I rolled in to Smackdown the next morning exhausted. The giant coffee I'd been slugging away at wasn't helping, and I knew that I was going to need to be sharp when really all I wanted was a nap.

I set up my makeshift office and tried to get to work as quickly as possible, hoping that I might actually catch a few hours of free time in the afternoon to lock the door and pass out.

It wasn't meant to be. For some God forsaken reason, Dean Ambrose blew into the arena seven hours early and decided to camp outside of my office. Normally I wouldn't let this bother me, but he decided to be as annoyingly loud and difficult as possible – chatting on his phone, singing, pacing back and forth in front of my door...the works.

It finally blew up when he began singing "Rape Me" quite loudly as I was on the phone with Mr. Levesque. Thankfully, he didn't say anything, but did rush me off the phone.

I hung up and finally stood up and went to the door.

"Would you please shut up?" I snapped.

"Oh, Lizzy! I didn't know you were here."

I gave him a look. "I'm sure you didn't, Dean. How about you go be obnoxious somewhere else, hmm?"

"Sure, sure. Of course. I know your boyfriend kept you up late last night."

It was impossible not to notice the heat in his voice. I raised my eyebrow. "No boyfriend, and you know that. It was a short swing back is all."

He took a few steps towards me and lowered his voice. "Don't fucking lie to me, Elizabeth. I saw you. I saw...his hands all over you. I saw you go into your room, clinging to him like a goddamn monkey."

"You didn't see all of it."

"I didn't need to," he snapped. "I saw enough."

I shook my head. "If you'd waited an additional five minutes, you would have seen him go right back out."

"How disappointing for you," he said dryly. "Maybe you should pick a real man next time."

"I'm telling you that nothing happened. Not that it's any of your business, actually. And how the hell did you see me anyway? Were you following me?" My brain was just starting to catch up to what he was saying.

He smiled. "I just wanted to get you alone to congratulate you. I didn't have the opportunity."

"Get me alone? That doesn't sound ominous at all. And what the hell would you like to congratulate me on?"

"On lying to me so that I would take pity on you and give you an idea on how to handle Heyman. I won't make that mistake again, trust me."

"I wouldn't trust you with anything anyway."

"Was all of it a lie?" He asked, and I found myself baffled again.

"What are you talking about?"

"The sob story about the boyfriend. How you got the job. Was all of it you just fucking with me?"

"Of course not," I said, surprised. "I only told you that I was thinking of quitting so you'd answer my question honestly. We both lied – or, at least, you were dancing around the truth. I did what I had to do."

He studied me for a minute, his eyes narrowed. "What was his name?"

"Michael," I answered, wondering why I was playing this game with him. "He was...is...a day trader in Manhattan. He split his time between there and my house in Stamford. He was about six-one, brown hair, blue eyes, strong jawline. He liked jazz. What else do you need to know?"

"Why the fuck would you date someone that boring?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed. "He wasn't boring."

"He sounds boring," Dean said doubtfully.

"Trust me; he wasn't. He was very interesting."

He stared at me for a few minutes, and just when I was about to ask what else he wanted from me he came out and told me.

"I want a match with Barrett tonight."

"Why?"

"I just do. I'd feel better if I could beat the snot out of him."

"Why?"

"What are you, a fucking toddler? Does it matter why?"

"I'm your fucking boss, and yes, it does."

He chewed his lower lip for a minute. "It doesn't matter why. I just do. Are you going to see him again?"

I shook my head. "I can't."

"Still too hung up on the jazz-loving stockbroker?"

"No," I replied, trying desperately to keep my patience. He was all over the place today, and it was starting to wear on my already-thin nerves. "I'm the boss. I can't date any of you guys. That's not right."

He studied me again. "Is that what you told him last night?"

"Yes."

"So why were you kissing him?"

"I told him after the kissing started. I got carried away for a few minutes is all."

"Been a long time, Lizzy? A little pent up?"

"Definitely none of your business. Are you going to let me get some work done now?"

"Are you going to give me my match?"

"I'll see what I can do. That's all I can promise."

He ran his tongue over his teeth before extending his hand. "Shake on it."

Surprised, I took it – and he immediately pulled me close to him. "If I find out that you're lying to me," he said low in my ear, "there's gonna be hell to pay, sweetheart. You realize that?"

"What do you think I'm lying to you about?"

"Does it really matter?" He squeezed my hand tightly and let go suddenly, pulling away from me. "Match. Tonight. Let me know."

He walked away, leaving me bewildered as he so often did – and this time feeling an undercurrent of fear. He'd seen Wade and I. Whether he realized it or not – and my guess was that he did; he wasn't stupid – he had the power to get me out of here. The real question was why he wasn't deciding to use it yet.

I made two decisions in that moment. First, I was going to lock my door now and sleep a bit. Whatever was coming my way, I was going to need to be much more prepared and awake than I already was.

Second, whether Wade liked it or not, I was going to give Dean his match...and hope that nothing else came of it.