Page 85 of Wild Side
“Monday night, you’ll open the show, and while you’re talking, Jake and Axel will jump you from behind. You’ll start off strong, and then it will go downhill quickly. Elle is going to come out with a chair and save the day. At the end, you’ll do somethingaffectionate and let her lead you back out. Do you need to get your wife’s permission or something?” He sneers the last line.
My jaw works. If I wasn’t so angry, I’d laugh. Because this is laughably stupid. They’ve never given me a romance storyline, and I have been abundantly clear that I don’t want one. For personal reasonsandbecause it makes little sense with my reclusive mountain man character.
It’s then that my phone lights up and my new background, the selfie that Tabitha snapped wearing my mask, glows back at me. A text notification from her sits just beneath.
The light draws Anthony’s attention. “Tabby? She’s cute.”
Something inside me snarls at him for using her nickname. It feels too personal, and I don’t like it one bit. “Her name is Tabitha, not that you need to know. Because you? You’re going to keep my wife’s name out of your fucking mouth.”
My boss raises his eyebrows at me, as though both amused and surprised to be on the receiving end of my fury.
“I’m weeks away from reclaiming my title at the biggest event of the year, and you want me to get rescued by my fake girlfriend after two B-list goons attack me?” The wordfakefeels more accurate on my lips than it ever felt when referring to Tabitha.
“We’re going withwife. You guys eloped. A secret love. A rush to the altar before Will could stop it. That’s the story. So remember to wear the ring.”
The knife he lodged in my gut twists. “That’s fucking ridiculous! The audience will never buy that.” My temper flares, and so does Anthony’s.
He shoots to standing, fist slamming on his desk. He’s known to be an asshole and a yeller, but I’ve been spared his fits. Until now.
“You listen to me, boy! And you listen good. You’re going to make them buy it! I’ve given you free rein and far too much say. That ends now. You’re going to fall in line, just like every otherwrestler in this company. Get that god complex under control, and stop referring to this asyourtitle.” My tongue presses into my cheek, and I glance away from his beady blue eyes. I’m too furious to even look at him.
His fist slams again. “Look at me, Rhys! This title ismine! Everything in this building ismine! I built this company. This business. And you areluckyI take your ass along on the ride with me. Now get out of here, and go find some fucking gratitude.”
My mouth is dry, and my throat feels like it might turn inside out. I’ve never considered Anthony a friend, but I’ve respected him in my own way. We’ve worked well together.
But this? Today? It makes my stomach turn. It’s tossed me back in time in an unexpected way—having to be grateful for whatever scraps I’ve been given. Maybe I’ve overstepped, but having my control stripped like this?
He’s gone too far.
I have nothing left to say, so I turn rigidly and stride out of the asshole’s office.
Will waits outside, his handsome face twisted in a chagrined grimace, blond curls sweat-slicked against his forehead after a hard workout. “Boss… Fuck, man, I’m sorry.”
Clearly, he heard the conversation. Will might come off as an airheaded tool in the ring, but he’s not that guy. He knows he’s about to lose his belt, and no matter how fake this gig might be, it easily starts to feel real. Losing a fake championship doesn’tfeelfake at all. It hurts and comes with a heavy dose of humility.
I clap his shoulder, not wanting him to stress, even though I’m spiraling. This isn’t his problem. It’s mine. “Not on you, pal. Meet you in the ring this afternoon for practice. We’re gonna give them a hell of a show.”
He nods, eyes scanning me as I move past him, continuing down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to get the fuck out of this building.
“Rhys!” Elle’s too-sweet voice grates down the back of my neck like nails on a chalkboard.
“Not now,” I growl without turning.
“We need to plan what we’re?—”
I pivot toward her. “Elle, do not push me on this. I am not in the mood. And I do not like this.”
She smiles gently, still moving in my direction. “We’re going to make this fun. Don’t worry.”
I hold a hand up to stop her approach. “Elle, if someone tells you they don’t like something, you fucking stop.”
Her eyes widen like I’ve hurt her feelings rather than just told her the truth, and with a shake of my head, I leave. The training center headquarters, like an arena made for wrestling, has several exits, and I take the closest I can find, not especially caring where I end up. I’m planning on taking a few laps around the building to help calm myself down, so it doesn’t matter.
The minute I hit the warm, humid Tampa air outside, I suck in a breath. It tastes bad, nothing like the crisp mountain air in Rose Hill. It tastes like salt and smog rather than rose petals and sunshine.
I’ve always loved wrestling—the training, the conditioning, the drama, everything about it. But today, for the first time, I wish I were lying on a blanket with Tabitha and Milo, picking out shapes in the clouds.
I look up, and the sky is a uniform shade of gray, rain threatening at any moment.
