Big Bad Boys A Romance Collection - Penny Wylder Page 0,106

determination is all I'll need.

2

Sylvia

Three Days earlier

“Look at this shit.” Tossing the newspaper onto his desk, Daniel sinks his face into his hands and groans. “This kid is going to fucking ruin me. I'm going to be the laughingstock of the entire industry.”

Picking up the paper, I'm staring at the face of Phade Manson. . . but not the great fighter my step-father raves about, I'm staring at Phade Manson with wild, crazy eyes, his mouth hanging ajar with a ridiculous smile, and a drink in both hands.

He's a drunken mess, and the tabloids are eating it up. They've been eating it up for some time now, too. Phade's making a name for himself alright, and it isn't the one Daniel wants to see.

The headline on today's paper reads, 'One Punch King Or Drunken Jester?'.

Phade Manson is supposed to be the golden glove of the ultimate fighting world. Everyone wanted him, all the hands were in the pot, trying to get a piece of this young blood. But only one got his signature, Daniel Cross. I think it's safe to say that not everyone sees it as a loss to Cross. Last Saturday night, Phade traded his gloves for the sweet Devil's Brew, much like his recent weekends in New York City, L.A., and Boston. . .

I don't need to read anymore of the article, I know how it ends; with Phade becoming part of some joke and Daniel becoming the loser in it all. Dropping the paper back on his desk, I lean back in my chair. “This isn't good.” I look up at my step-dad, pure disbelief on my face.

“No shit, Sherlock. I'm glad you pointed that out to me.” Rolling his eyes, his nostrils flare wide. “We can't have this, Syl, this—” Slamming his finger down on Phade's forehead, he glares at me. “This can't happen anymore. It's the fifth time in less than two months his face has been on the front page. I can't take it; it has to stop. This is my name—our name,” he says, pointing a finger between us. “He's ruining your reputation, too.”

My reputation?

None of this is mine, not one piece of this place belongs to me. This entire organization is all my step-father. Having built it from the ground up, Daniel Cross knows how to manage, conquer, and destroy. I'm lucky to even have one foot in the door.

But I want more, I've always wanted a chance to prove myself, to show him I'm good enough.

“Well, what are you going to do? How can you stop him?” Flipping the paper over, I set it so his face is down, and slide it back. “You can't really keep tabs on the guy, can you?”

Daniel's mouth folds into a thick grimace as he pulls his hair back tight against his scalp. “He's going to destroy everything if he keeps going out and getting fucking trashed. No one's going to take me seriously. I can't keep cleaning up his messes and pulling strings to keep this kid out of jail.”

Thinning my lips, I rest my chin on the back of my knuckles. “What if you amend his contract to include no alcohol? You can make him sign it or tell him he's done.”

“No, that won't work. He'll just walk and sign with someone else. I don't want to lose him, I just want him to straighten up his act. We need something to clean up his image, make him more of the guy kids want to look up to, instead of the guy parents use to teach their kids about drugs and alcohol.”

Taking the paper back off the desk, I read more of the article on Phade. Turns out the sexy, beefy newcomer had gotten so annihilated that night, he poured a drink on the bartender, turned over three tables, and broke four of seven bathroom mirrors.

Paparazzi got pictures of most of the destruction, and a few lucky shots, including one of him passed out on the floor. He's losing his edge, the one thing that draws everyone in, and he's becoming a complete joke.

Snapping his fingers in my direction, Daniel grins. “I've got it!” he belts out, sending his chair back a foot. “And you're going to help.” He veers his stare, instantly making my stomach clench.

I don't like the look on his face. I'm not sure I even want to hear his idea.

“Me?”

“You.”

“Me?” I ask again, pointing to myself, and sitting slightly stunned.

What could I possibly do to help fix this?