"Shit!" Memphis yelled as she hit her hand roughly against the side of her large roll on luggage piece.

Then she nearly tripped over the smaller one. A strong gust of wind blew through the parking lot of the Izod Center. The ride from Long Island to New Jersey was a mere 62 miles but the traffic leading to the Throgs Neck Bridge was killer and had made the trip an hour longer that it should have been. Memphis was staying in New York, spending another few days off packing up the rest of her personal belongings to be later shipped off to Chicago. She had driven her own car, a newer model Audi to East Rutherford for the house show. There would be another live event the next night, then a RAW, followed by two days off and a stint of house shows and finally another RAW broadcast throughout Canada.

It had been a busy few days. The downside of it all was not getting to see Phil as much. He was still busy rehabbing his hip injury which meant he only traveled once weekly for Monday nights and of course any Sunday there was a pay per view. He was still wowing the WWE Universe with his quick wit on the commentating mic and charming his beautiful girlfriend. But the move was on track and pretty soon they would be cohabitating together in Illinois. Memphis was surely missing Phil helping her with her bags. As she rolled them across the parking lot, she could see in the distance a long line of fans who had assembled near the wrestler's entrance. Normally arena staff did their best to keep those sections roped off but somehow the legion of admirers had made it through. Though she adored the WWE Universe, she wasn't in the mood for an impromptu meet and greet.

"Miss?"

Memphis turned around to see a man approaching her wearing an official Izod staff pass.

"Yes?" she pushed her sunglasses on top of her head.

"You're the referee, right?"

That was her.

"Yeah. Hi."

He motioned over to the entrance.

"Sorry about that. Just wanted to let you know there is an alternate entrance around the corner if you don't want to deal with that. Some of the wrestlers are going in that way signing autographs and stuff but if you want, I can show you the other door."

"Please, if you don't mind."

He nodded and walked a few yards with her before pointing to a nearby loading dock.

"If you walk just right under there, it's a service elevator. Take it up to the top floor and that will put you in the back of the building by the conference room and locker rooms."

"Awesome. Thank you so much," she smiled as she followed his directions.

"Have a good day," he called out.

She rounded the corner just in time to see the elevator and someone stepping in ahead of her. Judging by the large frame and the tattoos, it didn't take long to figure out who it was.

"Randy, is that you?"

He looked over his broad shoulder.

"What's up?"

"Can you hold the elevator?"

He kicked his own bags in before physically stopping the doors from closing. Trying her best to keep control of her belongings, breathless she ushered inside the confined space. It was small and stuffy and resembled more of a transport for cargo but at least it would get them quickly and safely inside the building for work.

"I take it you didn't feel like posing for pics with Grandma either."

She playfully rolled her eyes.

"It's not that. It's…"

"What?" his blue eyes teased.

Memphis sighed with an embarrassed giggle.

"I love the fans but yeah now is not the time. I didn't feel like posing for pics with Grandma."

Randy chuckled under his breath as he pressed the button to take them to the top floor. It had been a week or so since the WWE party in L.A. when he had confessed his feelings and she had subsequently freaked out, turned him down and made him swear to never bring it up again. He had obliged, biding his time. He knew what he felt and it was powerful. He liked her. Over time they had become good friends. She was gorgeous. And every interaction they'd had since the unfortunate night one when she had bumped into him, had been laced with an air of sexual tension. He wanted her and he wanted her bad. Deep inside he suspected the feeling was mutual and was more than willing to wait. Their shoulders were almost touching as the tiny car headed upwards. A few seconds later there was a violent bump, then a stutter, then nothing but silence.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Randy grumbled as he began pressing random buttons.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

"We're stuck."

Memphis' eyes widened.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"I know I heard you but I am praying that you're kidding."

"Sorry."

"Dammitt," she cursed. "Where is the emergency phone thing?"

Randy looked around.

"I don't see one. Don't think there is one."

