“Made it as juicy as he could. Talk about throwing petrolon the fire. It’s no wonder half the country are looking for your number in the emails…”
My whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat. My head’s spinning. I didn’t think this would escalate. How fucking naïve was I? The first sniff of drama in my entire career, and I thought they’d what? Just let it be?
There’s no way I’m going back to that fucker. There’s no way I can stay quiet, because if I do, someone else’s voice will fill the space…
Trapped. I’m fucking trapped.
Her face turns sympathetic. “Look, I know being rugby royalty wasn’t an easy cross to bear for most of your life, but you just stood up in a room full of people and took the spotlight for the first time. Sure, it didn’t go quite the way you expected.”
Talk about an understatement.
She looks at me like I should definitely have known better about how the fallout would land. “But you’ve always stayed in line behind your father and brother. With your dad being a player, then a coach and your agent, and Taranis being one of the top players in the league, it’s hard not to live in their shadow. Whether you meant to or not, you stepped out from under that shadow when you outed George and Isla, and you doubled down by kissing Robert in the bar. Now it’s up to you how to handle it all going forward.”
Órlaith’s not saying anything I don’t already know. For as privileged as my life is because of my father’s success in Northern Irish rugby, it’s always come at a cost. And maybe she’s right. I’ve neverreallyhad control over my own life, and whether I meant to or not, whether I wanted them or not… I did just take the reins. It’s on me to tame this wild bronco that has bolted from the stables.
“Why would dating Robert make any difference to them trashing me? Wouldn’t they just trash both of us? Everyone hatesa celebrity love story. I’ll get hate mail.”Morehate mail. Thankfully, I don’t get it often, but Jesus, when I do, it smarts.
I’ll probably get more dick pics too…My dick’s bigger than his. I shudder at the thought, pushing it all the way out of my conscious brain. I can’t dwell on what I can’t control.
She smiles. “Everyone loves a love story. And as disappointing as it is, it makes you look dependable, reliable, committed, not flaky and unhinged. A relationship is likely not what you need emotionally considering you’re fresh off the heels of… George.”
She swallows like his name tastes bad in her mouth. “But in all honesty, there’s every chance it’s the one thing that’ll get them off your back. Strong, independent woman learns her fiancé is cheating on her with her best friend and goes and finds a hotter, more successful replacement—and let’s face it, Robert McAllister is hot, and who knew? From his stories, I always thought he was an old, wrinkly man who couldn’t get it up.”
“What about him accusing me of cheating first?”
She waves a hand. “Nothing worse than a man scorned.” I don’t think every PR manager is like this one, but Órlaith’s unconventional approach to handling me in this situation is putting me at ease. It’s like talking a problem through with a friend.
“Anyway, when said woman finds a hottie to date, why wouldn’t she jump into a relationship? He’s successful, respected—albeit unorthodox and somewhat radioactive right now—and you’ve known about George for months now, so you’ve been able to grieve your loss. It’s not like Robert’sactuallya rebound.” She seems to be talking more to herself now, rationalizing things out loud. She mutters to herself for another moment before she nods. “I can’t see a downside to it. Give it a few months of dating, smiles and love hearts for the cameras, and when the press gets theirteeth into something else, part ways with Robert and move on.”
She nods, grinning. “I think it’s the easiest way to get through it.” She stands like she’s dismissing me, like it’s all been decided. “Think on it for a few hours before making your decision. If you opt not to date him, we’ll figure out an alternative. We’ll put out a statement either way. And you should think about rebutting some of those claims that dumb fucker made. Then hope they find something other than the princess of rugby’s double whammy of Saturday Scandals to write about and fast.”
I blink. Is this woman leaving? Is that it? Talk about emotional whiplash. Go get Robert to date you and attempt to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes? She can’t be serious. Is she really a PR manager? Surely this can’t betheresolution.
“Wh-what if he won’t date me?”
Órlaith actually rolls her eyes at that. “Have you seen yourself? Any man would be lucky as hell to go out with you. And if he says no, tell him he fucking owes you. He knew exactly who you were when he kissed you in the bar, and he did it anyway. If he’s in any way a decent man, he’ll want to make it right. This is how he does that.” She shrugs. “It’s only a few months of his life.”
I leave her office on shaky legs, feeling no clearer about my path forward through this potential shitstorm, but one thing is more than clear.
I need to talk to Robert.
CHAPTER 11
Robert
When my phone vibrated with a message from Rhiannon asking to talk, my day went from bad to worse. I figured I’d at least have a little more time before she jumped on my head, too. Mum, Emma, my mate Sully, if I picked up his calls—who the fuck calls people anymore?—and now Rhiannon. Talk about a trifecta of strong women—and one really annoying best friend—queuing up to metaphorically knee me in the nuts.
We’ve decided to meet at a local café called Froth. Or rather, I did. Given the overstimulation of the Anchor, I needed something a little less… overwhelming.
It’s quiet mid-morning so there’ll be less chance of us being spied together canoodling over a cuppa in Murrayfield Shopping Centre, where the café is conveniently tucked inside. Lucky Crumbs on the main street, where Rhiannon suggested we meet up in a counteroffer to coming round to my dining room, was bursting at the seams. That’s not the vibe we’re going for.
In fairness, I needed to force myself to have a shower. If she’d come around to my place, I’d have fallen out of bed,rolled down the stairs, and stayed in this hyper-sweaty funk I’ve been in since the pub yesterday.
Rhiannon didn’t need to know why I wanted somewhere quieter, and I’m not sure I’d have told her if she’d asked. It’s not really something I share with anyone other than my therapist and my closest circle. The noise, the crowd, the constant weight pressing on my chest. Thankfully, she was fine about it. I think she realized that we needed to be somewhere a little quieter as well.
I should have ordered before I sat down. I didn’t consider that I might be sitting a while or need something to occupy my nervous hands while I await my fate. Instead of nursing a mug, I look like the jittery weirdo in the corner.
I’m not normally so passive, and I have a list of ideas for how we go about fixing this clusterfuck that’s managed to explode over the past couple of days.
