Rosaline’s expression turned thoughtful. “In the last year alone, you’ve had your work cut out for you, haven’t you?”
Poppy frowned. “What do you mean?”
Rosaline shrugged. “I can’t imagine it was a walk in the park, orchestrating the public coming out of a professional athlete as bisexual. A football player no less. That couldn’t have been easy.”
It wasn’t about what was easy, it was about what was right. If Poppy cared about easy, she’d have taken Rosaline up on that glass of wine when she’d had the chance. If Poppy cared about easy, she’d have given up a long time ago. “I don’t care about easy; I care about Cash. And coming out was important to him, so it was important to me.”
As his friend she’d wholeheartedly supported him and as his publicist she’d helped him strategize a game plan that accounted for as many outcomes as could be predicted. Easy? No. A hardship? Never.
“Risky,” Rosaline said, unnecessarily stating the obvious.
Of course it had been a risk. But any brand that distanced themself because Cash was queer could kick rocks.
“Some risks are worth it.” Poppy lifted her chin, staring Rosaline down, daring her to say otherwise. “Some things are more important than brand deals or endorsements or public opinion. And maybe it makes me a bad publicist to admit it, but people are always going to be more important to me than getting good PR.”
Cash’s being able to live authentically and be a visible role model to young, queer athletes was infinitely more important than appealing to a few Brads, Chads, and Dads who were pissy their favorite quarterback was bisexual and not afraid to say it with his whole chest. The face of the NFL was changing—albeit at a snail’s pace—and as far as Poppy was concerned, those small-minded fuckers could change the channel if they were so butthurt over it.
“It wasn’t an indictment,” Rosaline said, giving her a soft look she couldn’t quite parse. “The opposite, in fact.”
Opposite of indictment could mean a lot of things. “I guess it didn’t seem right that I could date whomever I wanted, and Cash couldn’t.”
Her parents might not understand her for a whole host of reasons, only a few of which were related to her being bisexual, but she’d never faced any real discrimination for liking who she liked. Not the way Cash could’ve, the way he could’ve lost everything he’d worked tirelessly for. Mercifully, it hadn’t come to the worst.
“What I’m trying to say is that it was very brave of him.” Rosaline’s eyes shone, green as sea glass, their sharpness blunted by sincerity. “Curran is lucky to have someone like you in his corner.”
Cash Curran wasgoodin a way Poppy had found so few people were, there for her when no one else was, not even her family—especiallynot her family. Even when she’d given him every reason not to, he’d believed in her. Twenty years they’d been looking out for each other; Poppy wasn’t about to stop now that fame and money were in the mix.
“Like I said, he’s my best friend,” she demurred. “I’d have his back even if I wasn’t working for him.”
“Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m sure it wasn’t simple, but together you made the entire rollout look, quite frankly, effortless,” Rosaline praised. “I doubt I could’ve handled it any better myself.”
Poppy exhaled slowly, shoulders falling from where she’d inadvertently had them hiked up to her ears.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been chasing the high of the first gold star she’d gotten, a shiny foil sticker stuck to the corner of a spelling test, indelible proof that she wasgood.It had driven her to do things she wasn’t proud of, desperate for the attention she was missing at home, starved for validation. Affection. It had taken a year of therapy to recognize it for what it was, to accept that she didn’tneedanyone to tell her she had value for it to be intrinsically true, but it was also okay for her to want to hear it from time to time, normal even. There was still a lot she was working to unpack, a lot she’d probably always be working to unpack, the destination the journey.
She didn’t need a gold star like a first grader anymore, but that didn’t stop her breath from vanishing when Rosaline said exactlywhat she hadn’t known she’d needed to hear tonight. She wasn’t totally fucking up this job the way she had everything else in her life. Cash could count on her. She was capable. She could do this.
“Timing it with Pride Month just made sense and Cash was already planning on donating to The Trevor Project so really, it wasn’t—”
“Poppy.” A tiny thrill shot through her at the way her name sounded when Rosaline said it in that trademark Lauren Bacall–style rasp, her lips pressing and parting before coming back together as her mouth shaped the word. “Take the compliment. I don’t give them out very often.”
Poppy felt like she was glowing, like she’d swallowed the sun, the rarity of Rosaline’s praise making it all the more precious. “Thank you. That—that means a lot. Especially coming from you.”
Rosaline’s lips parted as she sucked in a stuttered breath, her face frustratingly unreadable as she rested her forearms against the counter. “Be honest with me, one professional to another. What’s your angle right now?”
“Angle?” Poppy frowned. “I don’t have an angle.”
Rosaline sighed and shook her head, looking the picture of disappointment. It was a look Poppy knew well. “And here you were doing so well, Poppy.”
If that was meant to be a compliment, it sure as hell didn’t feel like one. “Seriously. I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Hair escaped the bun at the nape of her neck when she shook her head. “I don’t—you told me to take the compliment and I meant what I said. You’re so clearly amazing at your job and so—so confident and I... I admire you, I guess.” Her cheeks burned, but she soldiered on, needing to get this out, needing Rosaline to understand. “That sounds annoyingly juvenile when I say it out loud, but I do. I don’t have an angle; I just genuinelyappreciate you saying what you said. It meant a lot.” Even if the praise felt tainted now, all tangled with sour uncertainty.
Rosaline stared, eyes wide and mouth agape, looking as wrong-footed as Poppy felt. “I was talking about Cash and Lyric, but okay? Thank you.”
Oh. “Well. I don’t have an angle there, either.”
Rosaline tipped her face up to the ceiling, lips moving as if silently praying for strength. “Look,” she said, lowering her head and assessing Poppy, expression pinched. “I said I wanted you to be honest with me—”
“I am,” Poppy blurted. Painfully honest was all she’d been since the moment she stepped out of the car. “I have been. I have no ulterior motives and neither does Cash.”
