Page 7

7

The roar of the crowd outside the Lotus Garden is deafening as I step out of the cab, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement. This is it, my first real day, with my real job. The place is massive, even more imposing than I imagined. My eyes scan the giant arena, taking in the swarm of people milling about—fans waiting to be let inside, crew moving equipment into the building, security surrounding the perimeter. Everything feels electric, like I’m stepping into the belly of a beast. I grip my bag a little tighter and take a deep breath, reminding myself that I belong here. This is my job now.

I scan my ID badge at the door, and make my way inside, the backstage area is a frenzy of activity. It’s a maze of corridors, filled with the hustle of staff setting up for the night’s show. I recognize a few of the wrestlers as I walk past, larger-than-life figures who seem even more intimidating in person. I feel so small around all of them. They nod, barely acknowledging me, but I can’t help the awe settling in. I’m in their world now, and I need to get my head in the game. This is going to be my life for the next six months or longer. I take everything in, after all it will only be my first day once. I want to remember everything.

After a few wrong turns, I finally locate the rooms that have been turned into medical offices, where Stephen said we’d be working. My pulse quickens as I knock lightly on the door and step inside. Stephen is already there, moving around the room with a sense of purpose, getting everything ready. He greets me with a warm smile, though his energy feels a little rushed.

"Glad you made it," he says, gesturing for me to come in. "Get settled. I’ll show you your setup in a minute."

I put my bags down in the corner, and I follow him to a small room adjacent to his office, a modest space with just enough room for a massage table, a chair, and a counter lined with various medical supplies. It’s not fancy, but it’s mine, and that feels pretty damn good.

Stephen leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Okay, here’s the rundown. We’ve got two talents needing attention before their matches. Should be simple enough for you. Ongoing muscle pulls, nothing serious. But be prepared for anything. Injuries happen, and when they do, they happen fast. Don’t worry, though. You’ll catch on.” He pauses, giving me a reassuring look. “It’s your first day. You’ll feel overwhelmed, but you’re here for a reason. You’ve got this. Keep your walkie on, they’ll let you know if they are sending anyone back to see you.”

He hands me a walkie, his confidence in me bolsters my nerves a bit, but I nod, eager to get started anyway.

“Your first client is Jason Bell,” he says. “Big guy, full of himself, but you’ll figure that out quickly enough.”

Before I can respond, Stephen is gone, off to handle a million other things. I rush back into the other room to grab my bags, before I settle into the space, checking over my supplies as I mentally prepare for Jason Bell. The moment is cut short when there’s a knock on the door, and in walks the man himself.

Jason Bell is even more imposing up close—tall, broad, with muscles that look like they’ve been chiseled out of stone. His shaved brown hair glistens under the harsh lighting, and his blue eyes gleam with a cocky spark. He flashes me a grin as he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over his massive chest.

“You must be the new girl,” he says, his voice low and smooth, dripping with confidence. “Stephen told me I’d be meeting you.”

I nod, trying to keep my composure. “I’m Natalie. I’ll be working with you today. What can I help you with?”

He gestures to his leg. “Tight muscle. Could use a bit of magic from those hands of yours.”

The way he says it makes my cheeks heat slightly, but I push it aside, professional mode on. I motion for him to take a seat as I explain what I’m going to do. I run my hands over the skin of his calf muscle. Its definitely tight, I can feel the tension just from grazing his skin with my fingers. Once I get to work, though, he changes—he stops flirting and focuses on what I’m doing.

As I work on his leg, Jason strikes up some small talk. “So, first day, huh? How’s it been so far?”

“Busy,” I admit, my hands pressing into his calf. “But exciting. I’m looking forward to getting to know everyone and learning the ropes.”

Jason’s grin turns a little wicked. “And what’s your deal? Single? Married? Looking?” he smirks.

I glance up at him, trying to keep things light. “Single. But, uh, not really looking to change that.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Good to know.”

I finish the massage, and Jason stands, rolling his shoulders and flexing his leg. “That felt great, I’m going to have to make this a regular thing.” He shifts back and forth on his heels. “I’ll be seeing a lot of you.” He winks, before strutting out of the room.

The compliment feels good, especially coming from someone so high up in the UXW hierarchy. As Jason heads out, I feel a bit of confidence building. If things keep going like this, maybe I really do have a future here.

Not long after, my next client arrives—Kyle “The Killer” Jenkins. I’ve seen his matches before, but seeing him up close is something else entirely. He takes up too much space, like he was born to make people uncomfortable. He’s in full character even off the clock, black and green spandex stretching over his massive frame, his face painted in a skeletal grin—white and black streaks highlighting his chiseled jaw. His hair is wild and tangled, damp with sweat from his earlier match. The scent of leather and metal clings to him, mixing with something sharper—something dangerous.

“You nervous, sweetheart?” His voice is a low, lazy drawl, full of amusement.

I freeze, fingers tightening around my clipboard. “No,” I lie.

He chuckles, leaning back in the chair like he owns the damn place. “You should be.”

I swallow hard and focus on my work, but the weight of his presence is suffocating.

“Neck’s stiff,” he growls in a voice that seems like it comes straight from the underworld. “It happens from time to time, but this time it feels stuck. I just need some relief so I can get through my match tonight, and then I can rest it for a few days.”

I nod, trying to keep my nerves in check. “Okay. Let’s get you set up in the chair, so I can take a look.”

As I start working on his neck, I keep my pressure light, cautious. His muscles are tight, but I can feel him relaxing under my hands, bit by bit. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of conversation from the hallway outside. Kyle “the killer” Jenkins doesn’t say a word the entire time I work on him. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Usually, clients will give me a little feedback, tell me if I’m applying too much pressure or not enough, but Kyle is silent. I continue to massage his neck, hoping that what I am doing will help him get through the night. I will write up a plan for him going forward and check in with him regularly. This is something I think I can really help him with. I definitely need to take a look at his file. Especially if this injury had been a problem for a while.

The door opens suddenly, and both Kyle and I look up. Standing there is Ryan Pierce, his presence filling the doorway. Our eyes meet, and something flickers in his expression—something I can’t quite place. His gaze shifts to Kyle, and a strange look crosses his face, almost like… disgust? I’m not sure.

My breath catches, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Ryan’s presence does that to me. He doesn’t even have to say anything. He just is , standing there like he owns the air in the room, his massive frame filling the doorway, every inch of him brimming with something dark and unreadable. His molten brown eyes lock onto mine, and suddenly, I feel too warm, like the temperature in the room just shot up ten degrees.

Kyle shifts under my hands, a low grunt of approval as I apply pressure to the knot near his shoulder. Ryan’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t look away from me, but his fingers curl into fists at his sides. Tension thickens the space between us, a silent charge crackling in the air.

I should say something— anything —but my throat is dry, and the words get tangled before they can even form. My fingers still against Kyle’s skin, but I force myself to keep going, pretending like I’m unaffected. Like my pulse isn’t rioting.

Ryan isn’t fooled. His eyes darken, sharp and piercing as they flick from my hands back up to my face.

Kyle, oblivious or maybe just indifferent to the storm brewing, exhales a deep sigh. “Damn, that’s good. You got magic fingers, sweetheart.”

I barely hear him. My entire world has narrowed to the man in the doorway.

Ryan knows .

And right now, he looks two seconds away from making sure everyone else does too.