Charlie walks back in before I can answer. Saved by the bell.
‘Sorry about that.’ She sits down, all business again. ‘That was MacKenzie Sporting. They are reconsidering all active contracts. The exact words were something along the lines of “We pride ourselves on family values and expect the same from our partners and their associates”.’
Family values. Right. Because nothing says family values like dropping someone the minute they fuck up. I know that game all too well. That’s what family is, right? My leg starts bouncing again. Can’t help it.
I get it. They want squeaky clean reputations.
‘Brodie’s already fielding questions at the gym,’ Charlie says. ‘The press ambushed him this morning.’
Fuck. Brodie. Now he’s caught in my mess, and that’s the last thing he needs after getting out of his own pool of shite with the gambling and all that.
‘Tell him I’m sorry.’
‘Oh no. No, you’ll tell him yourself and get the thrashing you deserve,’ Charlie says.
Not that I want to. But I know I owe him.
Charlie’s phone pings again, she glances at it and recoils. ‘My father’s seen the headlines. Now he’s reminding me of my incompetence and awful decisions. Love how this year’s starting.’ She switches it off, tossing it on the desk.
A chill sluices down my spine. George Harrington, the legendary, ruthless London sports agent. I don’t know the whole story, but I think he’s still livid that his eldest daughter – heir to his empire – left his firm last year. I heard some stuff about him. People talk. And now I’ve given him ammunition. ‘Charlie, I?—’
‘Don’t worry about him.’
But I do. I’ve let her down. Let everyone down, not just myself.
I need to fix this.
I dig my fingers into my knees to stop the bobbing. The silence in Charlie’s office feels like the hush before a eulogy. Fitting, since my career is apparently about to be buried on the same day as the man who fathered me.
‘There might be a way forward.’ Charlie breaks the quiet. She’s staring at her laptop, scrolling through what must be an endless parade of my public humiliation. ‘MacKenzie Sporting just emailed. They’re willing to reconsider their position if – and I quote – “Mister Lennox demonstrates a visible commitment to personal growth and family values”.’
I answer with a dry noise in my throat. ‘What does that even mean? Should I grow a beard? Take up meditation? Ferment kombucha and get a puppy?’
‘It means,’ Theo cuts in, not looking up from her lists, ‘they want to see you become less of a liability. They need reassurance you’re not going to drag their brand through another tabloid scandal, frolicking with three influencers and a bottle of Wreck the Hoose Juice on a golf course.’
Charlie’s eyes light up. ‘All they need is proof you’re trying. That you’re committed. Stable and settled.’
Theo scoffs, a small sound that somehow fills the room. ‘As if the likes of him ever settle.’
‘But what if he did?’ Charlie says, voice rising with excitement. ‘When an athlete gets caught in a scandal, they often redeem themselves with a dependable partner. A wholesome girlfriend or love story. The public laps it up.’
I stare at her. ‘Do you want me to lie? Pretend I’m suddenly madly in love?’
‘That’s the idea, yes,’ Charlie says slowly.
‘I hold someone’s hand in public and pretend I’ve changed? Fuck me. That’s bonkers. And also borderline blackmail.’
Charlie shakes her head. ‘No, Finn. This is publicity. Of course, you’re free to not do it. You have free will – but you might not have a team or a contract anymore. So, you need either a girlfriend or a time machine.’ She lets out a ragged exhale. ‘And I swear to God, if I lose this agency because of one man’s dick…’
Okay, yeah. But… My voice nearly sticks in my throat. ‘I never had a real girlfriend. That’s a known fact. Nobody’d believe it.’
‘They will if we sell it right.’ Charlie braces her arms across her chest. ‘Let’s run with that idea for a minute. Let’s say you didn’t go on a hedonistic bender because you’re a daftie – but because you were heartbroken. You had been dating in secret, she dumped you, then you spiralled. No cheating, that’s important.’ A shadow crosses her face. ‘You were split up. But now you both realise what a terrible mistake you made. The public loves a grovelling man in emotional pain and a happily ever after.’
I shake my head. ‘That’s mental.’
‘Wrong. It’s brilliant,’ Charlie insists. ‘The rugby bad boy, humbled by true love. We sell the public the three Rs,’ she explains. ‘Regret – you didn’t cheat, you were broken up. Reform – you’re fixing yourself. Romance – you did it all because you thought you lost your one true love.’
Theo’s pen stops moving. ‘It could work.’ Her tone stays cool and analytical. ‘But we’d need the right woman. Someone credible and professional. Someone who doesn’t get…caught up. Someone who balances out his…whatever this is.’ She gestures vaguely in my direction.