"Nuh-uh. There has to be one. I thought all elevators had one."

"Elevators for people maybe but this is for small freight, I think. That guy was just trying to do us a favor."

"Some favor," she put her hands on her hips before digging her phone out of her bag. "Great!"

"What?"

"No service. Check your phone."

Randy did.

"Nothing."

"Oh my God! What are we going to do?"

Randy shrugged and took a seat on the floor.

"What else can we do? We wait."

"But Randy! What if no one finds us? What if they don't know where to look? What if no one tries to use this elevator? How are we gonna get out of here? What if…"

Randy laughed out loud.

"You need to relax."

"Relax? We are stuck in an elevator, we may not get out, we might miss work, and in case you haven't noticed, there is like no air in here."

Randy shrugged.

"Then quit flapping your gums and using up what is left of it."

Her mouth fell open as she shot him a mean look even though she knew he was only playing.

"You are such an ass sometimes."

"You may as well sit down," he recommended.

Not knowing what else to do, she followed his suggestion.

"I can't believe this day," she groaned out loud. "First the traffic in the Bronx, now this."

"Your finger is bleeding," he noticed.

Memphis looked down.

"Damn."

"What happened?"

"I hit it on my bag."

He reached inside his own gym bag and found a clean bandana that he used to wrap his watch in while he worked out. He pulled it out and took her hand in his, carefully wrapping her injured finger.

"I think you'll live," he announced when he was done.

She bit her lip as she looked up at him.

"Thank you, Randy."

"You're welcome."

They were quiet for a moment.

"This sucks."

"It does but it'll be okay."

"Aren't you just full of optimism?"

"You scared?" he teased with a half smile.

"Scared? No. I just don't like this."

"Like what?"

"Closed off spaces. This is creepy."

"They will find us."

"How do you know?"

"We're two of the biggest attractions in the company. People will notice we're not around and they will start to look. Eventually the kid that directed us down here will say something and they'll figure it out."

"I hope so," she said in a worried tone.

"I take it you have never been stuck in an elevator before, have you?"

"No. You?"

He nodded.

"Once. A few years ago overseas in a hotel."

"How long did it take for them to get you out?"

"Two hours."

"You're not helping the situation," she mumbled. "God, this is bad."

"Your complaining is starting to hurt my feelings," he joked. "I know this is an undesirable situation but is my company that bad?"

"Sorry. It's not you, I just don't like this situation and if the worst happens and we're stuck in here all night and miss the show, people are gonna know why and I don't think Phil will be very happy to know that you and I were stuck in an elevator together."

Randy smirked.

"Ah, Phillip. And how would he find out anyway?"

Memphis gave him a knowing look.

"Like Superstar Scoop wouldn't just love to break that story."

Randy knew she had a point. Superstar Scoop was pro wrestling's most infamous and controversial online dirt sheet. In addition to a website, they had a podcast and often sent their staff to arenas and airports to hassle the Superstars and Divas for tidbits on everything from their personal lives to the latest ongoing backstage drama. The talent hated to see them coming and interactions often led to confrontations or at least a terse "no comment" or the occasional "fuck off". It was Superstar Scoop who had printed how Randy had first tortured Memphis when she had come to the company. For years they had been diming him out on his bad behavior and subsequent multiple punishments from Vince. The dirt sheet had been particularly interested in the real life romance with referee Memphis and C.M. Punk.

"Yeah, they do seem to like you," he pointed out.

"You should talk. Yeah, they'll be all over that one like flies on shit."

They were quiet again for a while as they waited. 15 long minutes later, help had still not arrived. Randy reached into one of his bags and pulled out a brochure that he began to thumb through.

"What do you think? Maroon, champagne, or crystal blue?"

"What is this?" Memphis frowned.

"I'm gonna buy a Bentley when I go home this week. I know what I want as far as the engine, the style, the amenities. I'm sure about everything except the color but I narrowed it down to these three. What would you pick?"

