Chapter 10 #2
Charlie hits the spacebar on her keyboard once, waking the screen.
‘They want to see the loved-up couple in their natural habitat. The cosy nights in, the shared mugs, the whole domestic fantasy.’ She lets the idea settle, a toxic cloud in the clean air.
‘So. Finn, I suggest you move in with Theo. Temporarily.’
My heart thuds and breath stalls as if the floodlights have just cut out. Move in with her. With Theodora ‘no comment’ MacMickin. With her things. Her bed. Her wandering around in a towel.
I wonder if a man can die from a raging boner. Seems medically plausible.
‘For a week or so,’ Charlie adds, as if that makes it any less insane. ‘Enough to stage some photos, let the press believe this is serious. Convince them you’re a reformed man in a committed relationship.’
I open my mouth to say something. Anything.
A joke, a protest. Even a scream. But no sound comes out.
My gaze drifts to Theo. Her knuckles are white where she’s clamping onto her tablet.
Her perfect, serene mask has glitched, and for a second, I see the panic underneath.
It’s the same expression she had when I got the cut during the match.
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ she says calmly.
‘We won’t do it if you’re not on board. Your call.’ Charlie’s expression doesn’t change. ‘But why not?’
‘I don’t think we need to escalate this all the way to cohabitation.’ Theo’s words are clipped.
I glance at her. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t let me move in with me either.’
‘It’s our best shot at getting the feature,’ Charlie explains. ‘Which is our best shot at keeping Dalcrieff off Finn’s back. And that’s our best shot at stopping more sponsors and clients from pulling out.’
‘A week?’ I ask.
‘You showing up for a shoot and then disappearing the next day, no one buys it,’ Charlie says. ‘But give us seven to ten days of breakfast runs, blurred selfies, you in her doorway half-dressed? That sells the redemption arc and domestication, on socials and otherwise.’
Domestication?
A thick silence descends. I hear the hum of the air conditioning, the distant city traffic. We’re both trapped. The shame from before returns, hot and acidic. I don’t want to invade her home. But Theo’s a strategist. She’s weighing the fallout and making a call, the same way she always does.
‘Why can’t we rent an Airbnb?’ Theo asks. ‘Or a fake house? We could stage it.’
‘Because they want to do the shoot in two days,’ Charlie replies.
‘We don’t have the time or resources to find a suitable location, vet it, and dress it to appear authentic.
This is Edinburgh, everything is always booked way in advance.
I’m not pushing it on you if you don’t want to, but your flat is perfect.
It’s real and lived-in. It tells the story we need to sell.
And we can’t risk anyone finding out that we’re faking it. ’
My flat is also real and lived-in. Lived in by two rugby gremlins who mostly eat takeaway and Pot Noodles.
‘My place is tiny,’ Theo argues in a last attempt.
‘It’s cosy,’ Charlie counters. ‘The photos will look credible. But only if you’re okay with it.’
Theo closes her eyes for a beat. When she opens them, she’s calm and collected. A woman about to add a PR stunt to her to-do list and schedule the clean-up later.
‘Okay. A week,’ she says. ‘My rules. And no underwear or dirty socks left on the radiators.’
The gear change nearly knocks me over. I’m so relieved I could cry. I’m so terrified I could bolt. Instead, I hear myself say, ‘I promise to respect your space. But…what if the underwear is yours?’
Theo’s head whips around, her eyes blazing with a fire that’s part fury, part something I can’t name. But it definitely makes the air crackle.
‘Jesus Christ, the two of you.’ Charlie rubs her temples.
Theo isn’t seeing the rugby player or the PR disaster. She’s seeing the man who’s about to invade her life. The chaos agent she’s just agreed to let through her front door.
And her expression is unnervingly unreadable.
I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion.
For Theo to retract her offer, to tell Charlie where to shove her feature piece.
But she just sits there, a statue of furious composure, that impassive gaze fixed on my face.
She’s calculating all the ways this could go south, all the ways I could ruin her cosy life.
She’s not wrong to.
My brain is a car crash of thoughts. At least seven days in her space. Her toothbrush next to mine. Her scent on the pillows. Her in a sleeping shirt with nothing underneath…
She’s saving my arse. The least I can do is not be a complete walloper about it. A week – I can handle that. I can pull myself together and be a good boy. It’s not that I haven’t squatted before. Just nowhere with nice fluffy throw pillows.
‘Right,’ I say. I cough once, buying a beat. Then I try again. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour. Promise. I’m an excellent house guest. You’ll barely know I’m there.’
Theo makes a small, disbelieving sound.
‘Okay, you’ll definitely know I’m there. But in a good way. Picture a labradoodle. Enthusiastic, loyal, occasionally chews the furniture.’
Charlie pinches the bridge of her nose. ‘Finn. Go home and pack a bag. Be at Theo’s tonight.’ She turns her gaze on Theo. ‘Please send him the rules. I imagine there will be a list.’
Theo gives a stiff nod. She’s staring at the glass wall, at the reflection of the three of us in this office. A ticking bomb and his two jittery bomb disposal experts.
My chair screeches away as I stand. The meeting is over. The deal is done. I’m moving in with Theodora MacMickin.