Sanctuary

Chapter Twenty - Physical.

Physical adjective

1. Of or relating to the body as opposed to the mind.

Seth, Dean, Roman and I were lined up on one side of the room. Danielle was an absolute wreck, she looked pale as a ghost. The tie of her white collar shirt was loosened around her neck and her hands were gripping fistfuls of her hair. She stared down at the desk, mumbling to herself. Obviously terrified of what the Board Of Directors would say after the Champion was now injured just a week before the Pay Per View.

Her eyes momentarily glanced up to us as we stood there on the brink of laughing. "Tell me you didn't have a hand in this. Please, give me at least that."

"Madame General Manager!" The door bolted open, smacking off the wall and nearly hitting Paul in the face on the rebound. "I am not the least bit happy!"

She sighed as he stomped his way up to the front of her desk. "Mr. He-"

"No, shut up! You shut your mouth because I don't want to hear a word from you! I have already summoned the COO to come in here and reprimand his hounds." He spat out the last word in disgust as he shot us a quick glare. "And I'll see to it that he reprimands you as well for being a horrible general manager! Firstly you allow a brawl to break out between my group and them, then you allow me to get attacked - let me remind you I am not a competitor - and finally, you allow my client, the WWE Champion, the center piece of the entire show to get attacked by a rookie and have his leg broken in five places just a few feet from where you have been sitting on your ass all day! I mean Jesus Christ, what are you good for?! You can't do anything!"

She pushed herself from the desk, rising up to meet his eye level. "Look, Mr. Heyman, I know you're upset that your meal ticket has been ripped - but you do not come into my office and treat me like you own this show." She growled.

He laughed bitterly. "I should own the show, but hell I mean with the way you've been running it, the Board Of Directors will allow me to do so. And so help me God, I vow that the moment I gain control a Bischoff will never work here again."

"So upset because the name Heyman doesn't mean anything?"

"No I'm upset because they put a pathetic excuse for a manager in charge and all because her father was out of a job and her little sister was so cancer ridden - poor her - hopefully she'll kick the bucket and give you a reason to leave."

A gasp escaped my mouth as she stared at him, her chest heaving and her fists balling with anger. "Get. Out. Now."

"No one leaves." Triple H replied coming in and shutting the door behind him. "I need to get to the bottom of things."

Paul smirked, looking at her and she looked as if she would lunge any minute. Reigns picked up on it and reached out, grabbing her arm.

"Calm down, baby girl. Don't let that piece of shit get to you."

"You don't need to dig too far, Mr. COO because your own hounds are behind my client being attacked."

Dean scoffed. "That's a lie."

"Come on, Mr. Ambrose. You have hated Punk from the moment he rejected working with you a year ago. You were beneath him. You weren't worth his time and that burned you up." He walked up to him, cautious enough to stand a few steps back with his chin high. "Combine that with your group and our group being at eachother's necks in the recent timing. And you want me to buy for one second that a rookie would randomly attack my client?"

"It was not a random attack, Paul." Triple H sighed. "I have spoken to Kenta and he told me that he has a personal issue with Punk."

"Oh I can't wait to hear this." Heyman folded his arms. "And just what issue would that be?"