“Luke, this is John Lane. I work for Charlie Russell, and I’ve been assigned to you as your assistant until the fight is over,” the deep voice on the phone explains.
“What? Why would I need an assistant?” I ask, bewildered.
“For the next month, your schedule will be eating, sleeping, and drinking workouts. You won’t have the time or energy to handle your day-to-day responsibilities on your own. Trust me,” he chuckles.
“And what are your job responsibilities, exactly?”
“They’re extensive. I handle everything from making sure your laundry is done and paying your bills to being your nutritionist and making sure you’re eating healthy at every meal,” John explains. “I also keep unwanted guests from bothering you when you should be resting.”
“You must have talked to Joe,” I chuckle.
He laughs along with me. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“Sounds great. When do you start?” I ask.
“Tomorrow. You’ll move to a two-bedroom suite in the morning so I can monitor your health and needs continuously until the fight,” he explains.
“That seems a little overkill for an exhibition fight,” I challenge.
“It seems that Charlie and Artie think you’re ready for more than an exhibition fight. They’re convinced you can handle a real match, and they’re trying to convince Joe of it. I’ll be there to help assess the feasibility of it.”
“You have fight experience?” I ask.
“Yes, I used to be a fighter. My hand was badly injured in a fight and I had surgery. Adding insult to injury, the surgeon made a mistake that resulted in a permanent complication. No more punching with that hand,” he recites, as if he’s told the same story a million times.
“I’m sorry to hear that, man. I’m looking forward to working with you. Be good to have a bouncer around here,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood again.
“Yeah, I hear you need one, Luke,” he laughs. “I’ll guard the door for you. Oh, and I’ll have to cancel any interviews, photo shoots, or anything else for the next month. I’d like to keep this time as a no press access period, as much as possible.”
“That sounds perfect, John. Hell, I’m ready for you to move in right now. I have a king-size bed. Plenty of room for you to sleep here tonight.”
This earns me a hearty laugh, and I can’t help but laugh with him. “I’ll have to pass on that, Luke. You’re a rumor magnet. Can’t have myladies’ manimage tarnished by your eager paparazzi.”
“Fair enough. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, John.”
“I’ll have you moved to your new suite before you get back from the gym in the morning. The bigger ones have better kitchens. Convenient since you’ll be eating in for the next month.”
“Sounds great. I may have to look in to keeping you around a lot longer than a month,” I laugh.
“If Charlie or Artie back you, that can be arranged. I work for them.”
Hanging up with John, I quickly shower and climb into bed. The last thought I remember having is of Andi. Like it is every other night before I fall asleep and every morning as soon as I wake. Since I’m up before my alarm sounds, I dress and decide to leave for the gym early.
When I walk in, Joe is talking to another guy who just arrived and showing him around the facility. Knowing it’ll be a while before I can get to him, I put my earphones in and hit the treadmill for my morning run. Glancing up to see where Joe is, my eyes land on the TV in his office. I really fucking hate that this treadmill is directly in line with it.
I can’tnotlook, I can’t tear my eyes away, and I can’t stand the image that’s become a permanent fixture ever since that magazine named him the sexiest man. The first picture is of him, lying back on a fuzzy white blanket, and obviously very barely clothed. The next picture, which is obviously a computer-generated rendition of a fake magazine cover, is one of Andi and Travis together. The banner across the front of the fake magazine reads“World’s Sexiest Couple.”
When they put Andi and Travis’s faces together and make images of what their babies would look like, I jump off the treadmill and stalk toward the TV. A familiar voice stops me just before I get to it and rip it off the wall.
“Luke. Don’t be a dickhead to the TV. It didn’t do anything to you,” Brandon calls from behind me.
When I turn, he’s smirking knowingly at me. “You know me too well, bro.”
“That I do. That’s why I’m here. This has gone on long enough. It’s time to get your head screwed on straight.”
“You here to babysit me, big brother?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he grins. “I’m staying here with you until just after your fight. Then I’ll have to head back and work like the boring people have to do.”
