‘It’s perfect,’ continued a seemingly unfazed Dean. ‘Ava has huge “girl next door” appeal, which the British public will likely relate to. The rumour mills are already out in force, anyway, and you’ll have the tennis world speculating about whether you’re an item or not in no time. The groundwork has already been laid. All we need to do is stay quiet and let people believe what they choose to believe.’
‘Have you lost your mind?’ asked Marcus, looking genuinely concerned. ‘I can’t stand the paparazzi, you know that. Do you honestly think I’m purposely going toletthem take photos of me? In some sort of ridiculous fake-romance set-up?’
‘I know it’s a lot to take in,’ said Dean, keeping his cool. ‘And it’s not a set-up: it’s business.’
Putting Marcus’s irrational dislike of photographers to one side, he did have some valid points, even if he could have put them across a little less aggressively.
‘Is this something you do with all your clients? Because it sounds kind of unethical,’ I said to Dean.
This was hands down the weirdest assignment I’d ever undertaken and I hadn’t yet written a single word. Could I really endure another three months of this?
‘It’s not come up before now, actually, but that’s not to say it won’t. Anyway, half the relationships in Hollywood are fake, aren’t they?’ suggested Dean.
He had a point. But Hollywood was one thing – I’d had no idea the world of tennis could be equally cut-throat.
‘You do realise I’m never going to agree to this,’ said Marcus, which might just have been the most sensible thing he’d said since we met.
Let everyone think we were dating, indeed. As if! Although, I supposed pretending to be in a relationship with him might beslightlymore tolerable thanactuallybeing in one (dating a man with an ego that big would be a full-time job in itself), but either way, it was not going to happen.
‘I’ve got one word for you, Marcus: sponsorship deals,’ said Dean.
‘That’s two words,’ I pointed out.
‘What about them?’ said Marcus.
‘You don’t have any,’ replied Dean.
‘He doesn’t?’ I asked. ‘What about Lacoste?’
‘They cancelled their contract,’ said Dean. ‘They’re seeing the clay season through, then they’re out.’
‘Does she really need to know all of this?’ said Marcus, irritated.
‘I think it’s best,’ said Dean.
‘Do not put this in your article,’ said Marcus, glaring at me.
Well, at least he was still planning to go ahead with it, I supposed.
‘Fine, this is off the record. Go on, Dean, you were saying?’ I prompted him.
‘Marcus recently lost his two biggest sponsorship deals after having a rather ... violent outburst at the Australian Open.’
‘Oh! Was that when you threw your racquet so hard it nearly hit a ball boy in the face?’ I asked him.
Marcus stared at me. ‘It was an accident. And I bought him an Apple Watch to say sorry.’
No wonder Wilson or Head or whoever didn’t want him representing their brand. Why would they, when he regularly smashed hisracquets to pieces in front of an enraptured television audience’s eyes? Hardly made you want to go out and buy one of their products, did it?
‘So what we need from you, coming out of the shadows of this exceptionally bad press coverage, is a redemption tour. Starting right now, this season. Because if you want sponsors back in your corner, Marcus, something is going to need to change,’ said Dean, bringing out the big guns.
I caught Marcus’s eye – clearly, big-shot LA agents did not stop until they got what they wanted. Dean was bulldozing his way through this meeting and Marcus was about to admit defeat, I could see it.
‘It wouldn’t need to be forever,’ said Dean. ‘Let’s say until just after Wimbledon. Enough time to shift public opinion, but not so long that it stops either of you from getting on with your actual lives.’
This was literally the worst idea I’d ever heard.
‘Maybe I’m missing something here, but what’s in it for me, exactly?’ I asked.