"A Bentley? Really, Randy?"

"What?"

She laughed out loud.

"Nothing, it's just that I don't want to picture you as the typical rich athlete who has to go out and buy all the cars and the rims. It just seems, I don't know…silly."

"You think I'm feeding into a stereotype?"

"Well yeah. What other vehicles do you drive?"

"I've got an Escalade, a Hummer and a bike."

"See what I mean? You're home, what, two, three days out of the week, maybe? You're a single guy and you need three vehicles and a bike? Come on. I just think it's a waste of money, if you ask me."

"Maybe. I admit I do splurge sometimes."

"Sometimes?" she raised an eyebrow.

"I didn't always use to do that, you know. Believe it or not, up until about a year before I met Sam, I was living in a cheap ass two bedroom apartment by the airport driving a pickup truck. I was frugal as hell."

"You?"

"Hell yeah. I'm talking buffet eating, coupon shopping, drinking Dr. Thunder instead of Dr. Pepper, the works," he made them both laugh out loud. "I was a penny pinching motherfucker."

"I believe you but it just kind of seems odd. I don't picture you as the type bargain shopping at the local grocery store."

Randy's smile faded slightly.

"I did because of my dad."

"What about him?"

"Let's just say I learned about financial responsibility the hard way by watching my father make a lot of mistakes with money. I didn't grow up the way you and a lot of other people think I did."

"Cowboy Bob Orton is a legend. He was one of the top wrestlers in his day."

"He was and he did make a lot of money but he also lost a lot of money. He went through bankruptcy a few times and my mom is a nurse so a lot of times it was just her salary holding it down for them and three kids. It was rough."

"Wow. I'm sorry. I had no idea."

"Shit happens. We made it though. I feel bad for my little brother, Nate though. That poor bastard was always in my hand me downs."

Memphis chuckled.

"You're the oldest, right? That must have been a perk. No hand me downs."

"No hand me downs but I wore jeans until my ass and thighs damn near burst out of them."

"Stop," she grinned.

"I'm being serious. And when it was hot, guess what? Mom cut those jeans into shorts."

"Why is that an adorable image I have of a young Randy in a makeshift backyard ring doing the Orton pose in too tight jean shorts?"

"Ha ha."

"What? Don't be pissed that Cena totally stole your gimmick."

"Hey, I wore them better."

They looked at each other and shared a genuine laugh. She liked him when he was like that, when he was just a regular guy. It made her feel comfortable and genuinely cherish their newfound friendship.

"Seriously, I'm sorry to hear about all that, you know, your dad and the money and stuff. I guess I shouldn't have made that joke about stereotypes. I really put my foot in my mouth."

"It's cool. You didn't know. Besides, we got over it. It could have been worse. I had good parents and I love and respect them a lot. I'm not ashamed of anything."

"Crystal blue."

"What?"

"For the exterior of the Bentley. I like the blue, maybe do a champagne color in all leather on the inside."

Randy checked the brochure again.

"Good choice," he replied.

Silence fell upon them again and the minutes turned into over an hour. Memphis hugged her knees to her chest and put her head down. She only closed her eyes for a minute but she nodded off and when she woke up she found herself sitting dangerously close to Randy Orton.

"Sorry," she apologized as she accidentally brushed into him and knocked one of his bags over.

A bottle of Johnson and Johnson's baby oil toppled onto the floor.

"You almost destroyed my most prized possession," he pretended to scold, picking it up.

Memphis made a face.

"Iiiieeewww. I do not want to know what you're doing with a big old bottle of baby oil."

"How do you think I get so slicked up before my matches, genius?"

"Oh," she said sheepishly.

Randy grinned.

"What did you think it was for?"

"Nothing," she squirmed.

"Yeah right. You were thinking I use it to beat off."

"Randy…"

"Not a bad idea, though."

"Shut up!" her cheeks turned bright red. "And by the way, you use way too much of that stuff anyway."

