kick off
THE MAN BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I step out of the Burke Communications building and onto the busy New York street.
The air is thick in the city, between the sharp smell of exhaust and the salty scent of hot dogs and roasted peanuts. Taxi horns blare like impatient geese.
I take a few steps away from the building and exhale deeply.
I thought this job would be the antidote, but it’s just another vial of poison.
I thought I’d be celebrating right now in some bar for a mid-day drink to toast my new beginning.
I thought I’d finally have done something for me.
Instead, I just turned down the job offer of a lifetime, and I’m standing on a street corner unemployed.
And I don’t even have friends anymore in New York to celebrate with or bitch to.
I should have known Matt would find a way to ruin this for me.
I let myself believe that job was mine because I earned it, because I’m fucking awesome at what I do.
I should have known he’d have connections anywhere in New York I tried to go.
His network runs like an underground power grid.
No matter how far I run, he’s still behind me, pulling all the strings and making it look easy.
I stop in front of a storefront window as I wait for the crosswalk sign to flash. In my reflection, I look put together. A perfectly tailored suit. Lipstick pristine. Not a hair out of place. But inside? Inside I’m unraveling.
I look to my right, and there it is.
His face.
His smug fucking face.
Plastered across a sports magazine in a vending box.
His sparkling, disingenuous blue eyes. His eager, carefully practiced smirk.
Some headline about how he’s the next big thing in sports journalism.
He’s everywhere, like a ghost that refuses to rest, and I can’t escape him.
He’s on the front page of every newspaper, on every television.
How did I never see this before? Was I truly this blind?
How did I not see him for who he was? My mind trails back to the beginning of our relationship, when his charm felt genuine, not calculated.
When his confidence was magnetic, not suffocating.
It felt like he was the only person in the world who understood me, and I felt like the only person in the world who really mattered to him.
But now I realize he designed it that way.
He knew what to say to make me feel lucky.
He put me on a pedestal until I was there alone, cut off from anyone who would point out his flaws.
But now I can replay memories in my head, moments that are glaringly obvious now, but seemingly innocent before.
Little hints of sharpness in his voice if I didn’t answer a call fast enough, or the voice of someone else was in the background.
The way he’d plant little seeds of doubt in my mind about my friends and their true intentions toward me.
And as angry as I am at him, I’m angry at myself, too.
I’m a smart woman. Well educated. But I let myself believe every lie he told me.
I let myself become the version of me he wanted.
Weak. Gullible. I let myself believe that the treatment I got from him was what I deserved, and I was lucky to receive it.
I didn’t see the truth for a long time—too long, even. But I see it now.
I glance back at the magazine, his face still staring back at me like a ghost.
I walked away from a dream job because it meant playing by his rules. And I realize it now—New York isn’t big enough for the both of us.
I have to get the hell out of here.
“He put in a reference for me, Mom. A glowing one, like he’s taking credit for how good I am at what I do.” Mom sits across from me in a high-top chair at the bar. She met me for lunch after my interview. It was supposed to be celebratory, but now she just listens to me rant.
“It’s ridiculous,” I continue, “he’s acting like he discovered me. Like he’s my biggest supporter and not the reason I turned it down.”
Mom sighs as if she’s choosing her next words carefully. “And there’s no way to—”
“No,” I say firmly, shooting her a look. “I can’t, Mom.” I want to earn my own life, not shrink myself to fit into the one he creates for me. I won’t trade one gilded cage for another.
Mom sips her drink, slow and thoughtful. “But the reference was good?”
“It’s not about the reference. It’s the fact that he knew.
I’ve kept my job search quiet. I haven’t told anyone.
But he knew what I was doing. He’s watching me.
He probably sent references to every firm in New York, just to show me he has the reach.
Just to show me I can’t get anywhere without him.
” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate that I’ve let him do this to me.
“I can’t keep looking over my shoulder, Mom. ”
“So don’t,” she says matter-of-factly. Mom understands the world I work in. She’s a successful marketing executive, having worked her way up in a male-dominated world.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s not,” she agrees, “but it’s worth it. You don’t need him, Addison. You never did. You’re brilliant, and I’m not just saying that because I’m your mother. I know what you’re capable of. If you don’t want to work for a company where he’s pulling the strings, then don’t. Pull your own strings.”
