Chapter Twenty-Eight - Mirabelle
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mirabelle
I FLOATED INTO work on cloud nine this morning, carrying a tray of coffees for everyone in an attempt to have a peaceful day. Yesterday was rough without Stacey here to supervise us, and Miley made everyone’s day awful. I beat everyone in, but I’m also trying to get my shit done so I can leave earlier this afternoon.
I’m eager to see Henry, especially since his birthday is tomorrow, but I know after the team’s flight lands, he’ll probably spend the day resting.
I finished writing my reports on Henry’s social media engagement before combing through social media to see if there are any fires I need to alert Stacey about after last night’s loss, but I’m not seeing anything emergent. If anything, fans were commending Henry for his efforts on the field last night, and I took a screenshot of a few of them to send to him.
He deserves to know there are people out there rooting for him.
I’ll never forget the look on his face when Stacey told him how close he was to being traded. It’s part of the reason—aside from the obvious (I still hate that word) —that I was so quick to agree to this whole fake dating scheme. Henry looked devastated, and I understand why.
He spent all summer training with Uncle Owen and Dad, trying to show everyone he could fill the great Sebastian Walker’s shoes.
Henry might not be happy about it, but he’s done everything Stacey has asked of him.
Public perception is everything in this line of business. I understand how Henry felt, even though I was on the opposite end of the spectrum after the Olympics.
Growing up under the microscope with my dad’s career being what it was, I learned to tune out a lot of what other people said. I was used to them watching me because of my last name, and most of the time, I could forget. I have a thick skin, but things were different after the Olympics.
I’ll be forever grateful for my time competing and the opportunity I had to represent my country, but after reaching that pinnacle, I didn’t even feel like a person anymore. I don’t talk about it much because I’m past that point in my life, and I worked through it in therapy, but it doesn’t change how I felt at the time. I had people all over the world on the internet talking about me as if I didn’t have real feelings, thinking they had the right to comment on my body, my athleticism, and me as a person. Now for every negative comment like that, I have dozens of positive ones, but it’s hard to focus on the positive when the negative screams so much louder.
I’ll never forget when I was out shopping with my mom, and a stranger came up to me and started touching me as if she had a right to my body. It solidified my thoughts that I was a marionette doll, with strings for everyone else to pull.
My parents hired a bodyguard for me immediately after that, and Sam went everywhere with me for the next year until things died down. It was probably a bit extreme of a reaction, but it made me feel safe at a time when I needed it. Everyone aside from my parents, Uncle Owen, Aunt Blake, and JJ, thought Sam was there because my parents were being overprotective.
It’s definitely the reason I lost my shit with that couple at the restaurant for putting their hands all over Henry, because they were treating him the same way I’d been treated.
Stepping down from elite gymnastics was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make, but I wanted to feel like myself again. I wanted to love what I did, and the thought of going back to the Olympics for it all to start again was the reason for multiple panic attacks, but I didn’t want to quit.
My PR team crafted a release stating that I wanted to focus on my education, and the coach at Duke welcomed me with open arms. Competing at Duke made me fall in love with the sport and with myself all over again. I know I have an ego the size of Texas, but I’d rather have that than feel like I’m not a real person again.
My biggest regret from dating Reid is how I let him make me feel like I wasn’t good enough.
I roll my shoulders, shaking off the thoughts. I’m Mirabelle fucking Walker. I’ve got this.
My phone vibrates on my desk, and I smile automatically upon seeing Henry’s name pop up. It’s a screenshot of an audiobook, and another text follows it up.
Henry: starting this one if you want to listen too
Henry: no pressure
I respond quickly, purchasing the audiobook as I pull one of my earbuds from my bag and cue it up.
Elias is the first one in the office, and if he’s surprised to see me already here, he doesn’t let it show. I’m usually one of the first people in this department here, but I’m often on the move, working from my laptop throughout the day as I shadow Henry. He tilts his head in acknowledgment, grabbing the coffee marked with an E. I’ve gathered he’s not much of a morning person, but he sure knows how to plaster on a convincing smile when Stacey walks in.
Ginger walks in a few minutes later, smiling with relief at the coffee. “I think I love you,” she says, and I smile back at her. I like Ginger the most out of my coworkers, and I think we’d actually have a shot at being friends if it weren’t for Miley.
I’m convinced Miley might be Regina George resurrected.
Anytime Ginger is nice to me, Miley stares at her with this look that makes Ginger shrink, and I hate it. But I also know that if I fight Ginger’s battles for her, Miley is never going to respect her. Elias has just decided it’s easier to be on Miley’s good side than to try to be my friend, which is fine by me.