"You think?"

"I know. I can track your trail to the ring by following the grease spots," Memphis kidded.

"You are a real comedian today."

"Blame it on the lack of air."

She stretched her long arms and took off her hoodie as it was getting warm. Her earring got caught in the cotton material and he reached over and helped her out. She thanked him quietly and smiled before clearing her throat loudly.

"So who are you refereeing tonight besides the Sheamus and Kane match?" he inquired.

"Um, Nattie versus Melina, believe it or not and Miz against Evan Bourne."

"Three matches, that's something."

"Tell me about it."

"The other refs must love that one."

"They still give me heat but what can you do?"

"They're just jealous but they'll come around."

"And if they don't?" she looked at him.

"Then fuck them," Randy said matter of factly.

Her lips curled into a smile.

"Yeah…fuck them."

"Too bad you're not officiating my match. I like when you do."

"Randy…"

"You're good at what you do," he cut her off. "I'm serious. Your matches are smooth. The other night Jack Doan was refereeing for me and Miz and we were running late on time and he totally fucked it up by telling us on camera. I always go back and watch my matches and sure enough, you can see the guy talking into his mic and everything. Very sloppy. I don't like that. You…you're good. You're smooth and the fans just seem to dig it way more when you're out there. I'm serious. Vince can save you for last and no matter what, you're still gonna get like one of the biggest pops of the night."

"It's amazing. This is like a dream. The fans, the lights, the people I work with, the travel, FHM…it's all so surreal. Every day I pinch myself to make sure it's not a dream."

"But it is a dream," he said softly. "Your dream."

She looked up at him and smiled shyly.

"Yeah, um, I guess it is. Thank you for saying that. I've worked hard so it's nice to have my peers recognize and respect that. It means a lot. This isn't new to me, the whole wrestling thing. I've been a huge fan all my life. Dusty Rhodes, Harley Race, Junkyard Dog, Andre the Giant, people like your father…those are legends and guys like you and Cena, you're the new legends. It is an honor to get in that ring with you every night."

It was a real and genuine moment between the two, one they greatly appreciated. They stared into each other's eyes, not even caring anymore about the dire circumstances of being stuck. The only thing that took them away from the moment was when the doors unexpectedly opened and there was a mechanic, the employee who had let them use the elevator, an arena supervisor and former WWE Superstar turned producer Pete "Billy Kidman" Gruner.

"Told you they would be here," the younger guy grinned.

"Thank God," Pete breathed a sigh of relief. "I didn't know what the hell happened to you two. Are you okay?"

"Everything is fine, man," Randy stood and gingerly helped Memphis to her feet.

She gave Randy a warm and shy smile.

"Everything's great," she reiterated.

"The show couldn't go on without our biggest draws," Pete added, winking at Memphis.

The supervisor apologized profusely before Pete and Memphis walked together towards the dressing room chatting away. When everyone was out of sight and earshot, Randy dug into his pocket and pulled out a crisp one hundred dollar bill.

"Did you get what you wanted, Mr. Orton?"

Randy smiled smugly.

"And then some. Thanks, kid."

The employee took the money.

"I told you if you got in that elevator it would probably stick. I know that referee chick is hot and all but you must really like her to go through all that," he said as he walked away.

Randy was left feeling quite satisfied with himself. He genuinely liked Memphis but it was all about proper timing. He needed to get her alone and just be himself in order to charm her. All he needed was the perfect opportunity. And when he got to the Izod Center and saw the private entrance taken over by the fans, he got one. He knew the service elevator existed and asked to use it but the employee warned him it would be out of order. Randy was defeated and preparing to sign autographs when he saw Memphis struggling behind him. Then he got an idea. He bribed the employee to convince her to get in the elevator and he hoped things would fall into place and they did. And Randy didn't feel bad about it. In fact, he felt good. Randal Keith Orton was a man who got what he wanted and this was no exception.