"Let me finish, Max. Just this once, before we go our separate ways."
Max took the glass, leaned against the desk.
Slightly messy brown curls, that permanent "always thinking" tension.
"Talk."
Victor cut straight to it, sipping his red. "I still think you're the best agent I'll ever have. And I need you."
Max frowned, downed the wine in one go. Killer tolerance. Lips even redder.
"My degree comes first."
"Yeah, I'm not stopping you."
Victor set his glass down, pulled a manila envelope from his pocket. "Just now, some agent tried to get me to sign this."
Max took it, flipped through fast.
The deeper she read, the tighter her brows locked.
"This… this is highway robbery. Twenty percent commission? That's the ceiling! And these buried clauses… it's a damn bet against me! Che Guevara should storm the beach for this!"
She slammed it on the desk. Shockwave. Jiggle city.
"This is what I'm dealing with without you, Max."
Victor's voice dropped low. "I need you back. Not as a friend. As my agent. My career needs someone with a spine."
Silence. Just rain tapping the window.
Max walked over, stared at the smeared city lights.
"Victor, I've told you twice."
Soft but firm. "Nothing's changed."
"I know."
Victor pushed. "But this is your life, Max. Boxing's just a job for me. Agent work's a job for you. Graduating means finding a gig anyway. And student loans are worse than loan sharks."
Max spun around, shocked. "You're telling me not to go to college?"
Victor shrugged, bitter grin.
"Pride makes you stupid. You were right. I thought I could handle it all: new agent, new sponsors, new training crew. Turns out I can't. I folded at step one."
He tapped his temple. "I'm not wired for this. Agent game? My brain's on the same level as the grunts who landed in 'Nam."
"I'm sorry, Victor."
Max softened, but held the line. "Even if I wanted to, I can't go full-time. Classes, internships, no way."
"Then be my advisor."
Victor threw it out. Didn't know broken-windows theory, but he knew pay-to-play. "Off the books. You keep school. Only show up when I need advice. No contract. No chains. Hourly rate."
Max paused. "That's…"
"For the love of God, Max, you're my… my third friend ever."
Rare plea in his voice. "You know how dark this sport is. Without you, I'm blind in a minefield."
Rain picked up. Water trails warped the lights outside into weird shapes.
Max studied Victor. The stubborn boxer's eyes now held real worry.
"Being your friend isn't a prize."
She finally said. "But for Ben Franklin's sake, fine. Advisor. Informal. With conditions."
Victor's eyes lit up. Raised his glass. "This bottle's my thank-you for dragging me out of the weeds. Name 'em."
"First, full access to every contract and dollar you've got. Second, if I spot anyone screwing you, I step in. No questions. Third…"
She paused. "If I say something's a bad idea, you actually think about it. No more bullheaded crap."
Victor laughed, clinked glasses. "Deal! To our new partnership."
Max tapped his glass, sipped, then remembered.
"March 17. Where'd Ethan go?"
Victor didn't dodge. "March 22, night the Gloves end, Mr. Wilson's gonna have a little accident."
Max froze.
Took a beat, started to chew him out, then stopped.
"That's risky as hell."
"Yeah, I know."
Victor laid it bare. "But Wilson's a bigger threat. He tried to end my career over a snub. I nearly ended his. He's not letting one dinner wipe the slate."
Max stayed quiet.
Victor kept going. "Fix the problem or fix the guy causing it. Wilson can't be bought, can't be reasoned with, can't be scared. Only one way."
"Enough!"
Max was pissed but controlled. "You don't need a noble excuse for murder. You're saying it out loud 'cause even if I squealed, nobody'd believe me."
Victor didn't argue.
Max sat. Little belly showing. Thighs stealing the show. Round and real.
"Victor, I didn't grow up in an ivory tower. South Side kid. I'm not shocked by this."
"I know."
Victor: "You just don't want me doing it."
"Smart boy. A boxer can't be a killer."
Max threw up her hands. "I'm not part of this. I don't know about this. I'm just the advisor. No liability."
Victor grinned, raised his glass.
···
"So you talked for an hour."
"Yup."
"Nothing happened?"
"Like what?"
"Like Rule 23? Just thinking about it gets me going."
"Millie, you don't need to spy. Go watch him train. Wet shorts don't lie."
"Max, you still single, right?"
"What's that mean?"
"Don't let him slip! Future cash cow! One ride and you're set for life!"
"Millie!"
"Fine! I can't believe I'm talking to a romantic assassin! Even South American Catholics worship Che Guevara! Nothing new."
"Millie, you and Ethan aren't love?"
"Hell no. Just his hands and tongue are too good. Not ready to let go."
"Marriage?"
"Marriage? Max! I'm twenty-one. Haven't partied enough!"
"You're wild."
"You're the faithless heretic! I didn't say anything. I know what you do under the covers. Room smells like a locker."
"Can't help it. Those soaked shorts are criminal."
"What'd he say? What'd he offer to keep you?"
"He told me to strip and lie down. I was worried it was too big, so I used my hand."
"That's it?"
"What else!"
"Next time that chance comes, you go grab coffee. I'll take the shift."