Page 14 of The Game

Anna has so much on her plate, imagine if something upset her game?

“I’ll bet my ass it does.”

She’s a world-class tennis player for Christ’s sake. What kind of man does that? But when I glance down at the papers again, I’m conflicted about the calls and the conferences. We struggle for coverage a lot of the time—who wants to talk to another startup these days? But this interest in me … it could help the business. Is that taking advantage in another way? My stomach churns. Julio’s comment about my penis on prime-time television echoes in my head. What do I know about how this works? It’s clearly a high-wire act, and I don’t want my company to be roasted for some faux pas I didn’t see coming. Maybe Serge’s suggestion of a stylist makes sense: I don’t want to be papped wearing old sweats with bed-hair at the supermarket.You never wear old sweats, Adam.Yeah, Mom had strict rules about that kind of thing.

I groan. My compulsive overthinking is the bane of my life. And am I that vain already? One night out and a few photos and press articles and I’m worrying about my wardrobe?You have no money, you maniac.

“Sounds like we could pick up some coverage. What do you think? Am I setting myself up for a nightmare here?”

She laughs. “To be honest, I don’t care if it is a nightmare. All publicity is good publicity, right? This is a marketing dream. I’ve fixed two of the interviews for tomorrow, but you don’t have to do them.”

“Do you think we need a PR company to handle it?”

“Well, that would be wonderful, but we can’t afford that, can we?”

“No.”

She grins. “I can manage it for now if you’re happy to talk to the journalists.” She waves her rainbow-colored nails at me. “It’ll die down in a few days. The press is terrible. It’s all flavor-of-the-month stuff.”

She’s right. We should take the opportunity while it’s here. “Sign me up for everything.”

She stands to head back to her desk. “By the way, I also set up personal social media accounts for you this morning. You’ve already got thirty thousand followers on Instagram.”

“What?” I grab my phone as Susie comes around the desk to show me the account. She’s posted a photo of Anna and me outside the event on the red carpet.

“Shit. I signed an NDA.”

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s one of their pictures.”

I nod my head and start to scroll down, and she sticks her tongue in her cheek.

“What?” I say.

“Don’t read the comments.”

“What? Why?” I flick down further.

OMG hot!

I’d let him do me on a red carpet.

“Oh, Jesus.”

Susie sniggers. “I was tempted to post a picture of you in your old jeans and your high-magnification glasses you use for fiddling with electronics, but decided I shouldn’t ruin the illusion.”

“Probably best if I don’t look at any more of that.”

She smiles. “You polish up well, boss.”

“Thank you. They certainly did a job on me.”

Her gaze roams over my hair. “Did they … color it?”

Laughing, I say, “They did.” I fill her in on my crazy evening.

“It sounds amazing,” she says eventually. “Did you take any photos?”

“I did. I shouldn’t have, given the NDA.” I turn my phone toward her as she leans over the desk and flicks through some pictures and videos. Serge doing my hair, Pepper with her rabbit, a couple of shots out the window of the car and at the event.

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