Chapter 14
My stomach has been in knots since I got the text from Xander Collins, the Head of Talent Relations, earlier.
He requested that I meet him and Tim Cass, the head writer for all EWE content, when I arrived at the arena.
Today is my first day back after being cleared to return to action since injuring my shoulder at Battle of Champions.
I didn’t even know it was possible to sprain your shoulder, but it happens more often than you’d think.
Aiming for a spear to her midsection, I slid through the middle and top ropes when Rae stepped out of the way.
My shoulder slammed into the thick metal ring post, and from the moment of impact, I knew something was wrong.
I continued to let Rae work the same shoulder, which only made things worse.
By the end of the match, I knew I was in trouble, but I hoped it wasn’t as bad as it felt.
The doctors told me I was lucky it had only been a small sprain, but it was a sprain nonetheless and would take me off TV for at least three weeks.
And in this business, that can be a death sentence.
So, I can guess what the suits want to talk about—a new storyline.
Or maybe they want to continue the feud between me and Rae (far less likely).
Or maybe they’re going to keep me off TV for a while (less likely, but still possible).
I’ve been in the title picture since last September after I unseated Harper Valentine as the most boring champion we’d seen in a while—don’t let Bennett hear me say that, or he’ll have my head.
He and Harper have been going steady since he invited her to the ranch last New Year’s, and God forbid anyone have any criticism about her (constructive or otherwise).
I can’t wait for the day their relationship ends.
Before I can knock on the door to the makeshift “corporate” office, it swings open to reveal Xander Collins dressed in his maroon colored suit, per usual. How many of those does he have?
Similar to the first time I saw him at auditions, Xander reminds me a lot of my mother’s father, with dark, curly hair and a mustache to match.
Bushy eyebrows over warm, brown eyes with small crinkles in the corners when he smiles, just like Abuelo.
And I always notice the small quirk of his mouth whenever he catches me speaking Spanish.
Even though I know he understands me, he always replies in English.
One day I’ll get him to respond in Spanish, though.
“Oh, good!” Xander smiles and ushers me inside. “You’re both here, we can get started.”
Did he say both? Who else is here? He must mean Raelynn, which means they are keeping…What the hell?
“Savannah!” Amos shouts my name from behind the desk.
Amos Rafferty is the man behind the Elite Wrestling Entertainment empire.
He started the company in 1981, taking over a failing wrestling promotion based in Houston, Texas, at the ripe age of twenty-seven.
With a lot of hard work (and some occasional backstabbing with a smidge of less-than-ethical practices, but hey, that’s business), he turned it into the company we all know and love today.
Everything about Amos is loud, from his voice to his mannerisms to his strut; his presence is one you cannot miss when he walks into a room.
He’s ruggedly handsome with hazel-green eyes that pierce straight through the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses and into your soul.
Despite his rough exterior, Amos is one of my favorite people in the whole company.
Xander gives me a gentle push forward when he walks behind me to join Tim in the chairs on the side of the room.
“Glad you could make it.” Amos stands and outstretches his hand.
As if I had a choice, but his excitement when he sees me never fails to fill me with a small amount of pride.
“Sit, we have a proposition for you,” he says, motioning to the chair next to none other than Brooks Taylor.
Amos adjusts his black suit jacket before he sits down and folds his hands neatly on the desk.
His use of the word proposition is just a nice way of saying they have a new script to follow.
But it’s the presence of the man next to me that confuses me.
Are they putting us in a story together?
“You know about this?” I whisper to John when Amos briefly turns to Xander and Tim. He shakes his head, finally peeling his eyes from his lap. A soft smile melts some of my nerves, and I return the gesture.
“Okay, guys,” Tim says. “Let’s get down to business. We want to put you in a story together. Savannah will return tonight to reignite and finish the feud with Rae Rose. You’ll have your rematch at Capitol Punishment next month, but you’ll also start joining Brooks out at ringside and—”
“So, I lose my title and I turn into a valet?” I scoff, and a slight knock against the side of my foot tells me to knock it off, but I choose to ignore his warning.
“You’re not a valet, Sav,” Xander argues. “We want to keep you on television, keep you in the eye of the audience. You’re going to help feed into an upcoming feud between Brooks and Ryker.”
“So, a love triangle?” John asks.
“Essentially,” Tim says.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I went from the top woman in the whole division to a fucking valet overnight.
How typical. The worst part is, as much as I want to fight, to push back…
I know that I can’t. That’s not how this works.
There are too many risks involved in that.
If I say no, they could just as easily take me off television and put me on the bench until they deem me ready to return.
I’ve seen it happen too many times over the last few years.
However, even though I can’t fight back…John can.
“Don’t you think that’s a little overplayed?” He asks, and his eyes flicker my way. I offer him a soft smile before he returns to the men in charge of our fate.
“You have something else in mind?” Tim asks.
Yes, literally anything else.
I watch John’s mouth open and close three times, grasping at straws, before he resigns with a heavy sigh. He glances at me with a sorrowful smile, shaking his head. John knows suggesting anything else could potentially mean pulling me from TV, and he doesn’t want to risk it.
“Great!” The writer claps his hands together and looks at me. “Then starting today, you’ll be spending a lot of time together.”
John stares at each of them for the appropriate amount of time, giving each man his attention, and listens as Tim goes over in more detail how things will play out.
I haven’t heard a damn word he’s said, focused on my nails, and I wish I had gone with a darker color than maroon.
When John stands from his seat, I scramble to do the same.
“You put them up to this, didn’t you?” I ask once they’ve dismissed us and the door closes on our backs.
I know how dumb it sounds, but part of me believes it might be true.
We haven’t spoken much in the last year.
He kept his word, keeping his distance while I did the same and continued to work my ass off and prove myself in this company.
It hasn’t been easy, and there has been a lot of pushback, but the moment Amos and Chelsea told me they wanted to give me a title run made it all worth it.
I can’t deny that I’ve craved more than a smile in the hallway or a quick conversation in passing, but I suppose I haven’t welcomed more either.
Every time we’ve seen each other, I’ve kept the interaction brief and moved on.
If you ask Rae, everyone can see there is something there, but she and Bennett are the only people who have said so.
Maybe it’s because she’s always thought so from the first time she saw me and John together back at NextGen (she’s never let that go), or maybe it has to do with the countless times she’s caught me watching his matches and promos.
“You caught me, Skye.” John laughs, and it melts away a large chunk of the annoyance that’s been running through my veins.
“I told you not to wait for me, Brooks Taylor.” The words bring a toothy grin to his face.
“How’s your shoulder?” His eyes drop from my face to my left shoulder.
“It’s okay.” I shrug my shoulders a few times without any pain and laugh when his brow raises. “I’m fine, John. They wouldn’t let me back if I wasn’t clear.” We might wrestle while hurt sometimes, but the EWE trainers and doctors won’t let us if they know.
His steps pause when we reach the end of the hallway, and I can hear the buzz of backstage on the other side of the wall.
John turns to face me, and he starts to say something, but stops.
Two more times he does that, and I know that I should leave to find Raelynn—we need to put together a plan for tonight—but I’m too curious what’s got him so tongue-tied.
He takes a deep breath and finally says, “Let’s go to lunch. ”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“You don’t date wrestlers, remember?” A smirk. “Not a date, just business. We can talk more about this.” He motions between the two of us, and my brow quirks. “Not this this. This, as in you and me, our characters…You know what I mean.”
I do, but seeing him so flustered is too funny to interrupt.
“Fine.” I point my finger at him and say, “But it’s not a date.”
“It’s not a date.”