My point is proven exactly right when Miley walks in, her smile more of a sneer as she bares her teeth at me and snags her coffee.
You can only control how you act, not how others react.
Yesterday was rough, and by the look on her face, today will be too.
Sometimes being the bigger person sucks, but giving her a reaction is letting Miley win. I ignore her and sip my coffee, trying to focus on the audiobook as a new email loads that Stacey cc’d me on with the details for the Panthers’ upcoming charity gala next month. There’s a separate email addressed only to me, explaining I’ll be attending as a guest—and as Henry’s date—along with a request to monitor any interviews given at the event since I’ll be with him all night. I’m honestly a little surprised that she’s asking instead of telling, but if I’m being entirely honest, Stacey is growing on me a lot and vice versa.
She’s a little prickly at first, and I wasn’t sure what to expect from having her as a mentor, but she’s incredible at what she does if her effort to bump Henry’s popularity is any indication. His jersey sales are growing in popularity, but my dad’s is still our leading product.
I send off the analysis of Henry’s social media engagement I put together last night when a forwarded email chain rolls in from Stacey, containing correspondence between her and Henry’s agent with a list of companies that have reached out, wanting to partner with Henry.
Please look through these to see which ones would align best with our organization, and the image we are trying to create for Henry.
We’ll speak later.
My eyes widen in surprise as I bump my knee against the bottom of my desk. “Shit,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing it as if it will make the ache go away faster. My fingers dance over the small, indented scar on my knee that’s identical to Henry’s.
“Are you okay?” Ginger asks, peering up at me over her computer, and I pause the audiobook so I don’t miss anything.
“I’m good, just clumsy,” I say.
Miley looks at me, and it is so tempting to stick my tongue out at her, but it’s not worth it. “What does Stacey have you doing?” she asks and I shrug. This feels like something that is way above my title as an intern, and if Stacey wanted everyone to know, she would have included them in her email.
“Work,” I answer vaguely, unpausing the book, only to pause it again as she opens her mouth once more.
“What kind of work?” Miley continues, and Elias turns to look at her in annoyance.
“I’m trying to get my work done, and maybe you should do the same.”
“I will after Mirabelle answers the question,” Miley says, and Elias gives me a look.
Be the bigger person, Mirabelle. “An email,” I say, plastering on a smile that I hope matches the same one Miley gave me earlier.
“Oh, perfect. Then when you’re done with that very important email, maybe you can go pick up Stacey’s dry cleaning.” Is she serious? I’m not doing Miley’s job for her.
“Miley, come on,” Ginger says.
She’s being rude, and I’m over it. My patience is already pretty damn thin after all of Miley’s comments yesterday, and this is a moment when I hate that I inherited my parents’ tempers. “No.”
“No, what?” Miley tilts her head to the side, and I mimic the movement.
“No is a complete sentence. I’m sorry you don’t get your work done within the time Stacey allots us, but that’s not my problem. Stacey gave me things to get done before she gets back, and I agree with Elias. I’m trying to get my work done, and it sounds like you should stop worrying about what I’m doing so you can focus on yourself,” I snap, honestly missing the days when all they asked about was my gold medal.
“You’re able to get your work done because the three of us are busy running errands normal interns have to do, but I guess you’re not normal, right?”
“Cry me a river, Miley.” Oh shit, I probably shouldn’t have said that, but there’s nothing I can do about it now. It’s not like I hit her.
Ginger laughs, slapping her hand over her mouth to smother the sound as Miley fixes her stare on her, before glaring at me again. “You’re Sebastian Walker’s daughter, and the head coach is your uncle. They were never going to make you do the grunt work. We’re here while you get to go play with puppies and do interviews with your boyfriend.”
I realize none of them know I’m pretending to date Henry because it’s unofficially part of my job, but it hasn’t been all sunshine and roses, even if last night it was jerseys and orgasms.
I weigh a quick pro and con list in my head. Pro: telling Miley off. Con: I still have to work with her.
“I can list off all my qualifications for this job again , but it’s getting a little repetitive. Just like your bitching about how I’m not working as hard as you. If you have a problem with it, take it up with Stacey,” I reply icily, over this bullshit.
Her jaw drops in surprise, but I have a feeling I’m going to end up working from home for the rest of the day. I log out of my computer, and grab my bag with my laptop, making sure that my fists are clenched so I don’t walk out with my middle fingers up in the air.
I send Stacey an email on my phone as I walk out of the stadium, letting her know that I’ll be working from home today, but if she needs me to come back to the office once the plane lands, I’ll come back. I guess it’s a good thing I came in early.
Fuck Miley and her stupid opinions.