A/N: This chapter was written months ago. I seriously thought I had posted it. Since it's snowing, I thought I'd write today. Imagine my surprise to see that this was still sitting in my document manager and never uploaded! Oh well, hope you enjoy!
The character of Maia is inspired by for and written for my dear friend, grafxALLURE ! (Sorry, I can't add the dot...)
There are four basic rules to successfully planning an event:
1. Set the time, date and venue.
2. Create and stick to a timeline.
3. Have a walk through in order to trouble shoot any problems prior to the event .
4. Confirm everything.
There are other rules involved, but the aforementioned are universal. They are the rules a trained fucking monkey should be able to follow. Any and everyone who ever planned anything from a kid's birthday party to the Presidential inauguration know how to follow those four simple rules. So, why was it that being back stage at a WWE event such a giant cluster-fuck?
Maia Patel graduated from NYU with a degree in Graphic Design, not Event Planning, yet she understood the four rules. She was efficient, and even had sense enough to call the ground crew before the show just to make sure everything was going as planned. On the off chance that something got majorly fucked up and time slots had to be moved, she needed to be on point so she could scramble and get everything in place. There is something to be said for covering all of your bases. Too bad the rest of the WWE didn't think so. No one there seemed to give a shit.
There had never been a company that ran by the seat of their pants more so than Vince McMahon's. It was a wonder that the whole thing didn't crash in on itself. Everyone, from the front office, to the talent did whatever the hell they wanted. No one cared about meetings, schedules, or anything else for that matter. If it didn't involve a large paycheck they just had a fuck it attitude.
Maia hadn't been able to get anyone to confirm tonight's time slot. If she heard between 8:00 and 10:00 one more time, she was going to scream. Of course it was somewhere between those times. It was always between those times; between the start and end of the show. She wasn't sure if no one knew, or if they just didn't care because she wasn't talent. Apparently, being the personal assistant to Randy Orton didn't warrant her the knowledge of specific times as to when her employer needed to be on stage.
It was frustrating, but it definitely wasn't the worst job she'd ever had – that would have to be working for Quikkie's Pizza while she was in college. That job sucked ass. Working for Orton had its ass sucking moments, but not to the point where she wondered would if being homeless a better alternative to her present job.
Orton paid for all of her traveling expenses. For the most part, she got to the see the world…well, the airport, hotel and inside of the arenas of some of the most beautiful cities in the world. She really didn't have to do much, either - mainly listen to him bitch and moan about his estranged wife, make sure he had all of his shit at all times, see that his rider was always adhered to, create his schedule, and make sure that he was where he was supposed to be when he needed to be there. Orton was a nice guy, but a bit of a fuck up. He had been trying really hard to get his shit together, but sometimes he'd forget to take the wrestling silver spoon out of his mouth and became a diva. He was careless, forgetful, and displayed the most annoying disregard for time that Maia had ever seen. To Randy, a schedule was a suggestion.
For the past seven months, Maia and Randy had seemed to fall into a routine. Friday nights she would be on the phone for hours getting all of his scheduled events and appearances for the week. Then she'd spend another hour plugging everything in to his calendar, and syncing it to both of their calendars. On Saturday she would meet with him and go over the schedule with him, while he worked out. After that, usually uneventful meeting, she'd spend a large portion of the day doing his laundry and packing him for the week ahead. Sunday was travel day. She would always go to his room and make sure he was up and ready to go to the next city. Monday was Raw; she would remind him what time he had to be at the show before she left hours before him. Once at the venue she would again try to connect with the ground crew to work out any kinks before he got there. When he finally arrived she'd help him get ready and on stage, and have him packed and ready to go by the time he got out of the shower. Tuesday was traveling again, and Wednesday was usually a signing day. Those days were pretty low key. He'd only have to be somewhere for about two hours, then she'd get the rest of the day off. And on Thursday, they'd go back home so he could spend some time with his daughter and she could water her plants.
The life as Randy Orton's assistant wasn't exactly exciting, but it paid pretty well. Besides, she liked the predictability. She had enough time to herself that she was able to actively look for a graphic design job. She really liked actually enjoyed her job, even though working for Randy was a bit of a challenge. But, now things were all fucked up. Since the day she interviewed for the position, which by the way was falsely advertised, she had no problem telling Randy about himself and just where he could stick that wrestling silver spoon of his. Now, it was just awkward. She didn't want to call him about his schedule, so she opted for emails and texts. If she could have gotten out of being at the show tonight, she would have.
