Chapter 3

Amber eyes blinked rapidly.

Stephanie McMahon had just finished giving her all the script changes for certain wrestlers within the company, such as Roman Reigns and Dean Ambrose. Now she had to go to her office and execute every single request; whether she liked it or not. Nyla Miller had been working as a scriptwriter for the WWE for almost 12 years now and enjoyed her job, for the most part. Except now that Stephanie was calling the shots with some of the wrestler's scripts, it had taken a turn for the worse.

Roman Reigns was the perfect example. Nobody in the company called him by his birth name; people generally didn't call each other by their birth names because of how much they lived vicariously through their characters on the road. The large Samoan wrestler had a twice as large presence about him and, when he came to her office and growled at her about his script a few times, she honestly couldn't say anything to him. He didn't know the changes were Stephanie's doing and, each time he visited her small office, Nyla felt smaller and smaller around the giant Samoan. Once Nyla got to her office she swept her dark chocolate brown waist length hair up into a ponytail and got busy making the requested changes. Roman was out for the next couple months, so at least she wouldn't have to deal with his temper for a while.

However, deep down, she was worried about him and had heard what happened. Ever since the Shield had debuted in the company, they had lit a fire within WWE. Something had been missing for a long time, since the Attitude Era, though she hadn't been around back then. She had started with the company at the tender age of 23 toward the end of 2003. It was known as the Ruthless Aggression Era, where new stars had risen up the ranks to try to make names for themselves. Wrestlers like John Cena, Randy Orton and David Batista, for instance. Even though she was a veteran at her job, Nyla had seen a lot of wrestlers come and go, but those three had managed to become huge stars. Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins and Dean Ambrose's skyrocket to stardom reminded her so much of those men as far as their successful rises to the top.

The problem now was Stephanie had dug her heels in, putting pressure on certain wrestlers to see who would break, and who would stand tall, at the end of the day. Stephanie had been on a major power trip since her father, Vince McMahon, had placed her and her husband, Triple H, in charge while Vince had decided to take some much-needed vacation time away from the company. Bad move. But who was Nyla to argue with her boss?

Glancing up at the clock, Nyla broke out of her thoughts when her cell phone vibrated on the desk and smiled at the name flashing on the caller ID. A small five-minute break wouldn't harm anything. She refused not to answer this call, but wouldn't do it inside the arena. Sending a text that said, 'I'll call you right back', Nyla saved her work, shut her laptop and made her way down the hallway toward the back entrance. It was her favorite place in any of the arenas and, since she'd been working for the company over a decade, Nyla knew most of them inside and out.

Once outside, she let the warm Indian summer breeze rush over her and called the person back. "Hey sweetheart, how's it going?" She managed to slink between two trucks and kept her voice down.

"Hey, Mom! Sorry for calling, but I had to tell you I got an A on my spelling test today!" Her sweet little girl's voice echoed in her ear excitedly. Neela had recently turned 9 years old and Nyla swore she was going on 16 with her attitude sometimes. Right now, she was being an angel, but she definitely had her moments where she was a terrorist.

"That's wonderful, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. Are you being good for Grammie and Poppie?" Nyla asked, leaning back against the truck and listened to Neela tell her about going to the zoo over the weekend.

School had recently gone back in session and Neela loved it, having missed her friends. She lived with Nyla's parents, Benjamin and June Miller, her grandparents, due to Nyla's insane work schedule. They had full custody of Neela, just for emergency situations and whatnot. Nyla was rarely home, only getting 2-3 days off a week, depending on the circumstances. Whenever the company went overseas for their tours, she got those couple weeks off to be with her daughter, but those were few and far between, only coming up three or four times a year. It wasn't enough time and Nyla knew she was missing out watching Neela grow up, but she had to provide for them as well as her parents.

The money was simply too good in WWE, along with the benefits.

"Momma, when are you coming to see me again? I miss you…" Neela tried not to cry, wanting to be brave for her mother, but honestly, she missed seeing her.

Nyla's heart broke, the guilt eating away at her insides and swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Soon, baby, soon I promise. As a matter of fact, Wednesday is when I'm coming home to see you for a few days. How does that sound?" She chuckled at Neela's squealing her ear and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes.

A few minutes later, Nyla hung up with her excited daughter and headed back into the arena, hoping nothing last minute came up to where she had to cancel that flight home.


"All done, see? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Macaria closed her camera up and put it back in the protective case, while Dean wiped sweat off his face with the towel.

Before she could put the camera away entirely, Dean had stopped her and taken it from her, turning it in his hands to examine it. "This is one expensive piece of equipment." He whistled, looking up in time to see the panic on her face and knew he was right in his assumption. It had probably cost her an arm, leg, and firstborn child to acquire this piece of equipment. Dean wondered idly if she could even afford another one should it break. "Pose for me, Macaria." He rasped out her name, flicking his hair back off his forehead and smirked when she just looked at him almost blankly. "Come on, pout for me." He held the camera up and began snapping pictures. "Give me something…tch…something sexy."

"Please be careful with that." She begged, not above it when it came to her camera. Macaria wasn't a poser and hated having her picture taken, chewing her bottom lip nervously. She nearly jumped when he roared 'YES' and began snapping pictures, looking away from the camera shyly. "I don't like my picture taken, Dean." The murmur was soft and loud enough for only him to hear, a strand of honey blonde escaping the braid to fall over her face. "I don't know how to be 'sexy' either." Nobody had touched that camera, not even Aya, so Dean doing it had her heart racing along with her anxiety.

