“No, I’m fine,” she tells him, then comes back to me. “I’m just stunned. Absolutely stunned. Why haven’t you eaten yet? Go order something. Please. Maybe once your brain has some fuel, it’ll remind you how catastrophically dumb this plan is.”
“I’m not hungry. And I’ve spent nearly eight hours thinking it through. If it were a disaster, I’d have caught on five hours ago.”
―
Emilia exhales — long, tired. She’s most likely on the brink of a breakdown. “How are you supposed to make good decisions when you barely sleep or eat? I’ve told you – again and again — to take care of yourself.” She pauses, then breathes in sharply. “When was the last time you had actual food? Not wine, not cup noodles. Real food. And when was your last full night of sleep?”
I bristle. “I made that chicken salad from your recipe.”
“Oh? When?”
I hate lying, and I’ve used up my quota for the day. So I tell her the truth. “Three days ago.”
Silence. The kind that says she’s judging me hard.
I push through. “And yeah, I might have passed out last week, but I got ten hours of sleep after that, so-”
“I’ve ignored your terrible taste in men because you’re a grown woman, but now I have to ask – are you trying to kill yourself?”
That’s Liam. Jumping into the call like this is his business. My
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voice goes cold.
“Emilia, am I on speaker?”
She fumbles. “There wasn’t a non–seafood option at breakfast so I’m cooking. I couldn’t hold the phone… I’m sorry, I didn’t. think-”
“And when did you two get so close?” I narrow my eyes even though she can’t see me. “I was happy about the Instagram posts, but this-?”
“Why don’t you ask Aaron to be your date instead?” Liam interrupts, and it shuts me up completely.
I blink.
Of all people.
Aaron?
I actually laugh out loud. “And have him laugh in my face? No thanks.”
“I think he’d be thrilled if you asked.” Liam replies and he’s dead serious too.
“Sometimes, I swear everyone else knows a different Aaron than I do. That man hates me just for existing,” I shrug off the ridiculous comment and add, “And he’s completely different from Lyle.”
Liam snorts, “Thank God for that.”
Already bored with the conversation, I update Emilia on the progress Adrian and I have made. She fills me in on the whole
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Céline situation. I sip my coffee and ask, “Do you think your sister would sell you out?”
“Dia? She might hate me, but Vanderbilts have a very… how do I put this? Questionable moral compass. If she wanted to, she’d have blown up the bakery with me in it or tampered with evidence to get me a death sentence for murder – nothing that would hit the news, reveal my past and tie back to our family.”
I take a moment to process that – although questionable, makes sense – before we say our goodbyes and I start heading toward the office.
Me: Diana’s off the suspect list. Unfortunately.
Adrian: Told you. Dia can’t even kill a fly.
I roll my eyes.
A second later, I get a DM from @thEodotrink. I grin. He’s sent a post about some Alberta player caught dealing to minors, then messaged:
“I call dibs on the press release being something about defamation and suing the preparators.”
Me: Quite bold of you to assume it won’t just be ‘player unavailable to confirm or deny.”
Theo: Come on, you know that’s way too messy. The regular season’s starting in less than a month.
Me: So? Maybe they need the PR boost to fill seats.
Theo: Be real with me, Rov. Who’s actually buying tickets to see Alberta?
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Me: Unless they’re playing at home against New York, right?
Theo: Damn right.
When I got out of college and started working, I was halfway into a breakdown – crushed under inhumane hours, living states away from my best friend, and waking up to the lovely revelation that I was now my parents‘ retirement plan.
To cope, I joined a sports forum under a fake username and started ranting.
Mostly about PR disasters in the league.
Think burnout meets wine–soaked rage–posting. Therapeutic, in a deranged kind of way.
One night, after a particularly hellish shift – Mr. Harris had the entire office calling me Olaf (and yes, I now hate that snowman with a passion) – I posted a long, semi–coherent breakdown on how badly managed PR crises can ruin a player’s career.
It read more like a threat than a thinkpiece. The energy was very much ‘give me a raise or I’ll destroy your brand equity‘. But people conveniently ignored the meltdown part and focused on the analysis.
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