Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
LUKE
During dinner, Syndi and I have a chance to get to know each other a little better.
Up to this point, she's been a pain in my ass with all the photo shoots, interviews, and being the epitome of Miss Proper Etiquette.
She's still too prim and proper, but she's finally allowing me to see a little more of her other side.
"I know I keep saying it, but I'm just completely shocked and in awe of you," she gushes for the third time.
"It's just what I do, and I'm not even in the same league as most of these guys. Seriously, I appreciate it, but until I can say I've won the championship belt, I'll never think I'm as good as I can be," I explain to her.
"Well, I'll certainly do my part to help you get there.
If that means more pictures, interviews, and magazine articles, then that's what I'll do," she says with determination.
"Speaking of, your photo shoot with the magazine next week will be great.
I've seen the set they're using, and it'll be perfect. "
I grunt in disapproval, and she levels me with her business look. One eyebrow slowly quirks up, as if she's daring me to challenge her expertise.
"Look, I appreciate everything you do. I don't mean to sound unappreciative," I start.
"But..." she says, waiting for me to finish.
"But it's just a lot to take in. I'm not into interviews and pictures of me everywhere. I came here to learn from the best, so I can make a career of this. It was na?ve of me not to think about the PR part of the business, but I guess I just assumed someone else would take care of all that."
"When you get to a certain point, that'll be easier to manage. You have to give up your time and privacy to get to a point in your career where time and privacy are yours again." She shrugs. "Until then, the adoring fans need to know everything there is to know about you."
"Everything there is to know about me, huh?"
"Yes, and each demographic will want to know different things about you.
The guys will want your fight record, your workout routine, and your chest and arm measurements.
The women will want to know everything about your personal life—who you're dating, what she does, if it's a serious relationship, and if you're getting married. "
The waitress shows up at that moment and takes our dinner order.
While Syndi orders, I think about what she said.
My personal life is about to become public record that will be dissected, poked around in, and put back together in whatever story sells best for the day.
That’s in addition to the commission review and how that has impacted my personal life, not to mention my professional boxing aspirations.
"You know my relationship status," I say nonchalantly. "You can field those questions."
"Are you planning to marry Andi?" Syndi asks.
"Yes, we're engaged," I say, leaning back against my chair.
"Your female fans will be disappointed. Even the illusion of being available can draw more fans for some men."
"I don't need to disillusion my fans, Syndi."
"Okay, just a suggestion," she replies, unfazed.
The predictable Syndi is emerging again. Just when I think she's redeemable, she reverts to the shady spin doctor, looking for a way to sensationalize the story and make it more interesting than it really is.
"Don't think that Travis's camp isn't doing the same thing, Luke.
Even though Andi isn't the main act, tying her to Travis can increase the hype and increase album and ticket sales.
The label is all about making their money back on their artists, and the boxing commission is no different.
The more demand they create for you and Shane, the more they can drive ticket sales through the roof," she says.
It makes sense, but I'll admit I don't love thinking about the way the publicity machine works around Andi.
It's the same machine that's been used against her.
As if on cue, the image changes on the TV over the bar, and I'm staring at Andi and Travis with their arms around each other's waists.
The picture is from their last performance together—staged, promotional, exactly what Syndi just described. I know that.
I still have to breathe through it.
Sensing the change in me, Syndi turns and looks at the screen. When she turns back to me, understanding shows on her face, and she reaches her hand across the table to squeeze mine.
"Luke," she says reassuringly. "This is all for show. They're selling the illusion of happily ever after."
I nod. "I know." And I do know. Doesn't make it easier to watch. "So how will the coverage affect my image? When I come on the scene, and it comes out that I'm engaged to her?"
"You'll be the loving, trusting, supportive fiancé. Let Travis's camp worry about how he's seen."
"And how will Andi be seen?"
"That's the wild card in this scenario, Luke," she says hesitantly.
"It can be good or bad for her. If it looks like Travis is pining for her but she's faithful to you, she'll be the most envied woman in the world.
If it looks like she's with Travis and stringing you along, she'll be the most hated.
There's really no in-between and no way to control which way the tide will turn. "
"I've seen how the tide of the paparazzi turns on people, Syndi. I don't want them turning against Andi again. You make sure that she's viewed in a positive light."
"I'll do my best. But you're my primary concern, not Andi."
"Well, that's enough of that talk," I say as the waitress sets our appetizer in front of us. "Tell me all about Syndi. The only thing I know about you is how good you are at your job."
She flashes a genuine smile at me. It's demure, unsure, and a little surprised. There's no doubt that she's a beautiful woman, but her bulldog attitude sometimes overshadows her looks.
"You really want to know about me?" she asks, and I nod.
"None of my clients has ever asked about me before," she says thoughtfully. “You are different from most men I've met.”
