Chapter 7
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Daphne asks, leaving Farm Fresh five days after the James Jubilee. I follow her out the door that Gabe holds open into the muggy afternoon, giving him a less-than-enthusiastic look.
Daphne returned from her extended holiday this morning, and the first words out of Gabe’s mouth when she walked into the office were: “You’re never going to believe what happened this weekend!
” Lucky for me, Laura stepped off the elevator at that exact moment, interrupting our conversation.
She looked up from her phone with a raised brow, no doubt wondering what we were doing standing there instead of at our desks.
That might be the first and only time I will be grateful for her witch-like tendencies.
Before we could even order drinks at lunch today, Gabe’s mouth opened.
He just had to mention not only our run-in with a few world-famous wrestlers last weekend, but also that I’d gone on a date with one of them before and hadn’t told them.
That’s how I found out Daphne is a fan of EWE.
She started watching because of her husband, and his enthusiasm was infectious.
But she didn’t speak about EWE the same way a casual fan via their spouse would.
Daphne is invested. She even bought her husband tickets to the big show coming to town at the end of August. I got a strong case of deja vu talking with Daph; it was very reminiscent of my conversation with Ally at the pizza shop.
I guess I never realized how popular professional wrestling really is.
Needless to say, our lunch break was consumed with questions about one Wolf Bennett and our coffee date meeting scheduled for tonight.
Yes, Bennett and I have a date tonight.
By the end of the party—sorry, Jubilee—I was sure our reunion would be another one-and-done thing by the way he’d distanced himself.
I figured it had to do with the way we left things in the pool house, which I know should have never happened.
I’m working on a story, and I can’t get involved with him.
It wouldn’t be right. But when he kissed me…
I couldn’t stand the thought of pushing him away.
I know it’s wrong. I know I fucked up and crossed a line, but it’s barely over a year since I’d wanted him to kiss me on my best friend’s front step.
Everything about this worries me. If I couldn’t hold it together for one night with a hundred other people around, how can I when it’s just the two of us?
If it wasn’t for Brody, who knows what might have happened…
God, and the look on Bennett’s face when I accused him of treating me like another one of his “fan conquests.” I hated the genuine hurt on his face.
Isn’t that what so many wrestlers are known for?
The endless line of women knocking on their door, hoping for a chance to have one night with them.
Apparently not, or at least not when it comes to Bennett James.
Another thing to add to the list of things I may have been wrong about…
Before I could find him once I left the pool house, Ally dragged me down to the fire pit to make s’mores at Esther’s request because she didn’t want any leftovers.
When we returned, Bennett seemed more reserved and withdrawn.
At one point, I thought I’d seen him and Savannah talking; maybe she’d said something, or maybe he was just tired.
It had been a long day, but I won’t deny I left feeling a little disappointed.
I told myself it was because I lost my golden ticket to getting a real story about Amos Rafferty.
It would have to go back to the drawing board.
My contact at EWE was useless, regurgitating the same six bullet points over and over again.
That isn’t enough to impress Pulse. When I saw Bennett’s name on my phone the day after the party while Ally and I sat poolside, my stomach did a massive flip, and I couldn’t hold back my smile.
I was not going to let this opportunity slip through my fingers again, because that’s all it was: my chance to write the story that has never been written, deconstructing the carefully crafted narrative of Amos and the company.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the way he looked at me beneath the sky full of stars Saturday night.
Daphne sighs, sliding her sunglasses over her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for doing whatever it takes to get the job done, but Sloane, if he finds out—”
“He isn’t going to find out.” The words come out in a low hiss, stopping me in my tracks.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath.
“He isn’t…It’s just coffee, guys. I highly doubt he’s going to be dropping any big secrets tonight.
That’s going to take time, time that I don’t have, so if that means I have to drop everything and go when he calls, that’s what I’m going to do. ”
Gabe shakes his head. “I don’t like this. You shouldn’t use people like this, especially not someone like him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He likes you,” Gabe says. I scoff, rolling my eyes as I pull my sunglasses down over my eyes.
