Chapter 18
Red
Despite the sweltering heat, Patrick wore his staple black business suit and bespoke leather shoes. How he hadn’t passed out from heat stroke was beyond me. The man was, frankly, a freak of nature. He was pushing into his early forties, streaks of silver highlighting his temples and all throughout his trimmed beard. While he was almost twice my age, he didn’t look it. I could recognize an avid gym-goer when I saw one.
Game recognizes game.
“Your match is going to be the first of the night,” he said gruffly. “High attendance, plenty of shit- talking. They expect you to be present before and after the fight for the press junket.”
I crossed my arms. “Do I have to? It’s all pompous bullshit anyways.”
“That’s UFC for you. Spectators live for the dramatic, manufactured or not.”
“Fine. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
Patrick looked me dead in the eye, grasping me by the shoulders. “I don’t think I need to state how important it is that you win this fight. I’ve been working overtime to line up new sponsors for you. I know we accepted your contract with Leo Holistic, but I’ve been looking over the fine print. They’ve been giving us the short end of the stick.”
Cash, who was seated next to us on the couch with an ice pack on his shoulder, frowned. “They are? I thought you negotiated our contracts yourself.”
Patrick clenched his jaw. “I did. But they knew how desperate we were for funding. I’ve been asking around, talking to other managers. They offered you two peanuts compared to the other fighters in the league. For that, I’m very sorry.”
I shook my head. “You’ve done so much for us, Patrick. And a sponsorship is still a sponsorship. We’re grateful for everything we have, and it’s mostly all thanks to you.”
“Yeah,” Cash said. “Seriously, man. Thanks for sticking with us. We never would have gotten this far without your support.”
“You two can thank me after you win,” Patrick said firmly.
There was a click and a beep at the front door, the sound of the electronic lock opening. Dylan and Julia walked in, their skin a bit pink from being out in the sun. Julia stopped short when she noticed Patrick standing in the middle of the suite’s living room.
“Oh, hello,” she greeted sweetly. She stuck her hand out to shake. “Julia Thatcher. You must be Patrick Swazee.”
Our manager sighed. “Swah-zay,” he corrected.
“Oops, sorry. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Patrick’s brow furrowed. “Thatcher. Where have I heard that name before?”
Julia shrugged. “I mean, most people think about the British prime minister, but there’s no relation.”
“Hm.” His stare was scrutinizing, like he was seeing something the rest of us couldn’t. Julia shifted slightly under his gaze, not quite uncomfortable, but definitely uncertain.
“Will you be staying in Vegas to watch their matches?” Julia asked after a moment.
“I will be.”
“Wonderful! Do you think I’d be able to schedule some time to ask you a few questions? I’d love to get a couple of quotes from their manager. I can’t promise I’ll use anything, but I want to make sure I’m being thorough.”
“We can definitely schedule some time, but it may have to wait until after the fights. Speaking of, I’ve got tickets.” He reached into his suit jacket’s inner pocket and pulled out an envelope. “There’s one for you and Cash the night of Red’s fight, and one for you and Red for Cash’s. I had to pull a couple of strings, but I managed to score some front row seats.”
Julia gasped. “That’s perfect! I’ll definitely be able to get the action shots I need for the spread.”
Patrick mumbled to me under his breath. “Did you warn her it might be bloody?”
“Not in so many words,” I replied.
She patted her rosy cheeks. “Ooh, that’s definitely a burn. I think I have some aloe vera in my bag. Please excuse me.” She hurried off towards the bathroom.
Patrick arched his brow. “She’s staying with the three of you?”