Chapter 18
Kas
“If it’s not in person, it should be an email,” Dash complains from beside me.
We’re standing behind Bill and Davina who are sitting in the desk chairs in front of us. Mari is on the other side of the desk, nibbling on some kabanos I managed to source yesterday evening from an Eastern European store I found on my jog.
“Let’s all play nice and remember what true sportsmanship is all about,” Davina announces.
It’s already clear that Ward’s team has no respect for us if his online slander is anything to go by; it’s even clearer now given they’re late to this online meeting.
Dash scoffs. “Sure, knocking out an opponent by making them brain dead is sportsmanship now?” he says, reminding us of Ward’s last fight and the slap on the wrist he got.
The video shifts and Ward’s large team is shown circled around a long meeting table with a panoramic view of the Vegas Strip in the back. Some of his team snigger at our setup.
“Grandpa, mom, and the kids,” Ward pokes.
His all-male team falls into wails of laughter at his less-than-humorous joke. Ward somehow looks more punchable than usual. It might have something to do with the giant FU design incorporated into his buzz cut to match the same lettering tattooed on the front of his neck.
“Prick,” Bill hisses inaudibly to Fletcher, yet loud enough for us all to hear this side of the screen.
“Davina, Davina, Davina,” one of the older guys on the team croons.
I’m pretty sure it’s Ward’s manager, Clive, given the familiarity in his voice when he addresses Davina. He’s bald with a neatly trimmed gray beard that stands out against his tan skin. He uses a small remote to zoom out the camera and catch more people in the frame.
Ward’s team is bigger than I thought, much bigger.
“Clive,” Davina acknowledges.
“Nice to see your beautiful face again.” Mari clears her throat and makes a disgusted face at Clive’s flirty undertones. Davina doesn’t respond, unbothered by Clive’s affirmation. “I trust that you’re all settled in,” he says, waving a stack of papers in front of him while settling into his leatherback chair.
“Of course,” Davina says.
“Eager, Kas?” Ward smirks at his own words.
“To win, yes.”
Ward sighs loudly at my response and rolls his eyes. “You’re so fucking dry. Holy shit, you’d think he was a robot.” Ward laughs and everyone but Clive laughs with him, like a pack of fucking hyenas.
Bill clears his throat, Davina shuffles impatiently, and Dash’s knuckles grow white when he clutches the back of her chair. Mari’s presence in front of the desk is somehow keeping me in check because I’m also fighting the urge to snap at Ward’s comments.
“On the topic of Kacper being boring, let’s just get to the meat of this call, shall we?” Clive says with a pen clutched deftly in his left hand.
Davina’s posture becomes rigid. “I don’t like the sound of this, Clive. I thought this was a check-in for Kacper.”
My name in everyone’s mouths makes me feel as if I’m not in the room, like I’m nothing but an accessory to Ward’s fame.
“We would like to discuss some potential public controversies that we could put into place before the fight,” Clive continues.
Ward’s smile grows.
“Go on,” Davina urges.
“We need to create conflict. Viewership for these fights is declining, and prior opponents we’ve had were, quite frankly, much more charismatic. We need audience interest, Vinnie.”
“Davina,” she corrects. “And staged conflict was never mentioned in the contract, nor is it in my fighter’s nature to do so.”
“It goes without saying. A lot of buzz won’t exist without poking the nest a little,” Clive says as if it’s self-explanatory. “And we want a generous cut of PPV.”
“I’m not the type to encourage buzz. My ability to fight doesn’t mean I have to make a fool out of myself to gain interest,” I say, staring down the camera. “Just because you fucked up your career and another man’s life, it doesn’t mean I need to fuck up mine.”
Mari looks shocked at my snappiness, her lips set in a pout to hold back an impressed smirk. Even Dash discreetly smacks the back of my shoulder in silent support.
“Ah, look, you have it in you to be an asshole. Just make sure you do it publicly next time,” Ward replies.
“We’re not even the main event. Controversy doesn’t matter with us,” Dash counters.
He’s right. I’m an early fighter on the main card, getting the audience riled up for the main event.
“I have a reputation to uphold as Fletcher Ward. An unfazed opponent is a bad look for me and my brand.” Ward’s angry tone fizzles into a whine.
