I wondered if maybe he’d gotten there a little early. Drinking alone at six PM on a Tuesday was almost as concerning as him tricking me into coming here.
Even after all his nonsense, though, I had to admit, he was easy on the eyes. His dirty blonde hair was short and messy in a way that took some guys half an hour in front of the mirror, but probably took him no more than a rake of his fingers. And his face was meant for billboards. Like a young Brad Pitt with an attitude.
And that train of thought needs to be derailed, fast.
I stepped back, realizing we were a little too close for my liking, and hauled my purse higher onto my shoulder.
"Fuck you, McDaniels." How was that for professional? "You agreed to meet with me to talk business and make like we're meeting in an office and then you send me to this shithole."
"Ouch, easy!" The plump guy behind the bar rocking a waxed handlebar mustache and horn-rimmed glasses winced at me. "That's a little harsh, no?"
"Sorry," I muttered and faced Matty again, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Seriously, though. This isn't the way things are going to be. I'm managing you, and you need to let me do it. That doesn't mean either of us has to like it, but you're not going to screw this up for me. Now step out of the way so I can go. When you're ready to meet somewhere and talk about your career let me know. Until then, I'll assume I have carte blanche and I'll schedule the fights I think will work best."
I tipped my head back so I could stare him straight in the eyes and he could see exactly how serious I was.
"This is happening. Take a few days and get your head right, and then give me a call." I tried to shove past him but he was like a wall of muscle that didn’t want to be moved. I stepped back and glared at him. “Step aside.”
"You talk a big game, but I promise you this. I'm not taking fights I don't agree with," he said, his voice low and harsh as his suddenly clear green eyes flashed with anger. "Your boss can go fuck himself if he wants to saddle me with a bad matchup."
"My boss doesn't have anything to do with it. He told me to get you ready and that's what I'm doing. He's still learning about MMA and trusts me to take care of this. It can be me and you, working together to forge a path for a bang up career, or I can take point and you can come in and do the grunt work. I'd prefer a partner, but not if he's too stupid to get out of his own way."
I elbowed him in the side as I tried to squeeze past him again, but he still wasn’t budging and I wanted to scream.
"Fine," he snapped.
"What?" I stopped to peer up at him, wondering if I’d heard him right.
"Fine," he shrugged. "If you really plan on giving me a say, let's talk. But we're here now, so why don't you calm down, have a drink with me and we can talk until my wings are done. You can order too, we'll eat and then we can head back to my gym and have a fancier meeting if you want, okay?"
I let the idea roll around in my head for a few seconds, looking for loopholes. No matter how I turned it, it felt like a “W” in my corner, so I nodded. “Sure, okay.”
He straightened and then led the way to the bar, jerking his head toward a row of empty stools. “Take your pick.”
I sat and he sat next to me and waved the bartender in our direction before taking another long pull from his glass filled with a clear liquid that had a chunk of lime perched on the rim.
The bartender looked at me expectantly, and despite the sudden craving for an icy cold beer, I decided to set a good example. "I'll take a Diet Coke.”
While he went off to get my drink, I turned to Matty and tapped his glass with my fingernail. “Maybe you should think about the same if we're looking to line up fights in the next month or two. Just so you know, during pre-fight training, I'm not a big proponent of alcohol."
"Good for you. But just so you know? I might be stuck with you as a manager, but I already have a trainer. Thanks for the tip though."
He drained his glass and then set it on the bar with a clack.
One step forward, one step back. It was like the world’s most frustrating line dance.
I plucked a worn menu from its metal holder with a sigh of resignation. Clearly, it was going to take a while for the two of us to work through the animosity, so I might as well keep my strength up. No point in me doing exactly what I'd accused him of and cutting off my nose to spite my face. After glancing at the list of eighties-themed selections, I called to the bartender.