Mad Season (7 page)

TWELVE

Adam smiled into the mirrored elevator doors moments before they opened on the Kincaid & Masters reception area. Yeah, this was a good plan.

He hoped.

Between the three of them, they had hashed out the details. It had taken several hours and a special delivery to get ready, and now they were seconds away from the moment of truth.

Honestly, he was a little nervous. He was used to working in the background, not being right up front, but they had all agreed in the end that his presence in person would be needed to drive their point home.

The elevator doors opened, and the three of them walked out in a V formation, he and Cal slightly behind Lyla. As they reached around her to pull open the glass doors so she could walk through, Adam saw the receptionist drop the pen she'd been holding, and she stammered into the headset of her phone before batting at it to hang up.

She stood up seconds too late to stop them from marching down the hall to Kincaid's office. Marching? No, it was more like a confident stroll. Like the heroes walking away from an exploding building in a movie.

Adam chuckled at his own little fantasy, then brought his attention back to the moment at hand. This was serious.

The door to Kincaid's office was open and Masters was there, kicked back in a chair, talking with him. They both stood, jaws slack, as Cal and Lyla entered. Adam followed, trying to keep the grin off his face.

Lyla looked hot in her svelte black power suit jacket and skirt, with a bright yellow blouse and matching yellow four-inch spike heels. Her hair was drawn back in a bun, almost severe, but with just enough style to it to send the message that she was sex-on-a-stick-sexy and she knew it.

Cal looked impeccable in his dark gray Armani suit with the red shirt buttoned to his collar, and a dark gray tie with a red pinstripe—real, not a clip on. The suit did wonders to accent his muscular frame without making him look like he'd been squeezed into it. His head and face were clean-shaven, and his expression was fierce—although Adam suspected it was to cover up a wicked grin.

Adam's own suit was not custom-made, but he still fit into the suit he'd bought to celebrate the roll-out of his first big game at the Global Gaming Convention a few years ago. Black, with a white shirt and red tie, he'd always figured he looked like a rogue MIB.

He wished the others hadn't vetoed his idea about them all wearing black Ray Bans, but given the attention they'd garnered on the way over here, he knew they looked like a force to be reckoned with.

Which they were, dammit.

Kincaid was the first to speak as they came to a stop in front of his broad desk, and Adam had to admit the guy was a cool customer.

"Ms. Mason," he said. "Mr. Reed. Nice of you to join us today." His gaze flicked toward Adam, but nobody bothered with introductions, as planned. He got to play the part of the Mystery Man, and he loved it.

"Dean," Lyla said, deliberately dispensing with formalities. "Daniel. We don't have a lot of time." She checked her delicate wristwatch for emphasis. "You're going to listen to what we have to say, and then you will have a decision to make."

"Excuse me?" Masters said, but Kincaid lifted his hand, a small smile playing on his lips.

"By all means," Kincaid said, waving a hand for them to pull up chairs. He had three chairs in front of his desk, and both Lyla and Cal sat, leaning forward on the edge of the chairs. Masters reluctantly returned to the third chair, and Kincaid returned to his seat, too.

Adam remained standing behind Lyla's chair, trying to channel the demeanor of a Secret Service agent.

"This morning you indicated that I'd failed at my job," Lyla began in that direct manner of hers that Adam loved so much. "I may have failed to maintain a professional distance, but as you can see, my
job
is well in hand. Mr. Reed already looks the part of a man who is serious about his image." Here she turned to give Cal a sweet smile. "We have spoken in depth about his goals, and I was delighted to learn that he has a sincere desire to make himself an asset not only to any sponsors that may step up, but to society in general."

Cal leaned forward earnestly, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. "I was lost, without direction," he said. "I've always fought because I figured there was nothing else a dumb hick like me could do. I never finished school, couldn't hold a job. If it hadn't been for Trevor, I'm sure I would have ended up in prison."

They had considered inviting Trevor to sit in on this, but after Cal discussed it with him, Trevor decided that letting Cal show some independence from his trainer was a good thing. Trevor would be at the MGM later.

"I'll admit, when I came in here yesterday, I wasn't so sure about the whole idea of letting a PR firm dictate who I am. I've always been honest, with the public and with my fans. I didn't want any stuffed shirt putting his hand up my ass and turning me into a puppet. Frankly, if I had only met you two, I would have walked right back out that door."

