It was a little bit like what I imagined walking into your execution would be like.
I knew that I was going to get my ass handed to me – I already had, in fact. But I still had to walk out there with my head held high and my spine stiff, and I'll be damned if it wasn't the hardest fucking thing I'd ever had to do – to be brave in the face of certain destruction.
I stepped into the ring and was proud for a brief moment – I was barely trembling at all.
"If you wanted to speak to me," I started, "you knew exactly where my office was."
"Brock Lesnar is a man of few words, Ms. Moore," Heyman retorted in his nasally voice. "Brock Lesnar is a man of action."
"But you certainly seem to be a man of many words, Mr. Heyman," I snapped. "And I doubt that Brock Lesnar gives a rat's ass about what I'm doing here, except as it pertains to you and your ridiculous vendetta against me."
Now that my head remained on my shoulders a whopping fifteen seconds into my encounter with the most terrifying man alive, I was getting pissed off.
"So tell me, what on Earth have I done to offend you this time? Did I belch in your presence and not excuse myself?"
He smiled his smug, irritating smile. "Oh Ms. Moore, just the same as always – being an incompetent bimbo who doesn't deserve a job that belongs to me."
I nodded. "I expected as much. The same tired old argument from the same tired old man. Here's what's going to happen, Paul. You are going to get the hell out of my ring. You're going to take Mr. Lesnar with you. This is going to happen in the next ten seconds, or I will fire your ass so fast your fat ass will be out the door before your conniving head knows what happened. Am I clear?"
Brock Lesnar stepped between me and Heyman, and I nearly wet my pants. Only Heyman's stupid face, grinning with glee behind Brock's enormous arm, propelled me forward. I hated this dick.
I looked up at Brock. "And you. Don't think I won't fire your ass and sue the ever-loving Hell out of you if you put a finger on me. Get out of my fucking ring, or face the consequences."
He took a step towards me. It took everything I had not to back away.
"Ten seconds, gentleman. Clock is ticking. Or would you like to be absolutely moronic and assault a woman on live television? It would make my case infinitely easier, I must admit."
Brock stood there for a moment longer, and I tensed my body, hoping that wherever he punched me didn't do serious lasting damage.
Then, holy fucking hell, he actually stepped aside. He kept his beady eyes on me, but he moved away from me. Thank fucking Christ, the Virgin Mary, God, Yahweh, all the saints and prophets. I wasn't going to die today.
Heyman smiled at me again. I wanted to punch him so badly it actually physically hurt. "This isn't over, Ms. Moore. Not by a long shot."
"No," I replied, "I'm not stupid enough to think it is. But get out of my ring right now, or I will end it."
He dropped the mic and walked away. I made sure to look after them, insuring that they were in fact leaving. Once they had gone through the curtain to the backstage area, I cautiously followed.
I stopped in the control room. "Send the next guys out," I said. "I need to take care of this."
I found Heyman and Lesnar with their other cronies, CM Punk and The Shield. I ignored them all as I walked up to the group.
"You're done for the night. You can leave my arena now."
Heyman raised an eyebrow. "I'm the advocate for –"
"CM Punk," I finished firmly. "And Brock Lesnar. Both of whom have the night off. You have no business here and need to be off the premises immediately."
"That's some bullshit," Punk snapped, but to my surprise Heyman put a hand on his chest.
"We'll go," he said, keeping his eyes on me. "But we will be back next Monday."
"As you should, seeing as this is your place of employment. For now. But for tonight, you are dismissed."
I spun on my heel and walked away, trying to ignore the smirk on Ambrose's face.
My first stop was the ladies' room, where I can freely admit I finally began to shake as I relieved myself from the stored-up urine that had threatened to escape in the ring. I quickly made my way to my office, determined not to let anyone see me in that state.
Which of course meant that as I went to close my door, Ambrose stuck his foot out to stop me.
I reluctantly pulled it back towards me. "Something on your mind, Dean?"
He grinned. "You know, you've got some balls on you. I like that."
"I am so thrilled," I said dryly. "Do you have a specific question or concern that I need to address? Because I have plenty to do at the moment without listening to you relive my confrontation with Misters Heyman and Lesnar."
"Oh I have questions, Lizzy," he said, stepping into my office. "I have so many questions. But I have this funny feeling that you'll answer them all for me in time."
I had no idea what to say to such a bizarre statement. "Are you on crack?" I finally elected to blurt out.
"Not anymore," he replied casually enough to give me pause. "My turn. Where did such a small, delicate little thing like you develop such a backbone?"
"Dealing with assholes like you," I replied with the most insincere smile I could muster. "Are you going to go now?"
"No." He reached out suddenly and plucked my hand away from my side, holding it for a second before I even realized what was happening. I yanked away from him, too stunned to give him a retort.
He chuckled as he took one step closer to me. I was already so unnerved that I backed away instinctually.
"You can say you're big and bad, you can even act it – but you're shaking, Lizzy. Did the big, bad man scare you?" He stepped towards me again, and I backed up – but my office was by no stretch huge, and my back hit the wall quickly, and he moved as close as he possibly could.
"You should be scared of Brock," he said, reaching down and toying with the buttons on my shirt. "But you know what? You should be more scared of me."
"And why is that?" I asked through a dry throat.
He looked up into my eyes and after an agonizing moment he smiled. "Because Brock is dumb. I'm not. And I can hurt you just as badly as he can. Do you believe that?"
I studied him for a minute. "Yes," I admitted. "Yes I do."
"Then you're smarter than you look, thank God."
He dropped his hands away from me and, after a few moments of silence, backed away. "I like you, Lizzy. It's always interesting to see what you're going to do next. But soon you're going to run out of moves, sweetheart. And when you do, I'll be waiting. Just remember that. Everything you do...it doesn't matter. I'm going to be the one to destroy you in the end."
"We'll see," I replied, regaining some of my composure. "I might surprise you."
He grinned again, dimples forming on his cheeks. "I hope you do, sweetheart. I hope you do."
He began to make his way out, pausing at my door to turn back and blow me a kiss. "See you soon, Lizzy."
He slammed the door behind him, and I sank to the floor. What the fuck had just happened? I was both baffled and frightened by his words – this undercurrent of admiration tempered with his desire to 'destroy' me was utterly ridiculous.
I couldn't dwell on it for long, however, because there was another knock at my door. I forced myself up and forced myself to get it together before I answered it, greeted by the sight of one of the control room guys.
I smiled at him. "Just putting out a few fires," I said, stepping out into the backstage area. "Let's get back to work."