Chapter Nine
Chris POV
The taxi pulled up to the building and I stepped out onto the cracked city sidewalk.
The early spring air was crisp and carried the scent of exhaust fumes from the idling cars lining the street. I pulled my jacket tighter as I stared up at the old brick facade.
This was the place Jake had told me about, where the boxing event was being held. I pulled my jacket tighter as I stared up at the old brick facade.
My heart was pounding in anticipation. This felt like a make-or-break moment.
I pulled out my phone and called Jake’s number. It rang a few times before he picked up.
“Hey Chris, you there yet?” His voice was hushed, but I could make out the dull roar of a crowd in the background.
“Yeah, just arrived. This is the place, right?” I replied, suddenly feeling unsure of myself.
“Absolutely man, you’re in the right spot. Head inside and make your way to the press room. I’ll meet you there shortly to get you all set up.”
“Uh, sounds good. But Jake… you know I’m not actually a Memoir writer, right? What if they start asking me questions or something?” The nerves caused my voice to crack slightly.
He let out a hearty chuckle. “Relax buddy, I’ve got your back. Just tell them you’re a personal guest to the Celebrity boxer if anyone gives you any guff. I’ll introduce you to the boxer soon. This is your chance to get a real inside look for your book idea.”
I gulped hard, my throat feeling dry. “Okay… okay yeah, you’re right. This is my new beginning. I’m ready for this.”
“That’s the spirit! I’ll grab you in a few, just keep your head down until then.”
The call disconnected and I slowly exhaled, trying to release the tension in my shoulders.
This was it, no turning back now. I straightened my posture and marched towards the entrance, the muffled shouts of the reporters growing louder with each step.
My stomach twisted into knots as I realized this could be my new beginning.
A crowd of reporters swarmed the entrance, shouting into microphones and snapping photos. I’d never seen such a media frenzy before.
Just who was this celebrity boxer that was causing all the commotion? My curiosity got the better of me and I started pushing through the mass of bodies.
“Hey, watch it!” A burly cameraman shoved me back with his elbow as he tried to get a clear shot.
I stumbled, struggling to keep my footing on the uneven pavement. A strong arm reached out and grabbed the front of my jacket, keeping me from falling backwards.
“Easy there,” a muffled voice said from beneath a baggy jersey and baseball cap. The person’s long brown hair obscured their face.
“Th-thanks,” I stammered, still trying to catch my breath. I steadied myself and turned to get a better look, but they had already melted back into the crowd.
Is it a woman? No, he’s too strong to be a woman.
The reporters kept jostling me, shouting out questions I couldn’t make out over the dull roar.
“It’s the celebrity boxer! Make a hole!”
A sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb, and the mass of bodies surged forward, pushing me back.
Flashes from the cameras went off in a blinding strobe as the vehicle’s tinted window lowered.
I craned my neck but couldn’t see past the wall of reporters smothering the entrance. With an irritated huff, I gave up and headed inside to wait for this so-called celebrity.
The lobby was dimly lit, with a few ancient ceiling fans lazily stirring the stale air.
A sagging couch and some mismatched armchairs lined the cracked marble walls, which were dotted with stubborn water stains.
I chose an armchair in the corner and fired up my laptop, figuring I could get some work done while I waited.
I’m not sure how much time had passed when the doors burst open and the noise from outside flooded in.
Instinctively, I slouched down in my seat, not wanting to be seen hunching over my laptop in this dingy place. A small entourage entered, flanking a woman wearing dark sunglasses and a black pantsuit.
She moved with a confident, almost cocky stride as her high boots match across the tile floor.
The reporters shouted out questions, shoving their microphones and cameras forward like ravenous wolves. “Meagan, what do you have to say to Miles?”
She lifted her chin, casting a cool glance over the top of her sunglasses. “I don’t have anything to do with Miles him anymore.”
Her gruff voice was surprisingly deep for a woman. The reporters ate it up, those close enough scribbling furiously in their notepads.
“That’s a bold statement. You really think you can take down a celebrity like Miles?”
The Boxer smirked, not even breaking stride. “Trust me, I’ve faced tougher opponents than some overrated pretty boy who does nothing but smiling at the cameras all day.”
Her entourage chuckled at that, and she flashed them a grin. I couldn’t help but stare, transfixed by her brash confidence.
A bead of sweat trickled down my neck as I shifted in my seat. I pulled at my collar, suddenly feeling overdressed in my button-down shirt, dress pants, and loafers.
These people were from another world-one of grit, trash talk, and blood-stained Boxing rings. One I didn’t belong in.
Doubt started creeping in as I watched the woman called Meagan and her crew disappear down the hallway.
What was is she doing here, is she a coach?
She can’t be a player, right?
Playing the part of a passionate boxing fan in hopes of landing this writing gig was one thing, but seeing the reality was another.
I was way out of my element.
My laptop pinged with a new email notification, snapping me out of my pity party.
It was from Jake with the subject line: “Fight Night Info & Your Press Pass.” I opened it and scanned through the details he had provided:
The press room is located down the west hallway, third door on the left. Find the celebrity boxer at the check-in.
Just who is the Boxer that needs my service? I asked myself to check though the crowds.