Cal let that sink in for a minute.

"Red.... Lyla understood where I'm from before I ever opened my mouth. She did her homework, and then she did the most amazing thing. She
listened
to me, and not just to what my mouth was saying." He did grin, now. "Even though my mouth was begging her to let me do anything other than shop for clothes, if you know what I mean, she heard more than just the words about smacking her ass while she rode me like a cowgirl."

Masters cleared his throat, but Cal held up a beefy hand, asking to continue. "Yes, she did eventually give in to me, and we both realized that we were crossing a line. Well, she realized it way before I did. But what I'm trying to get to is that she understood something about me that I have never known how to put into words. She gave me a name for something I have been dealing with all my life without the tools to combat it. She understood that I have been fighting in the ring because I couldn't fight a learning disability I didn't even know I had."

As Cal spoke, Adam moved around the desk until he was standing next to Kincaid's keyboard. "May I?"

Kincaid looked up sharply, then shoved the keyboard over to him. Within seconds, Adam had opened a Google search screen and typed in Cal's name.

"You'll recall what used to come up when you searched Cal's name," Lyla said. "Well, have a look now."

Masters stood and leaned over Kincaid's shoulder as they read the top hits. Kincaid began reading aloud.

"MMA bad boy Callum Reed calls press conference at MGM Grand, six P.M. today."

Masters was peering at the screen. "He's got a website now? Where are all the photos? The sexting? The elevator footage? The...."

"Gone," Adam said quietly, all mirth put aside for the moment. Even though he had heard Cal rehearsing his little speech, it still moved him deeply. "Scrubbed out of the internet. I even hacked into the hotel's security server to delete the original elevator footage. There might be a few more undesirable images that turn up here and there, but you can rest assured that if and when they do, they will be scrubbed, all the way down to the original device."

"You can do that?" Masters squeaked.

Adam just winked at him. It wasn't entirely true, but he was going to let Masters think he could.

"What's the press conference about?" Kincaid asked.

"Come and find out," Lyla said. "The decision you have to make is whether you are going to stand with us as the firm behind this dramatic turnaround, or if Cal is going to give all the credit to me and my new agency."

She pulled a document out of a file folder and held it for Kincaid and Masters to see. "This is an application for a business license to practice as a publicity firm under my own name. My associate," she nodded to Adam, "will make sure it flies through the system and is backdated to yesterday's date. You have to make a leap of faith, gentlemen, that I can do the very thing you believed I could do when you gave me this assignment. Otherwise I can and will move forward on my own."

***

Lyla's heart pounded in her chest as she put the business license application back in her file and put the file back in her slim briefcase. There was a little more—well, a lot more—to it than that, but she knew she could do it with Adam's help. If she had to. She'd rather not have to, but the bottom line was that it wasn't a bluff.

She paused for a moment, watching Kincaid. Masters would do whatever Kincaid decided. He was a pussy that way.

Kincaid steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, considering her. She gave him just one minute before she stood, Cal just a breath behind her, and handed her briefcase to Adam.

"Gentlemen," she began, but Kincaid held up his hand.

"We'll be there," he said, his quiet voice expressing total confidence in her.

Lyla smiled. "You know the drill, I believe." She nodded to them both, then turned to leave. She didn't fail to notice Ginny scampering back to her desk, and knew the receptionist had been eavesdropping. Good. Let the bitch know that she was going to have to serve the coffee at meetings from here on out.

She wanted to scream in victory and jump in the air, but she held back even after they entered the elevator and began their descent. She felt Cal and Adam slipping their hands in hers, and she squeezed them, giving each of them a smile she hoped conveyed her gratitude and elation.

THIRTEEN

"The world calls Callum Reed the MMA's bad boy, and with good reason," the news anchor said, deadpanning for the camera. The PIP screen beside him only showed the dead air SMTPE test pattern, though, and the newscaster frowned as he saw what was happening in the monitor.

He cleared his throat. "Our file room must be having technical difficulties, but our viewers surely recollect many instances of public lewdness and misconduct that are shocking even by Las Vegas standards."

