Natalie
“Are you sure?”
“There’s no way around it. We have to fight,” Logan tells me, staring out of the limo’s window as we ride through New York City. Even though he didn’t have to, he called me this morning and told me to accompany him to the Empire State Building. The place where a fight with Hunter will become inevitable.
A small army of lawyers has been busy drafting up a document that’ll bind both Logan and Hunter, and today he has been called in to sign it. I hoped that this wouldn’t happen, but soon enough there’ll be no turning back; once their names are on the contract, there’s going to be a fight, one way or the other.
“You can’t fight. It’s just… wrong,” I try and tell Logan, thinking of everything Hunter told me. I can’t believe that they’re going to do it despite what they’ve gone through.
“There’s no other way, Natalie,” he repeats, laying his hand on top of mine and squeezing it softly. “It’s the last thing I want to do, but…”
“But…?”
“It’s been a long time coming. Some things can only be settled inside a ring,” he whispers, the grave tone of his voice enough to make my skin prickle. This isn’t about sports, prizes or money; this goes so much deeper than all that.
As the limo finally stops in front of the Empire State Building, we both get out of it and start walking toward the main entrance. We do it a brisk pace, hurrying as a light drizzle threatens to turn into a serious downpour. Even Heaven itself seems to be crying over what’s about to happen.
I follow after Logan as he heads toward the elevator, and we remain in complete silence as we make the climb toward one of the top floors. On the way up, I grab his hand and give it a soft squeeze, just like he did before. It’ll be okay, my gesture says, although I’m not so sure if I can believe that.
As he leads the way toward the offices where they’ll be signing the contract, I feel my heart beating faster with each step I take. There’s already a young receptionist waiting for us in the front desk of our floor, and she’s the one leading us toward the conference room.
“They’re already inside,” the receptionist tells us with a nervous smile, waving at the double doors in front of us and stepping to the side. With a confident nod, Logan runs his fingers down the length of his tie and steps forward, turning the door’s handle.
I follow him into the conference nervously, and my eyes meet Hunter’s in a fraction of a second. He’s sitting in the middle of the table, flanked by what I assume to be his agent and lawyers, and his gaze is as cold as ice.
I look from Hunter to Logan, expecting them to say something or, at the very least, to acknowledge each other.
They don’t say a word.
They simply remain silent, not even daring to look into each other’s eyes. It’s as if there’s a barrier between these two, one that simple words won’t be able to cut through.
“Hunter…” I whisper and, even though he looks straight at me, the ice in his eyes doesn’t melt. Under the table, Logan holds my hand, lacing his fingers with mine.
“So, we’re all here,” one of the men next to Hunter says, clapping his hands together and resting a briefcase on the desk. Popping it open, he takes a few documents from the inside, stacking them into two neat piles. He hands one of these piles to Hunter, and the other one to Logan.
“I’ve take it you’ve already read the copies I’ve sent you this morning,” the man continues. “What you’re holding in your hands are the originals. Just sign them and we’ll be good to go.”
Hunter is the first to move. Without even bothering to flick through the documents, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs his name on each and every page, his movements tense and angry.
Logan doesn’t follow suit. Instead, he grabs the contract in front of him and opens it up, taking his time as his eyes run over each line on the page. Then, satisfied with it, he grabs the pen in front of him and signs it, his movements fluid and relaxed. Even though he’s as angry about the whole thing as Hunter seems to be, he doesn’t allow his feelings to run rampant.
As everyone waits on Logan, the tension in the room keeps growing and growing, becoming almost unbearable. The palm of my hands becomes sweaty, and I start drawing quick and short breaths, too nervous to take a deep breath. How did it come to this? Just a few weeks ago I was a nobody, and now here I am, right in the middle of what’s about to become the fight of the century!
Still, it doesn’t make any sense. Why would Hunter drag the memory of the woman they loved through the mud? All this because of a fight? Somehow, I don’t believe that Hunter was the one behind the leak. But if it isn’t Hunter, then who?
“Well, almost done!” one of the men says, getting up from his seat and changing contracts. Now it happens faster: they sign each other’s contracts, and then the lawyers collect them both. “Fantastic, gentleman!” the man, whom I suppose to be the head lawyer behind the agreement, continues. Despite the somber mood inside the conference room, he looks pretty cheery about the whole affair. No wonder, a fight like this will make so much money it makes my head hurt just to think of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it topped $1 billion in revenue. Yeah, billion with a B.
“Good,” Logan says, buttoning his jacket as he stands up. Without even looking at Hunter once, he walks out of the office, and I just follow in his footsteps.
“My God,” I whisper as I catch up to him, grabbing his arms. “It’s really happening.”
“It is,” he tells me somberly.
“Who were all these people?”
“Lawyers. And Hunter’s agent,” he says, and it’s like a light bulb comes to life inside my head. When Fat Ed first told me he wanted me to profile both Hunter and Logan, a couple of men strolled inside his office shortly after. One of them had a scar that went from his chin to his lower lip, and that same man was sitting across from us today.
“Hunter’s agent; is he the one with the scar?”
“Yeah, he’s the one.”
Holy shit, what the hell is going on?