I blink. “What?”
She leans in, a sly smile playing on her lips. “What I mean is—you don’t need anyone to hand you a seat at their table. Build your own goddamn table.”
“You mean… start my own firm?”
“Exactly,” she says, nodding like it’s the most obvious answer. “Take this back for yourself. Be your own boss. Set your own boundaries. Don’t let him take one more thing from you.”
“Start my own firm,” I mumble out loud, letting the words savor in my mouth and settle into my chest. “I don’t know. I’d have to start completely over. Find clients, office space, build a reputation from the ground up.”
Mom smiles at me. “But you’re considering it.”
“I don’t know. Maybe? There’s a lot to think about.”
“It’s one step at a time,” she says. “And you already have your first client, so that’s a start.”
“I do?” I shake my head, confused. “Who?”
“You,” she says, smiling in a wise, maddening way that mothers do when they've arrived at the answer long before you. “You’re starting your life over, building yourself back up from scratch. This isn’t just about business. You’re rebranding yourself, Addison. You can have a voice now.”
Start my own firm.
It’s insane.
It’s reckless.
It’s… amazing.
For the first time, the thought of what comes next feels like it’s firmly in my hands.
He can’t take away what’s mine.
I stayed awake all through the night, sketching out what my own company would look like.
While everyone else in New York slept, I mapped out Addison Scott Communications.
Since moving out of Matt’s apartment, I’ve been staying with my parents while I try to plan my next steps.
My childhood bedroom is dark except for the glow of my laptop screen.
My room looks exactly like it did before I moved away for college.
Every trophy, every photo still hang on the walls.
It’s like an old version of me never left this room.
She’s just been here collecting dust, waiting for me to find myself again.
A half-finished glass of wine sits next to me, alongside a notebook filled with scribbled ideas, names, and question marks. The bones of a real business are taking shape.
But what matters most right now is setting the rules for myself. Those boundaries will make or break this company, because I cannot let what happened with him happen again. If I’m going to do this—if I’m going to bet on myself—I need to protect my heart.
I flip over to a clean page in my notebook, take a deep breath, and press my pen to the paper.
ADDISON’S RULES
Clients are assets. Nothing more. Nothing less. They are not friends. This is business.
Never bring emotions to work. Emotions cloud your judgement.
Never stay in one job longer than a year. The longer you stay, the harder it is to leave. Comfort breeds complacency.
Never let a man control you. Never again.
Never sleep with the assets. Keep your walls up. Attraction is a liability.
Never fall in love with an asset. The most important rule of them all. Love is a weakness. The sharpest lie.
I stare at my list, my heartbeat steady, like I’m finally in control. I swallow down a painful lump in my throat.
This list isn’t about bitterness or revenge.
It’s survival.
This is how I make sure no one controls me ever again.
At what point do I need to decide this was a catastrophic mistake?
Addison Scott Communications is real.
Except it kind of… isn’t.
I created my own firm a few weeks ago and I’ve been pounding the pavement ever since, trying to cultivate my own client list, but Matt’s name slips into every prospective lead I find.
“We’ve heard great things about you from Matt Whitlock.”
“Oh, you worked for Game Day? You must know Matt Whitlock.”
“Matt Whitlock said you’re the best in the business.”
The conversations end there. I let them die a slow death.
I’ve had a few consultation sessions, but nothing concrete. Nothing major. I know it takes time, but I’m starting to believe I need to look beyond the New York area if I’m ever going to escape him.
Is that giving up? Is it running away?
I think about this documentary I watched once while Matt was out of town on business. This woman escaped her abuser after years of being stuck under his thumb. She packed up her belongings, disappeared in the dead of night, and didn’t stop until she landed somewhere safe.
No one called her a coward. Because it’s not weak to run away when you’re escaping your captor.
It’s brave. It’s survival.
And how is this any different?
I glance at my laptop and pull up a map. Suddenly I don’t see the unknown. I see possibilities. I see cities that don’t echo with his voice.
My phone vibrates next to me, illuminating Luke’s name and photo.
Luke Wright was a foreign exchange student my parents hosted while I was in high school.
We grew up together as the best of friends and have kept in touch over the years.