“And how is that our fucking problem?” Dash asks.
“Tone it down,” Bill warns.
“Who are you again?” a man I recognize as Ward’s training partner asks Dash with a look of disgusted judgment.
Dash tenses beside me. “I’m like you but better.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ward’s training partner snarls.
“Garrett,” Clive warns.
“I’ve never known a team to be so fucking immature,” Bill snaps.
“You’re definitely not immature, you senile fuck,” Garrett says.
Davina huffs out a dry laugh. “Let’s stay on track, please.”
Everyone quiets down at Davina’s reminder, only for this Garrett guy to chirp up once more.
“No, you can shut the fuck up too,” he says.
Mari’s jaw goes slack, and I almost catch mine doing the same. The disrespect renders everyone silent from both sides. Davina is well respected in the fight industry. She paved the way for women in MMA both in business and as fighters. Nobody speaks to her like that.
“How dare you,” Davina says.
Dash leans forward between Bill and Davina. “Kill yourself,” he says in a last-ditch attempt at getting the last word in.
Chaos ensues. Clive turns on Garrett, demanding him to get out. Dash jerks even farther forward as if he could jump through the screen and start the fight several weeks early, and Bill and Davina start shouting expletives directed at others on the opposing team. Ward and I stay unmoving, my face one of stone and his a preening smirk.
I look away from him and up to Mari who is shouting at our team to calm down. Her brown eyes silently plead at me to do something. I’m somewhat tempted not to do anything so she can look at me like that for a little longer.
That is until I hear Dash drop a random location to invite someone to “fight it out.”
“Stop,” I say. I go unheard and the arguing increases in volume. “Apologize to Davina and I’ll consider staged conflict,” I say, louder this time.
Everybody shuts up and Davina’s head jolts back.
The wide-eyed gazes from both my team and Ward’s are unnerving. Ward’s team because I’ve potentially agreed to what they’ve asked for, and my team because they know that I’d rather die than be involved in gossip-inducing situations. I also refuse to let someone speak to Davina like that.
Davina shakes her head. “No, Kas. Let’s just—”
“Apologize on behalf of you and your team and I will consider staging conflict,” I repeat. “Now.”
Clive clears his throat before speaking. “We apologize for—”
“No,” I say, interrupting Clive. “I want to hear it from Ward.”
Ward’s lips thin so much they’re barely visible as he debates his options. I’m assuming he’s opting to be stubborn because the silence between us stretches for a beat too long.
“On behalf of me and my team, we apologize for any unprofessional remarks directed at Davina,” Clive says in place of Ward.
“If I don’t receive an apology from Ward in the next week, I refuse to agree to any terms not stated in our contract. That includes whatever cheap entertainment you have planned.”
With that, I punch the red button on the screen and effectively hang up the call. We all stare at the silver piece of tech in contempt.
“Sportsmanship, eh?” Bill grunts as if he wasn’t involved in the argument.
Davina stands, grabbing her gigantic metallic water bottle. “That was unacceptable behavior from both sides. If this is how Vegas is going to be, I won’t hesitate to call this shit off.”
She makes a start to the back door that leads to the changing rooms and main office. The layout is somewhat similar to our home gym, apart from the large conference room right at the back of this building.
“And, Kas, do not ever make a promise like that to them without running it by me first,” she adds.
I shrug. “Had to be done.”
“No, it didn’t have to be done,” she says. “We also do not tell other people to kill themselves, Dash.”
Mari and I hide our smiles as Dash groans like a petulant teenager. “Oh my god, it’s a playground insult. Any middle schooler who plays video games says the same shit.”
“Jesus Christ,” Davina says, subconsciously rubbing her pregnant stomach as she departs.
Bill hacks up a thick cough and shakes out his newspaper.
“Your response was very human, Dash,” Mari says, validating his choice of words as she sits herself in Davina’s empty chair.
“Thanks, Sunshine,” he says, patting Mari gently on the back.
Sunshine?
My skin prickles.
Dash checks his phone before raising it to his ear. He takes his loud conversation outside of the gym.
“Why does he call you that?” I say, forcing an airy, unbothered tone to my words.
“Because of that T-shirt I wore under the overalls at your fight.”