If Randy didn't make his appearance tonight she was sure that she would be fired on the spot. He had already been suspended three times in as many months for being late, or a no show. Of course, since he wasn't where he was supposed to be everyone blamed her. She had been there one time, calling and texting him. He was the one that didn't show. Yet, she was the one that got thrown under the really big bus. It wasn't really malicious, more like Randy covering his own ass. Even though he apologized for blaming her and threw a few extra dollars in her pay check for the trouble, it didn't stop the fact that people thought she was inept.
Although he hadn't remotely hinted that she was in danger of losing her job, she couldn't help but to worry about it. Randy had been getting in trouble more than usually, lately. Her job was to keep him on track, and she wasn't doing that too well. If she couldn't keep him on track then why was she there? She couldn't afford to lose this gig. Not that it was super awesome or anything; she hadn't even used her degree or done any type of graphic design for anything more than a friend's birthday party, and for a fan fiction banner in the past six months. But being around Orton was a perk all to itself, that came with its own set of weird and complicated fringe benefits. Not the kind of benefits that she could write home and tell her family all about. Oh hell no. If they knew about those kinds of benefits, they'd put her ass back on the first flight back to Golly ole England.
The thought of being unemployed made Maia's heart skip a beat. She had a $250,000 debt that she was struggling to climb out of. In fact, it felt like that's all her life was worth these days. She could just save Randy's accountant the trouble of writing out a bi-weekly paycheck to her and just have them make that bitch payable to Sallie Mae. That education that Maia boasted about so much during the countless interviews she had nearing and post- graduation had set her back a hefty chunk of change. It was bad enough that she couldn't get a credit card with a balance higher than $500, or a car with lower than a 13% interest rate because of the amount of debt she carried, but if she lost her job she would have to find a way to pay Sallie Mae back their stupid $200,000 and her parents the other $50,000.
It was bullshit. Her parents claimed to have given her that money to go toward her education. She had gotten one. They had their bragging rights and she finally had one up on her older sister. But, if they ever found out that the opening graphics on Monday Night Raw were not her design and truthfully, she had nothing to do with PR, design or promotion, her ass was kicked. Where the story of this illustrious job came from will forever be a mystery. The truth was pretty anticlimactic. No one really wanted to hear that after all of that damn money spent at NYU, not to mention the cost of living in the city for 4 years didn't yield knocks on the door or the phone ringing off the hook with job offers. In fact, all of that bullshit that NYU promoted in their career seminar before the start freshman year was nothing more than a sales gimmick for the parents. None of that shit came true. When you graduated NYU, you were just like everyone else: broke.
Maybe if she had stayed in England things would have been different. School sure as hell would have been cheaper. But, how long can one live in the shadow of the perfect sister? Her sister, Indryani was two years her senior, but that bitch thought that gave her the right to try to tell her little sister how she should be living. Ani was engaged before she finished high school, and had given birth to her first baby exactly 9 months after her wedding. She and her fairytale romance, with the handsome groom and the adorable honeymoon baby, made Maia sick.
Ani was perfect. She was every traditional Indian family's dream child: Pretty, petite, prissy, polite and perfect. And then there was Maia.
If anyone ever needed proof that God had a warped sense of humor, all they had to do is look at the Patel sisters. Indryani had a fair complexion, one of those weird peachy colors that most people only think exist in the Crayola box, whereas her sister was the standard caramel. If Maia had a pound for every time her sister told her that she needed to stay out of the sun or she'd never get a husband, she probably wouldn't have needed to get student loans. Ani was little, about 5' and 100 pounds soaking wet. Maia was much more durable. Standing at 5'8" and 140 pounds, she was all tits and hips. She had crazy wavy hair that hung down midway her back, where her sister's super straight strands were always put up neatly in a bun. Why didn't Ani have to wear glasses? Sure Maia spent more money that she should have at the Doctor's Vision Works getting those 2 pair for $65 deals, but at least she had frames that matched just about every outfit. If she had to wear glasses, at least she could go all out.
