Page 91 of The Fake Out Flex

"How much time?"

"A month."

"A month? That's…that's nothing. I may as well start packing up my stuff now."

"It's not nothing, Evie. It's a chance. Your last chance to make a splash. You need a big story."

My shoulders slump. "Why are you doing this? Why are you battling so hard for me?"

"Because I hired you, so I'm personally invested. But more than that, because I believe in you. Not just in the stories you're telling, but also, your approach."

"My approach?"

Margo gets up and wanders over to the big window. "When I was young, all I wanted to do was to get out of my small outback town in the middle of nowhere—which, in Australia, we have a lot of nowhere—move to the city, and make something out of myself. My drive, hard work, and persistence took me to Sydney, then Singapore, followed by stints in Paris, London, New York, and finally, Comfort Bay."

"I feel so bad for all those other places. They've got nothing on Comfort Bay."

She smiles and sits back down next to me, a little closer this time. "They really don't. I spent my twenties and a good chunk of my thirties chasing my dreams, reaching my dreams, only to realize dreams coming true aren't so great when you've got no one to share them with."

"You're talking about your husband Hamish?"

"I am. Fifteen-year-old feminist me would die knowing that I'd give up my glamorous, jet-setting career, where I was making serious headway to becoming the head honcho, to settle down in a small town for a man, pop out a couple of kids, and run a local breakfast show."

"I've always admired you for that very decision, Margo. When my mom gets on my case that I should pursue a 'real career,' I think about what you did. Your decision to give it all up for a small-town life. That inspires me so much."

"Thank you. But here's the thing, hon…It doesn't feel like I gave anything up. I still love what I do for work. It's just that now I have a husband who supports me and two children who fill my life with more meaning than I ever thought possible."

She gives my knee a gentle press. "I can't speak to where your mother is coming from because believe me, I know a thing or two about overbearing parents, but I can tell you this. I admire your decision to pursue the type of career you want."

"Even if no one tunes in?"

She shrugs. "I don't know what's going wrong, Evie."

"What about the Rademacher effect?" I ask. "Why isn't that working? I am still the girlfriend of one of the—correction—of the hottest player in the NHL."

"You know the press as well as I do. It's old news now. You and Fraser have been together for months, so the novelty of the redemption story and the good luck charm angle has worn off."

I drop my head. "So what do I do?"

"I'll tell you what you don't do. You do not give up, Evie. You have a month. That's enough time to convince that hunky hockey-playing boyfriend of yours to sit down for an exclusive interview."

"I can't." I angle my head to face Margo. "Fraser will never go for it."

"Have you asked him?"

"I don't need to. I know him."

"True. But…for someone who hates the press, he's also dating someone who is the press."

"Your point?"

"My point is that maybe whatever blocks or issues Fraser has with the media could be sidestepped if you were the one conducting the interview."

"I highly doubt it."

"There's only one way to find out. Why don't you put a package together, something that you can present to Fraser so he sees for himself that he won't be exploited or taken advantage of, that addresses whatever his reasons are for not trusting the media. If he sees that, he might change his mind."

I huff out a despondent breath. "That's my only option?"

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