“You didn’t see what I saw the other day.
That man likes you. And let’s not pretend you didn’t sneak off with him to do God knows what during the fireworks.
Your cheeks were extra rosy”—he pokes my cheek, before motioning to his own face—“and you had that post-coital glow when—”
“You had sex with him?” Daphne shrieks, head whipping in my direction.
Okay, so maybe Gabe didn’t tell her everything.
I groan, rubbing the space between my brows. “No, we did not have sex.”
He shrugs. “Maybe not, but whatever happened in that bathroom, it only solidified things for him. And if I’m being honest, I think this weekend solidified things for you, too.”
I glare at him. “I don’t…like him.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” Daphne says, sharing a knowing look with Gabe as we approach our office building. “You’d better be careful, Sloane, or you’re going to end up breaking more than a few ethical rules.”
“Well, ladies, this is where I leave you. I have some errands to run.” Gabe twirls his keys around his finger and walks backward down the sidewalk.
“Where are you going?” Daphne asks, voicing the same question I have. It’s barely one o’clock in the afternoon.
“I have to pick Chase’s sister up at the train station. We’re going to dinner and to some exhibit at the art museum tonight, but I still expect a full report from your date. Make sure Prince Charming gets you home before the clock strikes twelve, otherwise you might turn back into a pumpkin.”
I roll my eyes, and Daphne can’t contain her laughter.
“Goodbye, Gabriel,” I say, walking through the revolving door with my right hand over my shoulder, one specific finger lifted in the air.
Are you sure you know what you’re doing?
Daph’s question echoes in my mind as I walk down the street.
No, I’m not sure. Far from it, actually, but what choice do I have?
If I’m going to finish this story and prove my worth to Pulse, it’s going to require doing some less-than-honorable things…
like using the small amount of trust I’ve built with Bennett to get insider access to a company locked down tighter than Fort Knox.
You’d think they were working on top government secrets, especially when it comes to the man in charge.
Don’t even get me started on that answer Savannah gave when I asked about him the other day.
Amos is the kind of person who makes you believe in what you’re doing. Makes you believe you’re part of something…bigger.
Gag me. It sounds like something a cult follower might say about their leader.
Turning off Beacon Street, I slow my approach to the coffee shop.
When he suggested this place, I was confused because it’s so close to my apartment.
Did he look up my information? Surely not; he doesn’t even know my last name because I gave him a false one at the Jubilee.
But when I asked him why this specific cafe, he said his mom had recommended it.
Beacon Brew is my favorite coffee shop in this area, and the best part is it’s only a few blocks away from my condo.
The storefront reminds me of something you might see in Wexley Hollow with a warm, charming, old-town feel.
It’s housed in a corner brick building in the middle of Beacon Hill, with a hanging sign that reads Beacon Brew and features a simple outline of two lanterns.
Lush greenery is mixed with Fourth of July decorations left over from the weekend, spilling out of the window boxes beneath tall windows on either side of the open front door.
“You can do this, Sloane,” I say, taking a deep breath. “It’s just coffee.”
It’s just coffee, I repeat mentally, walking inside.
Coffee and a little conversation to figure out what I need to do that Troy couldn’t.
What no one else has done before. Yes, Elite Wrestling Entertainment wrestlers do interviews, but it’s always the same story.
They talk about their path through the “indie circuit”—those are the smaller, more regionalized companies not associated with the bigger ones—to EWE, and how strenuous the work-life balance can be, but they wouldn’t trade it for the world.
The one thing I’ve noticed is that wrestlers hate it when someone calls it “fake.” I’ve also noticed that the one person who never does an interview is Amos Rafferty.
It seems strange that the man who completely transformed a failing company around and turned it into this mega wrestling empire wouldn’t want to tout his accomplishments.