Maia might have been taller, better built, funnier and smarter than her sister, but it didn't matter. She wasn't girly. She liked sports, computers, electronics, and art. She wasn't into learning the old ways, and the last thing she was thinking about was becoming a wife this early in life. Because of that, her parents believed that Maia Patel was a lost cause that was sure to bring disgrace upon the entire family. They were sure to spend the next four lifetimes making up for the sins and shenanigans of their youngest child.
Though her father would never admit it, Maia was sure that the only reason that he agreed to let her go to school in the states was because he had read that NYU had a burgeoning Indian student population. What better way to meet a nice Indian boy and get away from her computer? With any luck she would call and say that she had met the love of her life and she was quitting school to get married. Like that was going to happen.
Going back home wasn't an option, even though she really wanted to. At this late stage of the game she had a point to prove, more to her parents than to herself. Maia was an adult and she wasn't going to run back to her family and succumb to their ways just to make them happy. Her happiness was more important, and right now she was on the road to finding it. Even on an Income Based Repayment Plan with her student loan ensured that she wouldn't pay of the government until her 95th birthday, it was better than the alternative.
Maia walked into the empty dressing room. Fishing the Galaxy SIII out of the pocket of the low rise blue jeans, she hiked the pants up on her waist before sitting on the bench. With one hand gathering her wavy black tresses at the crown of her head, her other hand hit the call button on the phone, and held her breath. Orton had promised her that he would show up tonight. He had repeated to her the date and time of the show. She had even texted him the address and direction, to which he responded that he'd be there.
Why didn't she just study something easier, like nuclear physics? She could be in a nice laboratory right now, getting benefits and having job security instead of this shit? When she took this job she had fantasized that she would be wheeling and dealing in an office with an oak desk. The office didn't have to be large, even if Orton was a rich, world famous wrestler. He wasn't a businessman, and she would more than likely have to manage his finances, to which she would find out that he had foolishly squandered away most of his money. He wouldn't be able to afford to give her a penthouse office and pay her a six figure salary, but that was okay because he was sexy.
She didn't need a lot of room anyway, a small space, about the size of a modest walk in closet; just four walls, a ceiling and a floor. A window would have been nice, too. Maia would wear her blue tooth headset, while sitting with her feet resting on the top of the desk, squeezing a stress ball as negotiated his contract. She would book him the best appearances, get him extra air time, and make sure he kept the belt for at least six months a year. She would go to parties and get to meet the rich and famous. And after a long hard day of making deals, she would go home to a nice condo in Florida, and take off her shoes at the front door. A bottle of wine would greet her on the kitchen counter, and she'd pour herself a tall glass before retreating to her balcony to watch the waves come closer to the shore with the tide. What a view of the world.
The view of her imaginings was a hell of a lot better than the one she was currently faced with – the hairy legs and ass of The Miz standing at the door looking at her. Couldn't he see that she was on the phone, even if she was just listening to Randy's ring-back tone play Kendrick Lamar's verse in Fuckin' Problem in her ear? "Hey, Randy, it's Maia. Just checking where you are. I still need to get you ready. Ring me back when you get here." No matter how irritated she was, Maia's voice was always pleasant.
"Ello, mate," Miz said smiling as he entered the room. He didn't know when he developed a thing for her, but it was definitely growing by the day. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about her. Maybe because she was exotic, with her bronze skin, shiny black hair and dark eyes. He had never been with an Indian girl before, but he'd been with a light skinned black one. Coral, his co-star, on The Real World; they had dated for a few months after the show ended. That whole thing about them being best friends was a crock of shit. They were bumping uglies as soon as the director signaled that the show was a wrap. Coral had rocked his world, and he was dying to know if that was something that all ethnic women could do. Besides, Maia was the best of both worlds; an Indian woman with an English accent. He would definitely be able to check off two of his bucket list items with one girl.
Maia's lip turned up as soon as Miz sat down next to her and slid his oil slicked arm around her shoulder. He stunk. Not of sweat, but the body oil he used smelled like some kind of strawberry scented lube you would get at a porno store. "So, we gonna hook up tonight after the show?"
"Dude, I need the room," Randy Orton's baritone voice gave Maia a reason to slide out of Miz's greasy arm and stand up next to the bench. Orton filled the doorway, with his duffle bag slung over one shoulder and his hand massaging the back of his neck. His face was relaxed, save for the skin wrinkling between his eyebrows. "Now."
