Sucker Punch (The Submission Fighter Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

they were back on their cell phones, making calls to their partners at corporate.
     
    Micah’s coach, Dean, dealt with the majority of these men. Very rarely did the sponsors or business partners approach him directly. It was a bit of a relief not have to focus on the business side of the profession. After all, he was never great with marketing himself. He just came to win, to fight, to draw blood. The money and lifestyle was just a bonus.
     
    Micah tossed his bag in Dean’s empty office. He spotted the coach’s office chair, the same one he sat in when Micah sucker punched him when he learned Dean had manipulated Alice into letting Micah go. The memory was still fresh and raw, but the ties between the fighter and the coach went too far to cause further damage. Instead, Micah knew he had to let it go and move on for the sake of his career. Dean, Micah hoped, had learned his lesson and would leave Micah’s personal life out of his ring.
     
    Micah re-entered the gym only to walk straight into a large, black TV camera. The camera operator slammed into his chest and neck, bruising an old wound. “What the shit, man?” he shouted out of frustration.
     
    Dean, dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, ran towards him, holding out his hands to relax the man. “Micah! Man of the hour! Before you get on the treadmill, these fine people from Kinetics Energy Drinks needs you to say a few lines on camera.”
     
    Micah looked at his coach curiously. No one had told him he had to make a commercial. This was not part of his deal. Wearing a sponsor’s logo was fine, but he was not one for talking, let alone reading lines off of a page for the sake of a fake endorsement.
     
    Dean spotted his reluctance. He took the man’s shoulders, at least a half foot taller than his own, and spun him around to face the wall. “This is part of the game, Micah. You read the cards, you take a drink, and you walk away with a quarter million. Just like that.”
     
    “How ‘bout actually practicing ?” Micah demanded.
     
    “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll get to that—we will. Just do this first, and then I’ll call the trainers in.” Before Micah could protest, Dean turned him back around and showed him to a waiting makeup artist who powered his face and then spritzed his torso with a small water bottle.
     
    “It’s fake sweat,” the makeup artist explained. “Girls love to see a sweaty guy. Guys will love it, too.”
     
    “Or, y’know, I could just get on a treadmill and run for a bit.” Micah understood the façade but was not about to give in.
     
    “You could, but that would probably ruin the fun for me.” The older woman winked at him and continued to spritz away at his shoulders and arms. When she finished, she introduced him to the commercial’s producer who explained what he needed to do. It all sounded so simple. He just had to read three lines off a cue card and then take a drink.
     
    His first take was too passive. His second was too excited. His third just wasn’t “right.” To make matters worse, the drink was sticky sweet. It stuck to the roof of his mouth, giving him a weird berry-flavored aftertaste that was almost acidic. By the fifth take, Micah’s frustration was palpable. It wasn’t until take nine that the producer seemed satisfied with his few words and drinking abilities. As soon as the producer shouted, “That’s it! We got it!” Micah grabbed a towel, washed the gunk off of his face, and grabbed the only open treadmill. Tossing his headphones on, he ran. From the corner of his eye, he watched as Dean shook the producer’s hands and accepted a small white check, placing it in his own shirt pocket.
     
    Micah cranked up the speed on his treadmill further and the volume on his headset higher. He reminded himself that he just had to get through today. However, the sight of seeing Dean transform from helpful coach to seedy manager weighed heavily on his mind, eating away at his thoughts.
     
    He stopped the