It was like déjà vu as we stepped foot into the AFC business office. This time I was prepared for the worst. No one was going to blindside me.

Julian grabbed my hand and led me to the front receptionist desk. “We’re here to see, Chuck Anders.”

The woman grabbed the phone and punched a button. “Your three o’clock is here to see you.” She hung up the phone. “He said he’ll be right down.”

My eyes were locked on the big poster-size image of my dad. The gigantic photo was both overwhelming and emotional. “Hey,” I squeezed Julian’s hand. “I have a wacky idea.”

“Tell me,” he said, leaning against the receptionist counter.

“Creating a memorial fund in my dad’s name. It could be for young fighters. Maybe even fighters that are only using the streets to fight because that’s all they know.” I realized I had rambled and maybe my idea was crazy. Dad started as a street fighter, and I knew this could be really special if we approached it right.

“Lily, that’s a great idea.”

“You think?”

“I love it, too.” Chuck stepped up beside us. “Sorry, I overheard some of the conversation.”

“Spying on us,” I teased and then threw my hand over my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “This is why I look forward to working with you, Lily.” He pointed toward the stairs. “Let’s go up to my office and talk more. Looks like we have a lot to discuss.”

Did he just say he looks forward to working with me? That was all my mind could focus on at the moment.

As we stepped into his office, he closed the door. “Would you both like a water?”

“Sure,” I said, sitting down in the chair by his desk.

“Come on over here,” Chuck said, pointing at the couch. “Let’s keep this more personal, less business.”

“Um, okay.” I was completely confused. Julian placed his hand on the small of my back and let me sit closer to Chuck. I slid down to the end of the couch and adjusted my skirt.

“Lily, if you start a memorial fund for your father, I want AFC to be a part of it.”

I cleared my throat. “It’s hard to find the right way to do it.”

He scowled. “What do you mean?”

“Well, on one hand I want to keep my father separate from my career. On the other hand—”

“You want to honor your father?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He leaned back in the leather chair. “Let me propose this to you. Fight with AFC. Win the Bantamweight championship. Let it leak that you are The Punisher’s daughter.”

I sat there for a moment, letting everything he said sink in. “You’re assuming I win the championship fight.”

“I usually have a good eye for who will be the next champ,” he said, glancing past me. “Julian remembers this conversation I bet. What was it, ten years ago?”

“This year it will be ten years,” Julian said, squeezing my hand. “He does have a knack for finding winning fighters.”

Now I was curious. “I can’t just be put on a championship fight ticket right out of the gate, though?”

“Why?” he countered.

“Well, there are fighters who have been waiting for months to get on the ticket, right?”

“If they are waiting, they are not delivering in some way.”

His words caught me. So he saw more in me then some of the fighters already with AFC. “I just met my contract obligations with Spartacus last month, so I’m wide open. They tried to sign me on for five more fights.”

“I’m glad you said no,” Chuck said, taking a drink from his water bottle.

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t say anything yet.”

He stood up and walked over to his desk. “Let’s see if I can sway you.” Grabbing a file, he walked back over and sat down. “In here I have written up a contract I think is fair and would lock you in with AFC for five years.”

Whoa, I had never agreed to anything that went over one year. Now I would have to think about if I wanted to stay in Las Vegas and fight with the AFC for five years. The offer had to be worth it.

“How does two million per year for the next five years sound? We have you fight two times a year. Then the rest of the year you are promoting and doing speaking engagements for AFC. If you win the title, the number changes.”

My body fell back against the couch. Did he just say two million per year? I was unable to move. Somehow a vision of Dad popped into my mind. I silently asked him what to do, and he let out his classic laugh. Then I could hear Dad say beside my ear, Don’t stop fighting, Lily Bug.

“You okay, Lily,” Julian said, touching my leg.

I sat up. “I am.” Then I looked over at, Chuck. “That’s it?” The words popped out before I had a chance to think about what I was saying. “I mean—”

“Well, we could do two and half million per year. If that’s better?”

I burst out laughing. “Yes,” I stood up and twirled in place. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Chuck reached for my hand and spun me around. “You’re just like your father, Lily.”

I stopped in my tracks. “I am?”

“Your dad always wanted more,” Chuck said, grabbing a pen. “And he won the fights to back up his ego.” He handed me the pen. “We look forward to having you a part of AFC. If you’ll have us?”

I quickly grabbed the pen and scribbled my signature on the dotted line.

Now I had to prove I was good enough to win the Bantamweight championship.