“I hate this for you.”
“Oh, and get this—now that he’s gotten to know the team and followed them around a bit, he wants to sit down and start interviewing the staff too.”
“Wasn’t that part of the plan, though? Full access to the team, staff, and locker rooms?”
I nod. "Yeah. But not like this. I mean, the managers, physio staff, and equipment team make sense. But me? Why? It’s just classic Matt looking for ways to spend time near me.”
Pippa’s expression drops into a frown. “God, I hate him. Are you going to say anything?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not making this a thing with the team. I’ll do my job, answer his questions, and be the professional I am. I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”
“And this,” Pippa says, raising her glass, “is why we drink.”
“I’ll cheers to that.”
Today is my interview with Matt, and I’m making myself sick with dread.
I wanted to do this in my office—in my space, where I’m comfortable. But no, of course not. Matt is insisting his office is already “set up” for the interview.
Set up, my ass.
I don’t believe it for a second.
My phone buzzes, and I glance down.
Mom:Good luck today, honey. Don’t let him get in your head.
I smile at her message. I called her yesterday, complaining about the interview. She knows as well as I do that he doesn’t actually care about my job. He probably sees this conversation as a mini-date.
Me:Thanks. I’ll call you tonight with all the details.
Mom:I hope your recap starts with elbowing him in the throat.
Mom:Because we already know he doesn’t have balls.
God, I love her.
Our session is scheduled for noon, and I don’t head down a minute sooner. I want to spend as little time with him as humanly possible. His office is adjacent to the locker room, which means I have to walk past the door, which is sometimes open, to get there.
Of course the door is open today.
Andof course Oliver is the first person I see.
He glances up from unlacing his boots, eyes meeting mine. He gives me this look as I pass by—a mixture of confusion and protectiveness.
Matt stands there holding the door open for me like he’s a gentleman, then promptly shuts it behind me like a warden locking a cell. He gestures toward the chair in front of his desk as he takes the big one behind it. I’m not stupid. He’s trying to look important, trying to remind me he’s in charge here, not me.
I fold my hands neatly in my lap and force a neutral expression. It’s fake, but I’m not playing his game. I’m not giving him anything.
He smiles at me like we’re old friends, completely ignoring every invisible scar he’s put on my body. “Thanks for coming. I figured we’d break this up into a few sessions.”
I blink. “A few? I thought this was a one-off.”
He tilts his head like I’m being cute. “Oh, Addison. You know we need more than that. The audience will want depth.”
Oh, cool. Gaslighting already.
I glance around the office, searching for the camera. “Where’s the camera crew?”
