I gazed out the window and watched the wind bend the trees back and forth, carry the leaves and throw the pollen into the air. With every gust I became more grateful to be in this empty room. However nervous I was feeling, at least it was warm. I turned back in my cushioned seat and faced the desk before me. It was cluttered with papers and books and sticky notes and pens and mugs, all surrounding a laptop and a telephone. Both were black, and looked very business-like. Just as my mind wandered to think of who may walk through the door only meters away, a tall man in a suit and tie with short, dirty blonde hair pushed it open and strode in confidently. Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

I stood to shake his hand and then sat back down, watching him take his own seat on the other side of the messy desk. He tapped several keys on his laptop and then clicked twice. I bit down on my bottom lip and waited, patiently.

"Right." he started, turning to me with a grin. "You're here about your NXT Pro."

"Yes."

"Well, I'm afraid there was a problem."

"So I don't have a pro?" I asked, leaning forward.

"You have one, don't worry about that. It's just not a Diva."

"Oh.. so who is it, then?"

"The Miz."