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“And you reunited on the beach,” Mack chimes in, plopping down beside me. “It’s a romcom in the making.”

“Trust me. It’s not.”

“It’s a shame she wasn’t around in the post-Sofia days,” Callum says. “Having some of this sainthood around might’ve helped people hate you less.”

“Gee, thanks.”

When I started dating Sofia several years ago, life was exciting.

Our fame multiplied exponentially. My surfing fans started watching her makeup tutorials and her YouTube subscribers started checking out my time on the water.

After we parted ways at the beginning of this year, she went on to thrive, using our break-up to reset her priorities and connect with supporters.

I decided to drink a lot, hang out with celebrities I met through her, and sleep with every woman I came across.

Thanks to social media, word spread I was an alcoholic sex-fiend and public opinion shifted like a light switch.

I still don’t know to this day how or why I took that path.

It wasn’t as though the break-up devastated me, but it was a catalyst for some poor choices and now I’m suffering the consequences.

Mack steeples his hands beneath his chin. “What was your relationship like with Millie at school?”

“We didn’t have one,” I reply. “We moved in different circles. I had to dig out my yearbook to remind myself what she was like. Smart and annoying, in case you were wondering. Still is.”

“We know you were sporty and obnoxious at school,” Callum says, without looking up. “Still are.”

“How cliché,” Dan drawls, leaning against the window.

I scowl at him as Callum lets out a low whistle.

“There’s a feature article in the online community paper paying tribute to Millie’s aunt.

Millie’s mentioned here too . . . damn. Her parents died in a boating accident when she was a kid and she and her cousin became owners of Beans last year, after her aunt died.

It was the anniversary of her death today. ”

I straighten up. “Today?”

“She didn’t mention that?” Callum asks.

“No.”

Vague memories flash in my mind of when a kid in tenth grade discovered Millie was an orphan and teased her for it. Her cousin punched him in the face and although physical altercations at our school almost always resulted in suspension, she didn’t get in trouble for it.

“Her aunt became her guardian after her parents died,” I murmur. “I’m starting to remember little things I’d forgotten.”

“Was she in real danger when you helped her out today?” Mack asks.

I wave a hand at the enormous floor-to-ceiling window in front of us, where trees continue to blow furiously, rain splattering against the glass. “She was getting pummelled.”

“How did she respond when you saved her?” Mack probes, slowly rising to his feet. He places his hands together behind his back and starts walking slowly, as if he’s thinking very carefully.

I glance at Dan who’s watching Mack. He’s clocked the same thing I have, noting the change in the air.

Mack’s cooking up an idea in his head that will undoubtedly have ramifications for all of us.

It’s the public relations in him. He can’t help but cook up stories.

Mack is dramatic and never shies away from an outrageous idea.

I might be the one splashed over tabloid magazines right now, but if Mack was in the public eye, I reckon his escapades would swallow mine whole.

Mack spins to face me. “Well?”

“Annoyed,” I reply. “She blamed me for falling in. She lost her camera, and when I hit on her, she thought I was absolving myself of responsibility for the loss of said camera, and we ended up insulting each other. How’s that?”

“It’s perfect.” Mack halts his pacing, a gleam in his eyes. “I have an idea.”

“No,” Dan, Callum and I chime in unison.

“Listen,” Mack says. “We know Noah’s a good bloke, despite his antics earlier this year, but the WSA are that close to banning him from competing. Personally, I blame the break-up.”

“We can’t blame the break-up,” I argue.

“Whatever,” Mack dismisses. “What better way to show the WSA you’re serious than to connect with life here, near your hometown?

Resurface as a man who’s seen the error of his ways and has found someone wholesome to spend time with?

AKA the local business owner and charity giver, Millie, whom you saved from treacherous conditions?

” Mack holds his arms out like he’s revealed the secret to life.

I blink at him. “That is one of the most stupid ideas to ever come out of your mouth.”

“No, it’s not. Think about it!” Mack cries.

“The biggest part of your downfall was people couldn’t stand the Hollywood side of it; the parties, the women, the alleged nastiness between you and Sofia.

Let’s face it, we know Sofia’s a cool chick, but the fact she’s a YouTube superstar added fuel to the fire.

Too many people knew your business. If you could get some shots of you hanging out with a woman who’s relatively unknown, and one of the people, that could only help you. ”

Dan scoffs. I can tell he resents the “one of the people” comment.

I turn back to Mack. “Why do I need to be seen with a woman for this to work? Why can’t I go and do some decent things on my own?”

“Because no one’s going to buy playboy Noah King suddenly has a heart of gold,” Mack argues.

“ But if you do it with a woman you went to school with . . . a woman you saved from drowning . . . romcom mother fuckers!” Mack throws his hands in the air in victory.

“This is what I do for work. Trust me on this.”

“I don’t know Millie,” I say. “But I can guess she’d rather chew her own arm off than spend time with me.”

“That’s the brilliant part,” Mack replies. “She’s immune to your bullshit. You said you hit on her, and she rejected you, right?”

“She didn’t reject me?—”

“She won’t get mushy eyed with you,” Mack cuts in.

“It’d be a business transaction. Everyone’s motivated by something so make her an offer for her time.

Buy her a new camera or whatever she wants.

What you get back is a temporary cock-block from dangerous women and hopefully, some of her sainthood will rub off on you. Sponsors respond to sainthood.”

Dan rolls his eyes as Callum snorts.

It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid and na?ve and the most cliché scenario I’ve ever heard.

But I don’t hate the idea.

Dan interrupts my train of thought by shifting in my peripheral vision. “Tell me you’re not considering this.”

“Of course not,” I lie.

Dan grunts his approval, and Mack lets out a whine of protest.

“I appreciate your imagination and your efforts to help me,” I tell Mack sincerely. “But it’s not worth bringing an old school acquaintance into my life for a big charade that probably won’t work.”

Mack tuts in defeat. “Fine, but you’d better get back to kissing ass if you want one of the big brands to come back onboard. As your manager and agent, I’m running out of ideas.”

He slumps back onto the couch next to me, reaching for the remote, his lightbulb moment quickly forgotten.

I try to pay attention to another re-run of Die Hard , but my mind wanders.

I need something to turn my luck around.

Fortunately, I’ve still got my place for the Championship Tour next year after my antics of the past few months.

I don’t know if the WSA has ever struck someone from competing for being scandalous, but they seem hellbent on their threat.

My friends warned me this might happen. All year they’ve tried to tell me I was going down a slippery slope of debauchery.

In the beginning, it was fun for all of us, but I was the one that took it too far.

I was the one who wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t until Dan slapped some sense into me that I realised how much I’d fucked everything up.

Mack’s right. I’m going to have to kiss some serious ass to get anyone to work with me again.

Not only with surfing, but for the things I want to do outside of that, like running an affordable surf camp for kids and adults, that’ll blow anything like it out of the water. Pun intended.

I head to the kitchen and grab my phone, and search for the photos Callum showed me. My eyes focus in on another caption: Australian surfing legend, Noah King, looks happy and calm for the first time in months.

Perhaps Mack’s idea isn’t totally stupid.