My simmering jealousy gradually subsides at her explanation. “Oh, right. Wasn’t sure if you two had something going on.”
“With Dash? God no. Besides, you’d consider it unprofessional and fire me.”
Is she admitting that she would give him the time of day if it wasn’t considered unprofessional?
“Is he your type?”
Her eyes narrow. “I don’t have a type. I’m not interested in Dash at all if that’s what you want to hear.”
She’s sniffing me out like a bloodhound. Mari isn’t an idiot; she’s one hundred percent aware that I wouldn’t approve of her and Dash together. She just doesn’t know that I wouldn’t approve of her being with anyone else either because it would be unprofessional.
Now, would I shut it down if she was interested in me? Probably not.
Would that make me a hypocrite? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“Just curious,” I say, interrupting my delusions with an excuse not even I believe.
“Bill!” Davina shouts. “You’ll never guess who’s the cutman for Kas’s fight!”
Bill grunts when he stands and shuffles into the back of the gym. “I swear to god if it’s O’Neill ...” His voice trails off as he continues to Davina.
“They seem over the meeting already,” Mari says, angling her body to face me.
I take Bill’s abandoned chair next to her. “That’s just how it is. Gotta keep it pushing.”
She opens up her laptop, and the screensaver is different from the one she had before Vegas. It’s of her and a girl in a selection of photo booth pictures. The girl looks like Mari, if Mari had glasses and piercings. Both of them look fashionable in completely different ways.
Even today, Mari dons a spotted, oversized, button-down blouse and has tucked one part of the hem into the waistband of her light blue jeans. A little beret graces her head, and you can hear her coming from a mile away because of the bracelets she’s wearing too.
I’ve never been this observant of another person’s outfit and with Mari, I’m always looking forward to seeing what she’s chosen to wear.
“I like how you handled the meeting,” she says. “You’re snappy with your comebacks. You got siblings or something?”
“No, only child.”
The only person left in my family.
Mari’s gaze softens briefly at my answer and her eyebrows do that cute little upturn to form a small crease on her forehead. “That makes sense. You seem to get your own way, a lot.”
My lips twitch at her reply. “Stereotyping an only child? Low, Mari, real low.”
We exchange a small smile, and the toe of her shoe accidentally skims mine when she swivels back and forth in the chair. Her head is bent forward and her braids cascade around her face, doing little to hide her shy grin. I poke the tip of my shoe with hers and we engage in a silent battle of toe-tapping.
“Speaking of you getting your own way, where’s my camera that you nicked from me?” she asks a few seconds later.
When she looks up at me, there’s a flushed glow beneath her dark complexion.
“ Nicked? How much have you been hanging around Bill?”
“Uh-uh, don’t change the subject. My camera, where is it?”
“Getting fixed.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“In Vegas?” In my hotel room.
“Yes.”
“And by getting ? As in it has yet to start getting fixed? Or is it in the process of getting fixed? The two are very different.” Her lips are pressed together tightly, and her brows draw together.
“It’s in the process.”
Something not too distant from pride swells deep within me because I’ve almost managed to repair her camera; I just need to pick up a part from a nearby store.
“Speaking of cameras, I need to post on my story,” I say.
“You can just do that without telling me, no need to impress.”
“I’m not trying to impress you,” I lie.
Mari used to nag me about posting on my story. She’d praise me whenever I did it myself, so I started to take initiative just to hear the words “nice job” from her lips.
I hold my middle finger out and take a photo of it in front of Davina’s laptop, captioning it with “Meetings.”
“Kas don’t post your middle ...” Mari sucks in a soothing breath. “Stop playing with me.”
“I like playing with you.”
My admission has Mari cringing, her focus still on the very uncouth story I’ve published. She turns when Davina emerges from the back.
“If Davina wasn’t here, I’d chew you out for that photo,” she whispers.
Mari’s breath skitters up the side of my neck, and I have to swallow down a moan, flinching a little when she pats my shoulder as she stands.
If there’s one thing hotter than Mari just existing, it’s her ability to make me well aware if I’m doing something she slightly disapproves of. I’ve never communicated so much with someone in my life, and the only thing left unspoken between us is probably the loudest and most obvious: our attraction to each other.