Into The Ring (Phenomenal: 2)

9 ~ It's Time

"Mr. Sinclare, your nine o'clock is here."

Drake Sinclare glanced up from his notebook, a phone receiver clasped between his ear and shoulder, pausing in his writing. He waved a hand and returned his attention to his notes, his sectary nodding and opening the door further to allow his next appointment in, pointing to the chair opposite Sinclare and closing the door.

"I can't make it, love, I just can't," he said, dropping his pen and spinning his chair away, "I would if I could but I can't. I'll be there for dinner but I can't be there at the event. You'll be great, I'm sure... I know, I know, love. But I just don't have the time right now, listen, I have to go, I'll call you tonight... I know, I'll call you tonight... sure, love you to."

There was the click and he spun his chair back around to look at his appointment.

Damien raised an eyebrow at him.

"So, you turned up, and do you have a contract with you?"

Damien glanced at the phone, then reached into his backpack and pulled out the contract, signed, setting it on the table between them.

Sinclare picked it up, looking at it, then reached into one of his draws and pulled out the second identical contract, handing it and a pen over.

Damien signed the second contract without pause; Sinclare signed both and kept one.

"Welcome to the business," he said, holding out a hand.

"You know I may be a failed business venture," Damien said bluntly, taking the hand and Sinclare let out a laugh, staring at him.

"Haven't heard someone start a business meeting like that before, I must admit, we need to teach you what to say when you're approached by the press, seems you've fallen out of practice," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"I'm just warning you."

"Well you're extreme self-doubt will be the first thing we're going to have to work on. And your tendency to get into the ring without a proper cooldown period. The isn't the golden age of boxing anymore, lad, and no matter how many people compare you to him, you aren't Muhammad Ali, you clearly aren't meant to constantly fight match after match."

"But I can—"

"No, you can't because you take punches. If you were any good at defending yourself I'd say 'sure, whatever, we can work some good practice matches in there, work on those charity events to fire up the press.' But no, you're in danger of causing some serious damage to yourself and I shan't have that. So there will be no fights until your first official bought back in the ring as a professional boxer. Am I understood?"

Damien looked at him for a moment then looked down, feeling like a kid facing off against the headmaster at school. "Understood," he said.

"I shall also be bringing new staff to work with you."

Damien's head snapped up. "Wait, my coach and brother—"

"Your coach will still be with you, you needn't worry, my wife has informed me of his high desirability. As for your brother – Dante, wasn't it? – he shall not be replaced, I understand how important family can mean to people. No, I am talking about trainers, dieticians, physicians, etc etc etc. My wife shall be handling the PR side of things with a team she picks out for you; she knows more of the sport than I do after all. I just know how to keep you alive."

"Thank you," Damien muttered.

"In return I ask for two things. One: I want you to win. Two: I want you to leave my daughter be."

Damien's eyes flicked up as his heart hit his stomach like a chunk of ice. "What?"

"Clarissa only recently broke up with Mr. Cole. It almost shames me to admit it, but you know the situation better than I do, you know what she went through. I want her to take time to recover. These are going to be a stressful, painful few months for you. You are going to experience highs and lows and, though I hope you are not the type of man to take your rage and frustration out on your loved ones."

Damien instantly looked down, biting his tongue. How could he admit now that he had already snapped at Clarissa more than once in the short time she had been back?

"I would still prefer it if her next few months were dedicated to study and her own health and wellbeing."

"She's my best friend," Damien said, his voice small and quite, testing the waters around the statement.

"And by all means be best friends, I would not deny her friendships, but do not trouble her and do not let her trouble you. Keep it platonic, you'll feel better for it. Am I understood?"

"What if she wants to change the relationship?" Damien asked. Sinclare raised an eyebrow at him. "What if she decides it's not platonic? I'm going to honest with you right off the bat so you know where I stand, I want to date her, I have wanted to for a long time. I have not broached the subject because, like you said, I wanted her to take time to heal and recover, but if the opportunity came, would you make me deny it? That contract does not mean you command my personal life, remember?"

Sinclare just smiled at him, the grin cold, like a crocodile or a shark. "That is a hurdle we shall come to when it arrives. Who knows, her affections for you may fade now Mr. Cole is out of the picture. Maybe they'll turn towards that nice young man she met on holiday."

Damien's gaze darkened as he glared, his hand curling into a fist on the armrest and Sinclare just straightened.

"You'll be at the gym tonight I understand; today your routine will be as normal. Come tomorrow, you're new staff shall arrive. Your coach is expecting them. Of course you won't be wasting your time teaching at the gym anymore, you are a professional, your job is to box and train now, not to be distracted by anything else."

A knock on the door signalled it was time for him to move onto his next appointment and Sinclare dismissed him with a simple flick of the wrist.

"You may now leave; I shall speak to you again soon. Anything that is not urgent I shall have relayed to you through your staff, or my daughter should you be at home. Feel free to complain about me to Clarissa, she will more than understand."

Damien got to his feet, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, nodding even though Sinclare had turned his attention to his work.

He walked to the door, setting a hand on the handle.

"You're going to be great, you know?"

Surprised, unsure he'd heard correctly, Damien looked back at him. "Excuse me?"

"You need to believe that I wouldn't choose to sponsor you, pour money into you, if I did not truly believe you were going to be something special," Sinclare replied, looking up, "A few short months ago, you were one of the greatest boxers to be seen since the golden ages. Just because you have hit a wall does not mean that skill and talent are gone."

He waved his pen, signalling he was done, looking at his work again.

"You'll be a world champion again, just you wait. Oh," he looked up again, "I'm sure you listened to my phone call when you first stepped in. I am unable to make my son's music recital next week, would you ask Clarissa if she's free?"

"I... alright," Damien said, thrown by the domestic request.

"Very good, good day then, Damien," Sinclare said, once again lowering his eyes.

~~~~~

Music: It's Time by Imagine Dragons