"Let's see. I was born and raised in Los Angeles. My parents own a successful chain of restaurants, so I grew up in an affluent area. I've always known what was expected of me, what I wanted to do, and how to get what I want. My parents are still a major influence in my life, and we're very close."
"Any siblings?" I ask.
"Yes, I have a brother and a sister."
"So do I." I smile. "Older or younger?"
"My sister is older, and my brother is younger." She smiles widely, pleased we have something in common.
"My sister is younger, and my brother is older," I laugh. "I'm also close to my parents, though we've had our rough patches."
"What family doesn't? The important thing is that you can count on them when it matters the most. Minor disagreements can be forgotten when the big needs are consistently met."
"So true. I know without a doubt that I can call my family for help, and they'd be there for me in a second. Even if I'm wrong, they'll still have my back—after telling me about it."
"Exactly!" she exclaims. "Sounds like our families are very similar in that respect."
"What drew you into public relations?" I ask, genuinely interested now.
Her expression morphs into a mixture of serious and sad at the same time.
“My best friend in high school was a guy.
He really was just a friend, and we were very close.
His name was Parker Lee. Parker was an incredible athlete, but football was where his heart and soul were.
He had college scouts coming to watch him play, and several agents were each trying to woo Parker and his parents to sign with their companies.
“Parker's parents were very wealthy and well-known.
One agent got especially vigorous in his attempts to get Parker to sign with him.
He dug up some information about Parker's parents that revealed that his father wasn't really his father.
It caused a huge fight in the family. His parents went through a nasty breakup, and Parker blamed himself for it.
"He committed suicide over it. The note he left said he couldn't take the negative publicity that his talent created. He thought that if he hadn't pursued a football career, his family would still be together because none of it would have ever come to light.
"So, after watching what happened to my best friend and his family, I decided I wanted to help the people who are in the limelight. Most people are just trying to realize their dreams. If I can help my clients achieve them, I feel like I'm honoring Parker's dreams."
"I'm very sorry for what happened to your friend, but I'm glad you shared that with me. It helps put a lot of things into perspective for me," I say honestly.
"I've never told anyone that story before. I don't know why I felt so comfortable telling you, but I'm glad I did. I'm fully aware that I can come across as bossy and all business, but it's always with my clients' best interests at heart."
"I believe you mean that."
When our meals arrive, we eat and chat about anything and everything, like old friends catching up.
It feels good to enjoy a meal with someone else for a change.
Shane is always busy and is on a different schedule than I am.
Andi's schedule, with the frequent and late-night concerts, doesn't give us much time to talk.
I've missed real conversations with someone who genuinely wants to talk to me.
"Thank you for having dinner with me, Syndi," I say earnestly.
"It's my pleasure, Luke," she replies with a smile. "Any time you want company, just give me a call."
"Be careful. That may be every day. It gets old eating alone every night," I admit.
"I'm sure you miss Andi terribly."
"I do," I admit. "But it's more than that. I guess I just miss having a friend to hang out with sometimes."
"I'd be honored to be your friend," she offers.
"I'll take you up on that offer," I say as I extend my hand to shake hers.
She accepts my proffered hand and lightly squeezes it as she shakes it. "As friends, I expect us to spend time together that's not work-related. I know your schedule doesn't allow much downtime. But I'm sure you can find some time for me."
"I think that can be arranged," I chuckle.
When the check arrives, Syndi tries to take it first. I snatch it from her hands and give her my stern look of warning. "This is my treat tonight."
"I'm the one who invited you, remember? We came to talk about your magazine shoot next week. That makes it my treat, or rather, my company's treat." She smiles and takes the check away from me.
"Fine. This time, since it's a business expense. Next time, I'm taking my friend out for dinner."
"Deal," she agrees.
When I walk into my hotel room, it hits me that I'm alone again.
I pull my phone from my pocket, FaceTime Andi, and wait for it to connect.
When she answers, the screen is mostly dark, but I can hear the familiar noise of the tour bus in the background.
Glancing over at the clock, I'm surprised to see my dinner with Syndi lasted so long.
It's already well past the time I'm usually in bed, but I'm much too energized to sleep now.
"Luke?" Andi's voice comes clearly over the connection.
"Hey. You still up?"
"Just barely. Good day?" she asks.
"Good dinner, actually. Syndi's got an entire month of media events lined up. My name's going to be everywhere by fight night." I can hear the smile in my own voice. It's real. This is happening. "How was tonight's show?"
"Good crowd. They were loud." I can hear the tiredness in her voice, the kind of emptiness that creeps in after a big performance. "I sang the dog tag song."
She means the one she's been doing acoustically—the quiet version of a song she wrote the week I left. She hasn't told me it's about me, but she doesn't need to.
"Knock 'em dead tomorrow," I say.
"Always." A pause. "Luke?"
"Yeah."
"I love you. In case I forget to say it when we're moving fast."
"You never forget," I say. "I love you back."