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You didn’t look bad. You’re their numero uno.
“What’s he mad at?” Scarlett asks.
“After he and Rogan got into it, the coaches made them have a throwing contest.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“Well, I posted it on the Silverbacks’ social media pages, so you can. Unfortunately, Brett noticed and now he’s saying I made him look bad.”
“He lost the contest?” she asks.
“Yeah, badly. Rogan was spot on the target and Brett wasn’t even close.”
“Oh boy. I bet that didn’t go over well.”
“Yeah, that’s why he’s mad about the footage. But it’s the whole point of my new job, and I thought the fans would love seeing something different.”
My phone dings again, and I sigh.
Brett: You should have my back more than anyone.
Me: And I always do. Don’t make a huge deal out of this. The fans probably love seeing something new posted.
They’re talking shit about me on the post. You should hide their comments.
“Why are your frown lines deepening?” she asks.
I glance up from my phone screen. “He wants me to hide the negative comments directed at him.”
“That’s not your job. You’re not his freaking PR manager.”
“I know, but now I feel guilty because I’m the one who put him in this position.”
She shakes her head. “No, he got himself into that mess on his own. If he could control his mouth, he wouldn’t have had to compete against the backup. You need to stop letting him manipulate you.”
“I feel bad for him.”
“He’s not the only person who grew up in a shitty situation,” she says.
“I know, but it really affected him.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re still defending him.”
“You’re right. Ugh.”
The waitress sets a plate of tacos in the middle of the table and asks if we need anything else.
“No, thank you,” I say before she hurries off.
Conversation dries up as we both focus on eating our tacos. My phone pings again. I’m tempted to ignore it, but what if it’s something work related?
Brett: Why aren’t you hiding the negative comments?
“Is that him again?” Scarlett asks.
“Yep.”
She holds out her hand. “Give me that.” I pass the phone across the table to her and silently watch as her thumbs furiously tap against the screen. “There.” She slides the phone across the table to me.
