Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Sorry about that, Max.” I leaned down and picked him up from the mat. “I got carried away.”
“No worries, sir.” The fear in his eyes revealed that he didn’t mean that. “How about a protein break?”
He left the cage without getting my answer.
I took off my gloves and followed him into the relaxation room.
“You’re getting more terrifying every day, Humble Kid.” Ralph looked up from his laptop. “I might be forced to bet on you winning this time.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Did you file the paperwork for a rematch yet?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “The UFC wants to make an entire event out of it, so expect some significant press changes to your schedule.”
“Speaking of press—” I opened my bag and pulled out this morning’s Vegas Times. “I thought the purpose of marriage was to completely reverse all the bad news.”
“The purpose of your marriage, yes,” he said. “Us regular people typically marry for love or money.”
“Today’s front-page headline is negative as hell.”
He put on his reading glasses and recited the headline aloud. “Don’t Believe the Hype: Travis Carter Will Never Change His Ways, Bet on a Divorce.”
“How is this negative?” He smiled. “It’s an opinion piece from a junior editor.”
“It’s on the front page, Ralph.”
“Wouldn’t you be upset if they put you anywhere else?”
I snatched the paper from his hands, and he laughed.
“Look on the bright side,” he said. “Seven sponsors have committed to renewing their contracts with you as of this morning.”
“Please tell me that one of those is Mr. Truss with Nike.”
“Nope, but he promises he’s going to sign you after you do a few more things.”
“Don’t tell me what they are.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to know.”
I took out another daily with a less-than-flattering headline, and Tatiana stepped into the room and cleared her throat.
“Where’s the best place for me to have a private dinner on The Strip?” she asked.
“Depends on what type of experience you’re looking for,” I said, eyeing her short pink dress. “You’d have to tell me that first.”
“I’m catching up with an old skating colleague tonight,” she said. “By the way, you may want to send a heads up note to the media that he’s just an acquaintance if they happen to spot us together.”
“He?”
“Yes. He.” She paused. “Tristan Chamberlain.”
“Your former skating partner?”
She nodded. “He wants to formally apologize for what he did to me over dinner.”
“I’m sure he does, but you can’t see him.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I won’t allow you to.”
“Oh, okay, Father.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. Then she looked over her shoulder to Ralph. “Can you tell my husband what year we’re in? He seems to have gotten knocked back into a different century during his practice today.”
The door slammed shut, and Ralph held up his hands in a surrender.
“Leave me out of it.”
“Fine. Give me my phone,” I said to Ryan.
“Right away, sir.”
I typed “Tristan Chamberlain” into my browser and waited for the results to load.
I skimmed the information pages, discovering that his career had ended long before Tatiana’s, and he was now making a living as an influencer. He had amassed millions of followers and was hawking everything from tooth whitening strips to flat tummy tea.
He seemed harmless, but I wasn’t quite ready to write him off yet.
Clicking on his Twitter profile, I read his latest tweet.
@TristanChamLife Just landed in Vegas via first-class flight. Got a special night coming. One last chance to win back the one who got away…
What the fuck?
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-THREE DAYS AFTER SAYING “I DO”
TRAVIS
Text from Madeline:
Please tell me that you didn’t use your condo’s master lock system to prevent your wife from going out last night.
Me:
Okay. I *won’t* tell you that.
TWENTY-NINE
TWENTY-FIVE DAYS AFTER SAYING “I DO”
TATIANA
Crystals City Center: Dolce & Gabbana
Las Vegas, Nevada
“You really don’t need to watch my every move, Ryan.”
“Those are Mr. Carter’s orders verbatim.” He gave me a sympathetic smile. “It’s for your protection.”
“Protection from what?”
“He wants to make sure you’re safe, to guard you from anything that could possibly happen to you in public.”
“Like the paparazzi somehow snapping pictures loud enough for me to die?”
He held back a laugh. “I’m just doing my job, Ma’am.”
“Can you do it from over there?” I pointed to the entrance. “Surely Mr. Carter wouldn’t want you following me into the fitting room.”
He looked as if he wasn’t sure about that idea, but he eventually walked away.
Thanks to Travis, the entire store was cleared out, with the exception of the attendants and the manager.
They’d waited on me hand and foot, all while serving champagne with strawberries, and showing off every item in stock.
I appreciated their service beyond measure, but the means behind it was pure control.
No matter what store I visited, the staff followed this protocol.
There was nowhere Travis’s influence couldn’t reach, no manager or brand that didn’t owe him a favor or desire a chance to earn some of his money.