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I open my mouth, wanting nothing more than to leave the room and Derek forever, but Evan beats me to it.

“Enough. Option one isn’t happening. What’s the second one?”

I swallow my anger. “A soft coming out,” I say in as controlled a voice as I can manage. Derek grunts to himself. I ignore him. “By making a payment to Joaquin, we’ll buy some time. So far, Joaquin hasn’t spilled the beans. I’m sure you have nothing to fear. We can plan this. Calmly reach out to reputable and influential media outlets. Time it right. Don’t rush anything. You can express your interest in queer initiatives.”

Evan looks back at the screen reading the text we’ve drafted. Finally, he shakes his head.

A deep sadness washes over me. I’m disappointed, and yet I have no reason to be. What am I expecting? I’m making a complete fool of myself here.

“Next option?” Evan asks.

“Deflect. We demand that your privacy be respected. But you keep all options open for a possible different course of action later on.”

He nods. “That’s always a good idea, right?”

I nod. “Of course. That’s always part of any other course of action, anyway. What’s happening here is unacceptable. No matter what’s behind it, you—just like everyone else—have a right to privacy. Violating that right is outrageous and should result in serious consequences for those responsible. Often it doesn’t. Unfortunately. That’s also my guiding principle in handling every case we work with. Every person deserves respect and to be left in peace. Your sexual orientation belongs only to you.”

“Do you genuinely think that?” Evan’s eyelid twitches slightly. He gazes at me as if his gaze were piercing my soul.

I nod firmly. “Yes. I’ve always believed that. So much so that I’ve made it my job.”

He shakes his head. “Always?”

Snippets of our last argument race through my mind. His accusations that I was forcing him into something he wasn’t ready for. I never did that. He twisted my words until he had a reason to destroy everything we had.

The old anger creeps up inside me, along with melancholy. Have I still not let him go? Why does this exchange, which is purely professional, affect me so much? As if this were about me.

“Always. Even though I believe that everyone should be honest with themselves so as not to destroy themselves, no one owes anyone else answers.”

He flinches as if I’d hit him. As if that were anything new. In the nearly two years we were together, I’d said exactly that about a million times.

Evan shakes his head slightly. “And the last option?”

“Deny, deny, deny!” Derek slams his fist on the table that we all flinch. “Dammit, what’s with all this nonsense? The liquor, perfume, and car brand deals are hanging by a thread. If we don’t save them, things will be tight financially in the future. And it’ll give people more fuel for speculation. The three brands have publicly declared they won’t feature any “woke” partners. If they fall through, your whole reputation is on the line. For heaven’s sake, is anyone here thinking straight? You’re having the best season of your life. Your stats are better than ever before. My players aren’t gay.”

Carly clears her throat. “Let’s calm down alright.”

I love her more than ever in that moment. I’m on the verge of strangling Derek. But he’s a close friend of my boss’s and gets special treatment. Always. Evan’s brand deals: I know the brands. The only thing missing in his portfolio is cigarettes. With them he’ll have nothing but sponsors who embody values from a time I’d hoped we’d left behind. And what about Evan?

“The last option, as Derek already said, is denial. We’ll launch a targeted—but low-key—counter-narrative campaign. No one will comment directly. Carly has already put together a list of women we’re currently working with who are potential dates. The posts will be ignored. We’ll play the classic straight hockey player, hiring paparazzi to circulate photos of you with a suitable partner. The focus will be on your sport. If there’s anything we need to be aware of here, we need the information. Where shouldn’t we send the paparazzi? Which people are off-limits?”

Evan shakes his head again. “No one is off-limits. There’s no one.” The words ring hollow. Empty. In that moment, he bears no resemblance to the superstar who is dragged into the spotlight wherever possible in this city.

As much as I’ve cursed him over the past few years, in that moment I want to comfort him. He’s not special. Many people have the same experiences as he does. But no one deserves to live cut off from themselves. In a loneliness that’s almost impossible to grasp.

“Okay.”

We gaze at each other. The remnants of past intimacy between us, in the air, in his gaze.

“Okay. Let’s do this. To save my privacy.”

I nod blankly. Just like years ago, I’m afraid that although we’re saying the same words, we’re talking about completely different things. It’s no longer my job to explore that phenomenon.

With a tap, I send him the finished package from Carly, which I’ve already scanned: the game plan, the women we have to choose from. He needs to be comfortable with our approach, or we might as well burn the staged photos right away. Evan must come across convincing. Even though Derek will benefit from our service, Evan will be the main act in our production.

I stand up and gather my things. “All right. Carly will take care of the details of your case, and I’ll handle the contract.” I nod to Derek. “See you next time.” It feels like an act of violence as I turn to Evan. “Mr. Sinclair. You’re in the best of hands with us.”

Carly starts talking right away, and I leave the room.