‘It’s fine.’
‘IT’S ANYTHING BUT FINE!’ Her voice echoes through the empty nothingness.
‘Chill out, I have my methods.’
Her disbelief courses through a furious deluge of Spanish.
‘Don’t do it for me!’ I butt in. ‘Do it for Jules. Be the one to help her get the man of her… sports season?’ She quietens, and I can see the idea percolating. ‘Besides, maybe you’ll become best friends at the end of this.’
‘Is this just an elaborate ploy to fuck her? Becauseyou,’ she stabs my chest with her finger, ‘were cutting cold turkey.’
‘Of course not. This is me trying to get my career back on track, a motive you of all people should support.’
She grumbles something incomprehensible and marches off. I’ll take that as consent.
‘Why didn’t you just listen to her podcast like everyone else?’ Isa asks, apparently not done. ‘It’s literally calledMain Character Energy. There are over two hundred episodes on personal branding.’
I stumble over a root. ‘I’m sorry I don’t struggle with being a Type A eldest daughter. I’m sorry I’m not halfway through myspring reset.’ I have sisters, I know things.
‘If you would’ve looked at more than one episode, you’d know they’re not all targeted at women,’ Isa says. ‘There are episodes on monetising authenticity; using your platform for purpose; growing your influence; crafting your personal voice.’
‘Ok, ok, I get it.’ Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have got spooked by the pink.
‘Hold up,Iknow why we’re in Crandon Park!’ Isa exclaims as we finally locate the player tunnel. ‘Jules was brought up in tennis. She was a junior champion, and her dad’s a coach. Did you know he coached her ex, Damian Reisner? That’s how they met. She must’ve spent many Miami Opens here with them.’
Of courseshe was a tennis champion. Nothing fits that she-demon more. ‘You little stalker.’
‘Why isn’t JC here?’ she suddenly asks.
Shit. I was hoping she wouldn’t notice.
How do I explain why my manager isn’t coming to a critical management meeting? Obviously he couldn’t come, what with my undermining him and all. He hasn’t made a single decent decision since December – and it’sMay. He can’t see any route except for playing by Leone’s rules. Maybe Jules was right. I thought he was great when things were going well at Volare, but when the chips are down, it’s obvious he can’t hack the job.
‘This is personal branding stuff,’ I explain. ‘He’s more big picture. Contracts, sponsors, that sort of thing. I’ll fill him in later. He won’t care.’
It’s not a total lie. He’s never advised me on how to cut my hair, and IknowJules had something to do with Logan Rogers’ glow up. He had an eighties mullet before he met her.
I can’t tell if Isa believes me or not. She makes an ambiguous ‘hm’ noise but drops it.
The old media centre bathes us in humming fluorescent light. It’s a relic of the early 2000s with a sun-bleached outline of the oldSony Ericsson Openlogo, murky low-pile carpet, and stale air. It’s a shame they don’t host the Open here anymore. The view of Miami’s skyline from the upper reaches of the stadium is nothing short of extraordinary.
It’s giving secret lair, perfect for our alliance, which would be super cool if I wasn’t allying with the Wicked Witch of the West. Speaking of, Jules is sitting at the press conference table at the front, consumed by her laptop, an ancient pull-down screen behind her. She’s in a white top which manages to show none of her ample cleavage. Her claw clip’s holding her hair as tight as the stick up her ass.
It takes me a second to realise Isa’s not beside me. When I turn around, she’s gaping from the door.
‘Jules,’ I announce tiredly, smiling on the inside when she jumps, ‘this wax model is Isa, my assistant. Also my sister. She’s your biggest fan. Apparently, you’re the reason she got bangs. Make sense of that if you can.’ I take one of the mismatched folding chairs in the front row.
To my shock, Jules nods meaningfully. ‘Organic facial balancing. A great choice. It suits you.’
If Isa’s grin was any bigger, her face would rip. She scurries over to Jules and takes her outstretched hand with the samedevotion Abuela does her rosary beads. I already know I should’ve brought Trey instead.
‘Where’s your manager?’ Jules asks as Isa sits beside me.
‘That’s not important,’ I brush off, trying to ignore how good every word sounds coming out of her British mouth. We hate her. She humiliated us. She made us get on our knees and beg. ‘Why are we in this dusty media centre? I get you don’t want anyone to know, but couldn’t we have saved the theatrics and just done it in your hotel room?’
Jules’ gaze turns lethal. ‘You will never be in my hotel room. You shouldn’t even think about my hotel room because it’s so far out of your realm.’
‘It’s your home Grand Prix weekend,’ Isa chips in before I can shoot back, taking a notebook and pen out of her bag that I don’t have time to question. ‘You’re the only driver from Miami, and the only Hispanic driver period. The city’scrawlingwith press and fans.’