I accept the call and wait for his face to appear on the screen.
The light is dim around him, like it’s late at night, but his blonde hair, mischievous brown eyes, and easy grin are unmistakable.
“Well, well, well. Addison Scott,” he teases in his smooth British accent. He leans back in a desk chair and smirks. “Been a while, love.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t help but smile.
“It hasn’t been that long,” I say, defending myself.
Luke and I have always kept in contact, but admittedly, our friendship wavered when Matt and I were together.
Luke made no secret of how much he hated Matt, and Matt hated him right back.
He knew Luke hated him and saw straight through him.
He couldn’t get past his jealousy either, which I never understood because Luke and I have never had any romantic interest in each other.
Luke was the only person I didn’t cut out of my life at Matt’s request—I just stayed in contact without him knowing about it.
I couldn’t bring myself to cut out the person who feels more like a brother than a friend.
“Miss me?” he asks, tilting his head and flashing a playful smile.
“No,” I lie, laughing.
Luke sighs, mock-offended. “You wound me.”
“How are you?”
“Can’t complain.” He lifts a mug to his lips, which I assume is tea. “You? How’s it been since starting your own company?”
“Hard,” I say quickly. “Everywhere I turn, he’s there. Not physically, but his influence, you know? Just a constant reminder.”
“I know,” he says softly. It’s a quiet acknowledgement of everything I’ve been through, but I think Luke feels remorse for not getting me out of the relationship sooner. I’ve told him a thousand times, I probably wouldn’t have been ready to listen.
“How’s Pippa?” I ask, desperate to pivot the conversation.
Pippa is Luke’s wife. They got married a few years ago while on vacation in Jamaica.
She’s fiery, opinionated, and so far out of his league that I’d run out of gas if I had to drive there with a full tank.
I’ve told him numerous times if he ever fucks that up, I choose Pippa.
“Still here.” He shakes his head and laughs. “No bloody clue what she sees in me.”
“Me neither.”
“Thanks, Ads.” Luke rolls his eyes, laughing. “Listen, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“A job.”
I freeze. “What?”
Luke leans forward, resting his arms on the desk in front of him. “You know I work for Rockford FC, yeah?”
I nod. “Some kind of physio, right?”
“First team physiotherapist, thank you very much,” he says, mock-offended. “Anyway, the club is having a hell of a year, and—”
“A hell of a year?” I cut in. “It’s almost October. Didn’t the season just start?”
“It started in August, Ads,” Luke says, sighing. “But we’re off to a banging start. We’ve got a real shot at getting promoted to the Premier League this season.”
“That’s great, Luke. What does it have to do with me?”
“We need a PR specialist. With our rise this year, the pressure’s on. All eyes are on us. We need someone who can handle the media and smooth over any bad press while we inch toward promotion.”
“And you think that’s me?”
“Of course I do.” He nods with a confident smile. “Just need someone to keep the ship afloat so we can focus on the task at hand.”
“How much time do I have to prepare for an interview?” My brain races, trying to come up with plans and proposals for team ownership. I have experience with athletes and entire teams, so this isn’t new to me, but I still like to prepare.
“No need.” Luke shakes his head. “I advocated pretty hard for you. Job is yours if you want it.”
“Just like that?” I ask skeptically, because in my experience, if an offer seems too good to be true, it is.
He nods. “Just like that.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He laughs. “You’re the best at what you do, Addison. And I think you need this just as much as we need you.”
“Is this real?” I ask. “Or are you trying to save me?”
“You don’t need saving, Ads.”
I bite my lip, considering his offer. “And it’s for how long? Just the season?”
Luke nods. “Just to the end of the season. Come over, help us through promotion, get a big client under your belt, and then you can go off and do whatever you want. What do you think?”
“It’s tempting,” I admit.
“Come on, Addison. You need this. A fresh start with no strings attached.”
I exhale slowly, thinking about the offer.
I’ve spent weeks creating a firm that gives me control.
I’ve set boundaries to ensure no one traps me ever again.
I’ve done it all for opportunities like this one.
This could be it. The job that gets me out of New York.
A fresh start and a chance to rebuild my life on my terms.
“Just for the season?”
“Just for the season, Addison.”
“I’m in.”