Chapter 19 #2
“No. Brooks and Brody had been on the main roster for four or five years by the time I moved up, and had firmly cemented their places here. But if it wasn’t for them, I don’t know if I would’ve gone over that night.”
“Gone over?” I ask.
“I don’t know if I would’ve won.” Bennett chuckles, kissing the top of my head. “I found out much later that it was Brooks who convinced Amos to put the belt on me.”
“Amos doesn’t seem like the type to enjoy being told what’s best for business,” I say, leaning back against the side of the ring.
“He’s not, but—” Ben’s words cut off when he turns around. His eyes darken, dragging from my head to my toes, sparking a fire in my belly when his eyes meet mine again.
“Everything okay?” I ask, the crack in my voice no doubt giving me away.
“Suddenly, I forgot what we were talking about…I just had flashbacks of those ideas I told you about from the first time I saw you.”
My core tightens, his words ringing through my thoughts: Starting with fucking you over the side of that very ring.
Bennett takes a step closer. His hands grip the edge of the ring, arms boxing me in, our faces inches apart.
The smirk on his lips matches the look in his eyes, and I fight to control my breathing.
Having him this close is like a shot of adrenaline straight to my veins.
“Do you remember what I told you, Honey?” His right hand comes up to cradle my neck, pulling me even closer.
“How desperate I’ve been to touch you from the moment I laid eyes on you? ”
“Yes” is all I can manage.
His lips hover over mine, and now I feel like the desperate one, wishing he would kiss me, ravage me, do whatever he wants with me.
He practically growls in frustration. “Fuck, if we weren’t in the middle of this building, and I wouldn’t get fired for it, I’d bend you over the side of this ring—right here, right now,” he whispers before he kisses me.
His mouth lingers on mine, warm and soft as he plies my mouth open and his tongue strokes mine in an eager embrace.
And just as fast, he’s gone, putting at least a foot of distance between us. What the fuck was that?
“Wolf, there you are!”
Oh, that explains it.
I wipe the corner of my mouth, straightening my button-up, and clear my throat before turning to see none other than Amos Rafferty shaking hands with the man I was two seconds away from fucking in the middle of this very room.
Amos is taller than I remember, standing the same height as Bennett.
He’s clean-shaven today, with a hint of a graying stubble starting to come through, and his glasses have been pushed on top of his head. He looks relaxed—happy, even.
“Noah mentioned you were stopping by today, showing the place off,” Amos says.
Bennett holds out his hand to me, and slowly, I step forward to take it.“Yes, sir. My girlfriend, Sloane. She’s a new fan of EWE. I thought it might be a good way to introduce her to our history and why we do what we do.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Amos looks at me, and I swallow the lump in my throat, forcing a smile. “You were in gorilla last night during Wolf’s promo.”
“Yes,” I say.
“What did you think?”
This feels like a test. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and ruin things for Bennett, but I don’t know what the right thing to say is, either.
I glance up at my boyfriend, whose facial expression remains neutral, but I can practically hear the thoughts running through his mind: Don’t say anything about me doing the Honor Bound. Don’t say anything about me fighting or my leg.
“It was interesting,” I finally say, turning back to Amos.
He stares at me with a wide grin. “I like her, Wolf.”
“Oh, Wolf!” Noah Callahan calls from down the hall. “I didn’t know you were still here. Can I get a minute?”
Bennett looks back at me, unsure what to do. I don’t think I can sit in on this impromptu meeting, but they can’t let me wander around here by myself either. Even if I wish they would. Imagine what I could find hiding within these walls.
“I can finish the tour. You two go ahead and take care of business. Wolf, come find us when you’re done,” Amos says, and his son-in-law’s lifted brow tells me this isn’t the norm. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I can entertain Sloane for twenty minutes while you two talk.”
“Are you sure?” Noah asks, gaze narrowed. “She’s welcome to sit in on our conversation if Wolf doesn’t mind.”
“I’d hate to inconvenience you, Amos,” Bennett says, placing a gentle hand on my lower back.
“Nonsense, I could use the distraction anyway.” Amos extends his arm in my direction, and I take it, cautiously wrapping my own around it.
When we’ve gotten out of earshot, he says, “They act like I can’t do anything.
” The eye roll that follows makes me laugh.
“I think they forget I used to do everything by myself.”
“Forty years next month, right? You bought it from Ford Declan in ’81,” I say, hoping it sounds more casual than I feel.
This is the man who is normally off limits.
The man who hasn’t given an interview to anyone outside of his own company for the last twenty years.
Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming, because there’s no way this is really happening.
“Someone was paying attention in history class.” Amos chuckles, guiding me down another long hallway with framed posters from their premier live events throughout the years. “So, you’re new to the EWE world?”
“Wrestling was never really my thing.”
Amos hums in response. “And now you’re dating a professional wrestler. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”
“I have friends who watch it—always have—but I’ve never been able to wrap my head around the idea of watching two grown men pretend to fight each other.”
