“I’m starving and it’s my favor—” Tori’s eyes fell in embarrassment.
Remembering my slip-up earlier, I showed her grace. “C’mon. It’s getting cold.” After walking off, I amended, “And only one slice! And only because I know Dr. Shaquana Wilson’s nutritional plan has you trying to gain weight for this fight.”
Her resounding gasp ripped through the air. “How do you know who my nutritionist is?”
“It’s my job to know all the nuances of your professional life right now.”
“Patti LaBelle, Young Lord, Viola Davis, Dave Chapelle, Jordan Johnson and Trent Bailey—before your involvement with Deon Johnson—, Stenton Rogers, the Carters, Bill Clinton, and the likes attend your fights, paying premium prices for seats closest to the ring. Does this inspire you during a time like now when you’re training?”
I bit into my second slice of Margherita pizza. My neglected tastebuds! How could something made at the hands of flaky Ashton Spencer taste so good? It was still hot, a great distraction from what my senses had been disturbingly picking up from this guy.
I chewed and answered, even licking my lips. “No. At this point in my career, it’s safe for me to admit, high-profiled people were invited to my fights and they came on the strength of relationships they’d already established with my sports agency.”
Ashton’s head swung back. “They were paid to come?” His voice dropped a few octaves.
I covered my mouth while laughing, hoping food wouldn’t fly out. “God, no!” Jackson and Elle were going to kill me for my honesty. “No. It was one of those things in entertainment when you urge your friends in Hollywood to come check out your talent. Someone you truly believe in. My people are tenured and know lots of the right people. The most amazing thing was, they were all invited once—and not all at the same time—and most returned of their own volition. No one was asked to attend again. Jackson Hunter explained that trick of the trade to me. He said, ‘When it comes to family, friends, and Hollywood associates, you don’t sell knives to people who don’t need cutlery. You only pitch to those you know have an interest. This way, they’ll come back for more.’ And lucky for me, they came back, and some brought others.”
I shrugged. “So, no. I don’t think about who’s coming when I train or when I show up. I don’t care if no one’s there but me and my opponent. I came to do a job, and the job always gets done.”
Ashton nodded. “I’ve researched images of your ring corner and the reserved sections at your fights over the past seven years since your talent met celebrity status. The inarguably artistically endowed Ragee is often seen. How has he grown to be one of your most consistent supporters?”
I mentally stumbled at that as he bit into his slice of pizza. Ashton knew Ragee and I were friends before the world knew him. Then I had to quickly remind myself how Ashton had to be neutral, which was great because I preferred it.
“I’ve known Ragee McKinnon since I was kid—he was basically a child himself. I guess most don’t know his father trained the both of us. Uppercut Michaels was my first official trainer. I met Raj at the gym Cut—I mean, Uppercut—ran in New Brunswick, New Jersey.”
“And what about Brielle? She’s seated close regularly.” That made me laugh. “What’s so funny?”
I squinted, playing coy. “I’m pretty sure everyone under the sun who knows my name at this point knows Brielle is my best friend.”
His face fell. “Brielle, Brielle? The Brielle?”
I laughed again before biting into my pizza. “Either you’re playing games or you’ve honestly not followed my career at all.”
I could sense his mental head shake. “I’ve never been much of a liar in my life.”
That struck me as interesting. Foolishly, I challenged that claim in my mind. Had Ashton ever lied to me back at BSU? Quickly, I switched thoughts. I hated thinking about Blakewood State, and rarely did since leaving. Though that was extremely hard after being scared out of my mind by a half-naked giant of an Ashton Spencer. He may have no longer been a star football player of a Division I school, but his cut chest, bulging arms, and rolling abs down to the plumpness in his oblique muscles together told stories of his former athletic discipline.
No, I was not interested in Ashton. I would never stupidly consider him in that respect again. It was that his body was hard to ignore when so much of his skin was exposed. Before sitting down with him for pizza and questions, I had to request he put a shirt on. Without a complaint, Spencer complied. That made this conversation bearable.
“We met my earlier days at Love is Action.”
Ashton’s eyebrows lifted as though surprised. “Oh, yeah?”
I nodded. “I ran into her at a few functions.” A random thought crept in and I sputtered a laugh, quickly covering my mouth.
“What?”
I rolled my eyes, feeling silly about the memory. “Nothing. It’s that, the last thing Bree was looking for at those events was a friend. She was never checking for me, exactly.”
After a few seconds, understanding blossomed in his eyes. “Oh. Like, since you were up for grabs when Bailey wasn’t?”
I gasped. “You knew about them?”
The general public didn’t…until that stupid blog, Spilling That Hot Tea, reported on it with receipts. I was in disbelief about them having proof of their affair, although it had taken them years to discover it and by then, Trent and Brielle had been done and over.
“Spilling That Hot Tea can be useful in my line of work,” he murmured, sporting a cheap grin.
I tossed my head back. “Ugh! You give those people views?”
He shrugged. “They’re hard to ignore, man. But now I know. I had no clue you two were good friends.”
I used my tongue to swipe food from my gums as I nodded. “How could you—if you weren’t paying attention, I mean.”
I believed him now. Ashton, like me, had been actively blind to my world.
He wiped his mouth, eyes not on me. I watched him toss the napkin before he asked, “Your support—and I don’t mean your love life—who is your core support team? I’ve not seen your mother.”
A rush of air vacuumed into my nostrils. “No. You haven’t, but I have my cousins: Renata and Treesha. Ragee and I are still tight. He’s married now and we both have hectic schedules, but we make sure to check in.” Bizarrely, it felt strange to feel uncomfortable to share, “I do have my fiancé.” I nodded, behaving like a weird human. Why was this so hard to speak? This was my life. “And oddly enough, I have my father.”
Ashton’s eyes burst wild. “Your father? As in biological.”
I hummed, “I only have one of those.”
“How did that happen?”
I flicked my brows, not really wanting to get into that story. But I knew I had to give something. This is what Ashton was demanding, and I got it.
Shrugging, I answered, “Got a call one day, saying my father wanted to meet with me—”
“You got the call or…”
I rolled my eyes, feeling silly for my obvious lifestyle. “My agency’s reception service received the call, and it was pushed up to the top because of the father claim. My father has never been evident to the public, so I guess that’s why they at least passed it up. My assistant got the call from my agent.” I rotated my pursed lips around in the air. “I was on the phone with him a couple of weeks later.”