Maia watched as Miz raised his hands in a sign of retreat and then left the dressing room. She walked toward Randy to pull him inside, "Where in the hell have you been? I've been calling you for over an hour." Closing the door behind her, she turned to him and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt. Lifting the shirt over his torso, and past his chest, she stopped at his shoulders, "Lift your arms." She waited for a second for him to catch his balance from trying to step out of his shoes while she was taking off his shirt. When his arms went up in the air she got a whiff of his cologne and she instantly felt light headed. Jesus that man was sexy as hell.
"You can't keep doing this to me, Randy. You hired me to keep you on schedule. If I take the time to make one for you the least you could do is keep to it." She took the red t-shirt in hand and began to fold it, while he started to untie the knot on his sweatpants.
As Randy lowered his sweatpants down his legs he reached over into his gym bag to get his jock strap and cup. "Sorry, I lost the schez-zew-el." He knew Maia hated it when he mocked her accent, but he thought he could at least get her to smile. She had been working so hard, and of course he was so caught up in his own bullshit that he was fucking up again and making her look bad. But, she didn't smile. In fact, she looked annoyed. "Hey," he touched Maia's hand, as she reached to hand him his trunks for the evening, and craned his neck to catch her eyes, "I'm sorry."
"You got 10 minutes to get changed, oiled down and be at gorilla," Maia put the shirt on the bench, then bend down to get his pants from the floor. As she folded placed the newly folded articles of clothing on the bench, she retrieved the oil from the bag. "Did you at least read over the match?"
Randy placed his hand on the back of Maia's neck and pulled her closer to him. Slowly, he bent down to place a soft kiss on her lips. "Forgiven?"
Maia tilted her head to the side to break the kiss. Speaking quietly into his shoulder, she could feel his soft flesh against her lips, "You still have 10 minutes." She had promised after the last time that this wasn't going to happen again. She was not this woman. Not only was it totally wrong to sleep with your boss, but he was a married man. Separated or not, he was still married. The first time had been an accident. The second time was a mistake. The last three months…she had been in an Orton psychosis. But, now the spell was broken. Her senses had returned and this was NOT happening anymore. "You need to get dressed."
Randy never took his eyes off of her as he stripped off the remainder of his clothes and put on his needed wrestling gear. He stood before her, in total silence and studied her as her hands touched his body to spread the oil over his muscles. She's serious. Not once did he imagine that she was really serious about their relationship going back to being strictly professional. Every time they had been together she'd always said something to the effect that they couldn't do this anymore. He'd say he knows, and they'd end up naked again.
It was cool, easy, and fun. He didn't want a relationship and she understood that. He just needed to release some tension some times, and once in a while have someone to sleep in bed with him. Besides, she was a great girl, and she was easy to be around. She knew everything about him and all the shit he had going on with his wife and their pending divorce. Not that Randy would admit it, but Maia was probably the only real friend he had, and she was on his payroll. He couldn't afford to have her mad at him. Not now.
"All done." Maia wiped her hand on the towel and prayed to God that he couldn't see it shaking. How could he kiss her? Didn't he know what that was doing to her? She was lying to herself when she thought she could handle being friends with benefits. There was no way in the world a normal woman could just be a bed buddy with Randy Orton, unless she was one heartless bitch. He was sweet, sensitive, funny, silly, sexy, freaky…he was everything she'd wanted in a boyfriend. He was her boss. He was married. He was her friend. She couldn't take it. She was catching feelings and for that reason alone, fuck the morality of the situation, she had had break it off.
Not knowing what else to do, Randy grabbed his water bottle from his bag, and raised his brows. "I'll see you in a few…" He opened the door and turned to her as if he had something else to say. He took a deep breath and then turned closing the door behind him.
Maia picked up his clothes and pressed them against her chest. They smelled like him, like his room at home. She was either going to have to keep her distance from him and conduct business over the phone for now on, or she was going to have to quit. Fuck.
The door suddenly opened with such force it banged into the wall behind it. "Can I help you?" Maia asked the petite scantally clad woman standing there.
Torren squared her shoulders and put her hands on her hips, "Who the fuck are you?"