His eyes cut to the side as though checking the other teleprompter, hoping for better news about the file room footage, and the screen did blink to life at last. But instead of a carousing Reed, all that came up was shaky cell phone footage of Cal helping an obviously distressed homeless man to his feet in a crosswalk, then taking the man by the arm, holding up his hand to wave off traffic and escorting him to safety on the curb.

Lyla laughed, reading the news anchor's lips as he mouthed
What the fuck?

Obviously put out, the man straightened the stack of papers in front of him—papers Lyla knew damn well were blank—and cleared his throat before continuing with his story, making a painfully evident change in direction away from the story he'd been planning to tell.

"MMA fighter Callum Reed called a press conference today. All we have been told is that he is announcing an alliance with a national agency. We have no idea what the fighter, a rising star in the cages, is planning to tell us. Given his history, we can only say we are intrigued."

The PIP screen changed from a still of Cal giving the crowd a victory shout after a match to the scene at the MGM just a few hours ago.

Cal, looking fantastic in his suit, gazed out over a modest crowd of reporters and about a hundred fans who had turned out for the event.

"I want to thank you all for coming out in this heat today," he said into the microphone. "I really appreciate it. I won't take up your time with bullshit. First of all, I need to make an apology to anyone who may have been hurt by some of my more public fuckups." The censor wasn't quite quick enough to bleep the expletives out. "I can be an asshole. But I mostly want to apologize to women everywhere, because I know that pictures of me doing the s—t I do...." The censors were on their toes, now.

"...those pictures don't help women walk safely in a world populated with jackasses who are misguided enough to look up to me for the bad behaviors I have been demonstrating." He paused for emphasis, not taking his eyes off the people gathered there.

"I'm not up here to make excuses for my past behaviors," he went on. "I was wrong, plain and simple. I love women." His wicked grin held a hint of just how deliciously true that statement was. "And I recently came to realize—with a lot of help from a new friend—just how damaging my indiscretions can be.

"My friend helped me discover that I have a problem, more than just the obvious one of being a d—k. And that problem has a name. It's called Language Processing Disorder, and it means that when people talk to me, I usually can't understand what they are saying. All my life I have been winging it, choosing to act out rather than work at figuring things out. In short, I've been a lazy f—k, and that is going to change starting today.

"I want to move forward, and try to bring awareness of LPD to more people so people who deal with it every day, like I do, know that we are not alone. There are ways to overcome it, ways that I am just beginning to understand. I'm excited to tell you all that I have entered talks with the National Learning Disabilities Center to become a spokesman for them, and teaming up with them looks like it is going to happen.

"I have a great team working with me now," he gestured behind him, and Lyla saw herself, Trevor Rose, Kincaid and Masters standing shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling confidently. "And we are going to go forward and make a difference, starting today!"

The fans in the crowd cheered, prompting Cal to raise his hands as if he'd already won the biggest fight of his life. "And of course," he continued, leaning in to the microphone, "there will be plenty of ass-kicking in the cages along the way."

The crowd cheered again, even louder than before, and Lyla heard several of them shouting "Yeah!"

The PIP froze on that moment, and the newscaster's voice was tinged with awe as he turned back to the camera.

"Well there you have it," the anchor said. "In what might be the most dramatic moment in this season's MMA madness, Callum Reed has scored a TKO against his path of self-destruction. This anchorman, for one, will be watching this fighter's career with interest, to see if he can pull it off."

Lyla paused the recording and smiled over at Adam, and they clinked their beer bottles together. "Well done!" she said. "That was some fantastic live editing!"

"Oh hell, I was working my fingers off. You'll have to thank
KillerEd
and
PistolFrannie
for helping. One of the reasons I suggested only having three stations at the press conference...."

Lyla knew he was going to get technical on them, and Cal wasn't the only one who couldn't understand the nuances of what Adam did for a living. He must have caught the look in her eye, because he stopped short.

"Suffice to say, I'm a fuckin' genius."

"If you say so," Cal said, reaching across Lyla to clink his beer bottle with Adam's. "I wanna watch it again."

"I've got the other stations to show you as well. This one was just the most fun."

"Fucker thought he was going to nail me," Cal said smugly. "I could kiss you for shutting him right up."

"What's stopping you?" Adam asked.