Page 115 of Try Hard

I was going to be sick. It was a shame Simon wasn’t in the room with me for it. “If you recall my earlier statement, I haven’t actually agreed.”

Simon laughed in that way I was realising he did when he was about to steamroll you. “Of course, of course. We’ll get the new terms and contract out to you by the end of day tomorrow.”

“It’s going to be great!” Fuad enthused. “But we probably should let Fia have time to think about it. This is a new and unexpected turn of events and it’s likely to be overwhelming.”

Okay, I was glad Fuad was in the meeting. There was no telling Simon right now. He wouldn’t listen. But buying time was good.

Simon laughed again and I clenched my free arm around Eve. It had always been a grating sound. Now, it felt mocking and painful.

“If she’d wanted to live under a rock with no attention, she wouldn’t be dating one of the most famous women’s rugby players the country has ever produced,” he said, as if who I dated was any of his or anyone else’s business.

Also, Eve was one of the most famous rugby players. Her gender wasn’t required in that statement.

“The pictures you’ve seen,” I said, hard and measured, “were taken at a private event where we’d had a reasonable expectation of privacy.”

“At a party?” Simon scoffed. “Everything makes it to the internet these days, Fia. We’re just monopolising on that.”

“Monopolising on my private life and an invasion of my privacy?”

“That might not be the best look,” Fuad said, making me eternally grateful for him.

Simon wasn’t having any of it, though. “Nothing quite so… dirty. We’re simply moving up a timeline that was already in action and using our assets to the best effect.”

I wasn’t naive enough to think my office cared about me as a person. That wasn’t how these things worked. But, there really was something about being explicitly named an asset—not a person, not someone with feelings or choices. Just an asset, a means to a monetary end. It felt like the final nail in a coffin that had been closing ever since Fuad’s first call about them wanting us to switch to video content.

“Well,” I said, “as illuminating as this has been, I’m still on leave and I need to go.”

“Great talk, great talk,” Simon replied, sounding ridiculously smug. “We’ll get that contract written up and sent out to you ASAP. Keep an eye on your inbox.”

“I’m on leave.”

He laughed again and bid us both farewell, ending the call.

I shoved my phone into my back pocket and held Eve tightly, pushing her backwards until she was leaning against the wall, just like she had been at Kim’s hen party. At least nobody had seen that moment.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her usually happy voice broken. “I had no idea anyone was taking pictures or that they were selling them. The site that published them didn’t reach out to Andra with any warning so we couldn’t even try to stop them. I—I’m so, so sorry.”

I shook my head, face still pressed into her shirt. “It’s not your fault. We were both there. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to.”

“Wanting to do it and wanting it to be outed to the entire world are two very different things.”

“I know. But it’s still not something you should be sorry for.”

“I already talked to Andra and Row. I’ll be putting out a statement on my feeds—”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Her arms wrapped tighter around me. “Yes. I do. And I want to. What’s happening is entirely unacceptable and I’m done pretending all of that behaviour is okay.”

I pulled back to look at her, realising just how coached statements released on her behalf had been in the past, how much all of that had never been just her decision. She’d been required to act certain ways, say certain things, all to ensure her career wasn’t ruined. Sure, she had a whole line of merch—including the shirt I’d worn for her last Tuesday—that referenced the commentary on her body, but she’d never been allowed to just tell the critics to fuck off and leave her alone.

I slid my hands up her body to cup her face. “I’m sorry this is simply the latest in a long line of these things.”

She shook her head. “I won’t let people make comments about you and turn away like I didn’t see it, as if, in my silence, I’m allowing it to happen. Protecting you is more important to me than protecting the feelings of online bullies.”

“Someone should have been protecting you like that all along.”

“Maybe, but I could have pushed back more on—”