Dean could practically smell the anxiety coming off of her and the way she looked, reluctantly, at the camera. Or, more to the point, through it, at him. Her jade eyes were definitely expressive, even with how timid she seemed about having her picture taken and it was crazy. She was gorgeous with her long, honey blonde hair. It was braided, but he could tell when it was down, it would be heavy and insanely long. Probably too long to be practical, but it was still sexy.

"You ever think about modeling?" He asked curiously, circling her, noting the redness in her cheeks. "You should, ah…" Lowering the camera for a moment in order to meet her gaze, Dean slid his tongue along his bottom lip momentarily. "You should take your hair down for me." Camera was back up and he was taking pictures of her face as she considered that, finally stopping. "Maca, we are out of film, darlin'." Bummer.

"No, we're not."

What was she doing?! This was her opportunity to snatch the camera away from Dean and get out of there! Had Macaria lost her mind? Maybe. Her cheeks were still flaming red from Dean snapping pictures of her, showing her shy side. She wasn't anything special to look at – just a simple girl who loved photography. Nothing more, nothing less and definitely nothing compared to what Dean experienced daily. Snatching the camera from him, she clicked a few buttons and a new roll replaced the new one. It was a high-tech camera, top of the line, which is why she'd gotten the job with Aya in the first place.

"I should be taking pictures of you, not the other way around."

"Now – now, Maca, what fun is that?" Dean chastised playfully, making another clicking noise with his tongue. Something that was a habit of his, one that had worked out quite well for him, actually. His distinctive way of speaking had been a serious boon to his promo cutting abilities. "Why don't you hand that back to me, hmm?"

He didn't wait for her to answer and simply reached for it, taking it easily from her without damaging it. Dean was going to venture a guess she had let him take it, not because of his superior size and strength, but because it was an expensive piece of equipment and she was afraid of it being destroyed. When he looked through the lens and seen the 'drop it and you're dead' look in her beautiful jade eyes, he grinned.

"That's it, babe, nice and angry."He practically growled out the last word, snapping a photo before the look disappeared.

Did he really just call her babe? This was getting out of hand now. Macaria had to take control of this situation, but she had no clue how to do it. Leaving her here alone with Dean wasn't a smart move on Aya's part; what had the woman been thinking?

"Dean…"

She groaned when he bounced around her enough to stand behind and pulled out the hairband that bound her hair together in the braid. This man was determined to get his way, that much was obvious. Macaria could feel her cheeks burning again, turning deep crimson and tried keeping her eyes away from the camera, but it was no use.

"I can do it." She murmured when he tried unraveling the braid, wrapping a hand around his wrist stopping him from touching her hair.

Her breath was stolen when their eyes locked again – a mixture of pale blue and jade.

He was a free spirit and his moods changed just as rapidly as his actions did and Dean would never apologize for his ways. Currently, Macaria was seeing him in a great mood, a playful mood, though when she touched him, his mood shifted. He stepped away from her and let her begin taking down her hair, his eyes never leaving hers. Macaria had a lot of hair and he could envision her laying on a bed with black silk sheets, those honey blonde tresses covering her nude body and splayed across the sheets.

Lord knew there was enough there to cover her several times over. Dean couldn't resist, he reached out with his free hand to take a tendril between his fingers, having to feel if it was as smooth as it looked. Her hair was wavy from being in the braid all this time and reached just above her waist. Completely straightened, it would go way past her backside. Her hair had a natural curl to it, but nothing like Curly Sue.

"Now do you see why I keep it in a braid?" Macaria murmured, enjoying his fingers playing with her hair for a moment or two.

The sexual tension between them was real and fierce, more intense than anything she'd felt before. It'd been a while since Macaria had sex and she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to sleep with this gigantic specimen in front of her. No doubt he probably packed a punch in bed. Taking a chance when some of his damp curls slid over his forehead into his eyes, Macaria reached up to brush them away before sliding her fingers down the side of his face until her fingers reached the slight stubble outlining his jaw.

Now THIS – this was interesting and arousing. Dean had to think of some very horrible things because he was wearing basketball shorts. They weren't going to hide anything if he popped a boner right here in a very public gym. Not that he overly minded; Dean was proud of his dick, it was great, but other people might take offense, like Macaria. Maybe. She seemed to like touching him. He closed his eyes as she traced his stubble, opening his mouth to catch her fingertip between his lips, when the digit was close enough. Nibbling for a second before stopping, he gazed down at her intensely.

"We should get the hell out of here," Without even thinking about it, Dean was looking in all directions before rolling his head along his shoulders, feeling something in his neck crack quite nicely. "Before I make a scene."

Jolting out of whatever trance she was in, Macaria pulled her hand away and stepped back, giving them both some much-needed space and breathing room. "Y-Yeah, yes you go that way and I'll leave. I got enough shots for now. See you later, Dean."

She hightailed it as fast as she could, with camera in hand, out the door to her vehicle and sped off toward the hotel. What the HELL was she doing?! Macaria was breaking Aya's rule of sleeping with the client! Granted, it hadn't happened yet, but from the simple touches and looks they gave each other, it was only a matter of time.

"I'm fucked. I'm so fucked. I'm beyond fucked. I'm really – REALLY fucked." She muttered, babbling to herself and turned the radio up, trying to do something – anything – to get Dean Ambrose off her mind.

What the hell was that about? Dean was never going to understand dames, not that he had really tried all that much in the past. Generally, there was just too many issues and he was not a baggage man. Shrugging, he headed for the showers, desperately needing one. He was rank and had some issues that Rosy Palm and her five daughters needed to help him out with. Macaria had all but scampered the hell away and he wondered if it was because he had unnerved her. Technically, she had started the touching thing first; all he had done was mess with her hair. He smirked slightly, wondering what Aya would have to say about some downtime at a beach.