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Nick Aldis glanced at the oversized clock on his office wall, eyes lingering a little too long before they snapped back to Cody Rhodes with all the subtlety of a thrown chair.
Cody swore under his breath and tapped his phone screen, as if hoping the time might change, or magically summon their current reason for restlessness. No such luck.
“I swear, I called him. He said he’d be here,” Cody said, palms up in a helpless shrug.
That was putting it mildly. They’d left the damn hotel together, Roman murmuring something smug about 'fashionable lateness' and peeling off somewhere between the lobby and the office. Translation: he was probably three plates deep at the moment at brunch with the Usos.
Cody still hadn’t recovered from trying to out-eat them last weekend. Huge mistake.
He checked his phone again, more to give his fidgeting hands something to do. The meeting was now an hour and forty-five minutes past its scheduled start.
Nick let out a sigh so long and soul-weary it might’ve come with it's own therapist. Cody watched the man visibly try, and fail — albeit with decorum, to keep his frustration tucked beneath his suave, English exterior.
“You know he’s doing this just to annoy you, right?” Cody offered, leaning back.
Because yeah, Roman did that, attempt to control every room. The man was a walking power play. You usually had to kiss him until he got distracted enough to forget what he was scheming. Not that Cody was about to offer that helpful strategy to Aldis.
Nick clicked his pen like he was trying to summon an ancient curse. “Is he now?” His accent rolled across the room like velvet over barbed wire. “Well. It’s working splendidly.”
The accent made it sound almost musical and laid back, until you saw the vein twitching in his temple.
Cody opened his mouth to offer either a distraction or a weak pep talk, when the door chose that moment to swing open.
And there the object of Cody's affections was.
Roman Reigns strolled in like he owned the room and Aldis was simply borrowing it, gaze locking instantly with Cody’s. His face softened. That damn look that could level buildings locked on him. Could make Cody forget his own name, never mind the man sitting a few feet away, stewing in administrative rage.
Aldis cleared his throat, the sound of a man one inhale away from throwing a stapler.
Cody blinked, severing whatever Bluetooth level connection Roman’s gaze had pulled them into.
“Nightmare,” Roman greeted, voice low and fond.
Then he turned to Aldis with the same warmth one might show a malfunctioning printer. “Nightmare’s boss.”
Cody snorted. Aldis sighed the sigh of a man who had survived worse but wasn’t thrilled to test that track record today. He let his pen clatter to the table noisily.
“Interesting tone, Roman,” Nick said, eye twitching ever so slightly as Roman relocated his seat to the 'Head of the Table'. “Shouldn’t I be the one taking that inflection, considering you’re two hours late to an appointment that was scheduled two days ago?”
Roman held up a finger like a smug lawyer. “One hour, fifty-two minutes.” he corrected, settling in with the grace of a lion claiming territory.
Cody double-checked. The man wasn’t wrong.
Nick just stared at Roman for a beat too long before shaking his head. “Since we’re finally all present, perhaps we can begin.” He straightened in his seat with the kind of corporate posture that screamed 'formal reprimand incoming.' “Gentlemen, I assume we all understand why we’re here today?”
Cody leaned back. “I’m guessing it has something to do with Roman deciding to wear my merch in public like a walking, talking billboard?”
Nick waved that off. “The merch is for sale, Cody. We don’t police fashion choices. What concerns us is what the action implies.”
Roman snorted. “So you're moonlighting for HR now? Trying to figure out who seduced who? Who’s exploiting their position of power? Is this about power dynamics or just plain old office drama?”
Nick sighed again. Cody had stopped counting how many after sigh number six.
“No one’s accusing anyone of misconduct,” Nick said tightly.
“Then, no offense, Nick,” Cody interjected, “but, why are we here?”
Nick shuffled a few papers, clearly stalling for time. “Because you’re both our biggest stars. And when two headline acts suddenly start… intersecting outside the ring, we have to consider the ramifications.”
“Ramifications?” Cody repeated, eyes narrowing.
“Yes Cody, ramifications, as in—” Nick gestured between them with his pen “—how long this has been going on, and whether it’s impacted any match outcomes.”
Roman let out a quiet chuckle, deeply amused.
Cody, not so much. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Nick kept going. “Because if it is affecting your performances, whether positively or negatively, we need to know. Match results. Booking logistics. Fan perception. Sponsor comfort levels.”
“You mean optics,” Roman interrupted. “Just say optics.”
Nick sighed. “Fine. Yes. Optics. This is a potential PR wildfire waiting to happen.”
Cody leaned back, arms folded. “So what’s the ask here? Pretend we hate each other once again? Or worse, exploit it like some kind of company-sanctioned telenovela?”
“'Total Bloodline', premiering right after Raw.” Roman tilted his head, intrigued. “I’d watch that trainwreck.”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is not a joke.”
“Neither is our professionalism,” Cody patted the desk. “Hey Nick, look, I respect the hell out of you. But if you think I’m gonna let corporate tell me who to kiss, fight, or share a hotel room with, you’ve officially lost the plot.”
Roman cracked his neck, lazily amused. “I’m regretting showing up more with every passing second. But yeah. What Cody said, but dial it up to seven.“
Nick’s tone turned flat. “I don't think the both of you understand. When the company’s top two stars are romantically involved, every outcome gets scrutinized—”
“So this is about jealousy?” Roman replied, voice low and dangerous. “Because if some insecure midcarder can’t handle two people being professionals and having chemistry, maybe they’re the liability.”
Nick’s patience snapped, his voice rising a notch. “This is about conflict of interest. This is about money, and about corporate accountability. Now, if you two can’t see how fast this could blow up in our faces, then I’m going to have to make some decisions you won’t like.”
Cody’s smile faltered. “What kind of decisions?”
Nick leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Brand reassignment. Suspension if performance dips. And if it comes to it—contract renegotiations.”
That one landed.
Cody’s brow furrowed, gaze cutting like a blade. “So what—you’re going to punish us for something we’ve never let affect our work? We weren't even together up until I lost the belt to Cena.”
“If it starts to impact your performances,” Nick said, glossing over Cody's explanation. “then yes, there will be punishment.”
A heavy silence settled in.
Cody was the one to break it. “And if it doesn’t? If we keep killing it out there, hitting numbers, showing up, doing the job—then what?”
Nick hesitated. “Then this meeting never happened. But make no mistake, I will be watching.”
Roman snorted. “Now that was creepy. Where's HR when you need them?”
Nick ignored him again. “Look, I get it. You’re both professionals. But I’ve seen locker rooms tear themselves apart over less. So this is your warning. Keep it clean. Keep it contained. Or I will contain it for you.”
Cody nodded slowly. “Understood.”
Roman stood, voice low and measured. “You do what you have to, Aldis. Just don’t expect me to flinch.”
He turned and held the door for Cody like the gentleman menace he was.
Cody offered Nick a small, diplomatic smile. “Well. That went… great.”
“Get out of my office,” Nick said, already reaching for the Advil.