A smile. “A common misconception in our line of work. I prefer to use the term ‘sports entertainment.’”
“You don’t consider your wrestlers athletes?” I ask, brow cocked.
“Absolutely. Every wrestler is an athlete, but not every athlete can be a wrestler,” Amos says, and based on his chuckle, my face must show my confusion.
“Do you know how many professional athletes from other sports have tried to step foot in the ring and failed? Other people like to pretend that what we do isn’t physical or tough, when in reality, I think it’s harder than most other sports.
The problem is they hear the word ‘entertainment’ and immediately think that means everything is fake. ”
“A lot of it is staged, though.”
“Sure, you can look at it that way. The real art isn’t in hiding the mechanics, but in doing everything with precision so the audience forgets to look for the wire.
Every time one of them walks through that curtain, they’re telling a story.
Every match, every promo, every interview, it’s all meant to cultivate a story and entertain the audience, because at the end of the day, our fans watch our product for an escape.
Somewhere in the back of their minds, fans know these two people don’t actually hate each other—”
“Most of the time,” I say, and Amos mirrors my smirk, but agrees. “Can I ask you something else? You’re welcome to tell me to mind my own business, but I’m curious. ”
“I’m an open book.” He drops my arm to open his wide as we walk down another corridor overlooking the expansive lobby below.
I highly doubt that.
“You rebuilt this failing company and almost single-handedly put professional wrestling back on the map. You’ve put your blood, sweat, and tears into this place, and I think it’s safe to say Elite Wrestling Entertainment is a direct reflection of you.
More than some people may realize. So, why do you hide behind the curtain?
Why do you hide behind a screen? I don’t think people understand the truth about this sport—or this company—and instead of trying to change that, you let them assume—”
“What do you do for work, Sloane?” Amos cuts me off.
Shit. Do I tell him the truth, or some version of the truth? I wasn’t prepared for a reverse interrogation, but I guess it should’ve been obvious this would come up in conversation.
“I work in public relations.” Not a total lie. Journalism is a form of public relations…right?
“So, you know how hard it is to maintain a certain image when dealing with the press.” He waits for me to agree before he continues. “People are going to tell the story they want, regardless of the truth. I learned that very early on, and I see no reason to waste my energy fighting the inevitable.”
“Because they’ll twist your words anyway.”
“Exactly.” Amos nods, hands laced behind his back as we stroll the halls. “Why waste my breath when they’re not going to listen?”
A few doors ago, we passed the one Bennett sits behind, the one labeled Noah Callahan, CCO, and my mind runs through the different things that could be going on inside that office. Is he in trouble? Are they changing his story? Do they want him back on the road this week?
“But don’t you coach the wrestlers on—”
“No,” Amos says, leading me down a small hallway with only one door at the very end. “Wrestlers are free to say and do as they please in interviews, as long as they’re willing to face the consequences. Now, are there a few things we advise them not to discuss? Sure.”
“Like what?” I ask, noticing the name on the plaque outside the door. Amos Rafferty, CEO and Founder. Holy shit, this is his office. I don’t know whether to be thrilled or terrified.
He shrugs. “Some of the nuances and inner workings. I like to keep some of the magic alive.” Amos pushes the door open and motions me inside the reception area, where an older woman sits with a book in hand. “Sloane, this is Maggie, my assistant.”
“Nice to meet you, Sloane,” Maggie says with a polite smile, closing her book. Her graying hair falls in delicate waves, brushing the top of her dark green blazer.
“Mags, can you send Noah a message? Let him know we’ll be in here when he and Wolf are finished going over the latest changes.” Amos doesn’t wait for a response as he walks through the double doors into his office.
Sunlight streams through a wall of windows overlooking the lake, with a large L-shaped couch in the corner—the perfect spot to host a meeting with a view.
Bookshelves filled with picture frames, various trinkets, and business books line the back wall behind the oversized black executive-style desk.
A bar cart stocked with whiskey sits equidistant from both areas.
It’s everything you’d expect a CEO’s office to be, except the thing that surprises me most is the absence of a computer.
His desk is covered in papers, most of them with notes scribbled on the first page or a bright Post-it note, but no computer.
“Tell me, Sloane,” Amos says, sitting on the leather couch. “What do you really want to know?”
My head whips to the side. “I’m sorry?”
Amos chuckles, stretching one arm out over the back of the couch. “I’ve been doing this a long time, long enough to know when someone isn’t being completely honest, and sweetie, I know you’re not here just to take in the sights.”
“I’m here because Bennett wanted to show me—”
“Sure, you’re physically here for him, but there’s something else.
Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
You work in ‘public relations,’ and you’re not a fan of EWE—presumably not of me, either.
” Slowly, I sink onto the opposite end of the couch as he continues.
“You ask a lot of questions, and while they’re not the same as everyone else who has ever sat down across from me, they’re close. What do you really want to know?”