It was common knowledge that Maxwell Jacob Friedman was a man-ho.
Seriously. It was a wonder he didn't have little MJFs running around the whole country.
Or especially within the company, you thought to yourself as you watched his match against Samoa Joe.
You were certain he'd slept with most of the women on the roster and at least half of the ring crew. Not to mention the younger women working catering. And don't forget the referees.
He'd moved his conquests over to the trainers now. You knew because your co-trainer had bragged to you one recent Dynamite night that they'd slept together the night before.
You knew. You just knew he was going to start in on you next.
And you were right.
"Hey, Y/N! Drinks. On me!" He called out to you in the hallway one night.
You simply scoffed at him and walked back to your office, shaking your head.