“Yeah. Definitely,” Till answered quickly.
“After that, we can move up to six-rounders and hopefully get you in the ring with some decent opponents with a larger purse.”
“What happened to that possible fight in New York you mentioned the other day?”
“Well, he was willing to take a chance on you as long as I did a fucking meet and greet before the fight. I hung up on him.” Slate paused uncomfortably. “Listen, I’m sorry about that bullshit on the way to the ring. This is part of the reason I always hesitated to come back as a trainer. Eventually, the novelty of me being back in the business will wear off and people won’t even notice I’m there anymore, but for the next few months, I worry that it might just be the way things go.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Till answered. “Really. It doesn’t bother me. You forget that I’m a Slate Andrews fan too. Well, I was . . . until you almost killed me by forcing me around the track in jeans.” He gave Slate a one-sided smile I recognized as genuine.
“So, when does Till get to the big money? I refuse to believe that Erica has a bodyguard and you made six hundred bucks a fight,” Quarry asked, hopping up onto the table next to Till.
Slate laughed, shaking his head. “I guess that all depends on who he fights. Who he beats. Who he loses to. I’m gonna do my job and get him the fights. The rest is up to Till.”
“So, he gets paid per round? What about if he knocks someone out?” Flint asked from the corner.
“Promoters want a good show so they can sell tickets. Knockouts are nice, but what keeps people happy is feeling like they got their money’s worth. So the opening fights get paid per round. After that, you get paid based on your contract that’s negotiated in advance. Win or lose. Decision or TKO, it doesn’t matter at that point. The established fighter makes majority of the money, and the opponent makes significantly less.”
“Wait . . . what?” Flint stepped closer. “Even if he wins, he still gets paid less money? Shouldn’t the loser make significantly less?”
“It doesn’t work like that. See, the goal is to become the champ. It’s not just the prestige. There are a lot of zeros on the back of that belt that keep people in that ring.”
Till tilted his head in confusion. “Why’d you retire when you had the title, then? You must have been making a ton of money as the six-time defending world champion. Why not stick with it until you lost?”
Slate shrugged. “I guess I was just done.”
Till barked a laugh, and Slate’s eyes turned serious.
“I remember when I won my first pro fight. It was pretty much exactly like things happened for you tonight. I was so pumped up as I walked out of that arena, but then, when I got home, I hit a low. I sat and stared at that envelope full of cash for hours. I was afraid to even touch it. I was convinced that it was all I’d get. For several months, I just let them stack up in a drawer. The promise of money is what drove me in the sport.
“The point is I’ve been where you are, so I know exactly how ridiculous this statement is going to sound. But I hope that, one day, you will understand that money is only as important as what it gives you. I’m not talking about sports cars or big houses. I’m talking about peace of mind. When I walked away from boxing, I turned down a rematch that would have earned me over sixty million.”
“Holy shit!” I heard myself cuss, and it was joined by similar sentiments from everyone in the room.
“For me, money lost its value the day I met Erica. It couldn’t buy me time with her. I had more than enough to live comfortably, and that was all I ever really wanted. So I quit. The incentive was no longer worth the sacrifice.”
We were all silent for several seconds before the room erupted in chaos.
“You turned down sixty million dollars for a girl!”
“You have got to be kidding!”
“No way! What is wrong with you?”
“Sixty million dollars or pesos?”
Slate just laughed.
“You should never tell that story again,” Till informed him, making Slate laugh even louder.
“Worst story ever!” Flint declared. “You know what lesson I learned from that story? Till needs to break up with Eliza—stat.”
“Hey!” I objected.
“Yeah. I agree.” Quarry jumped off the table and faced Till. “If you had sixty million, you could hire her to sleep with you.”
Till slapped a hand over his mouth, but his laugh was no less muffled.
My mouth gaped open before I shouted, “I am not a hooker!”
“Of course not!” Flint rubbed my shoulder soothingly before he added, “We’d still expect you to cook for us. Hookers don’t cook.” He winked.
“How the hell do you know what hookers do?” I bit back.
The whole room was rolling with laughter at this point, and I couldn’t help but join them.