Page 33 of Dream On, Liar

“I get that,” I said. “But before you make your decision, think about what you told me a month ago, and how stuck you’ve been feeling at work lately. This could be huge for your career. Like, come on, Sammy. It’s Formula One. Singhania Diamonds. and Monaco.” I gestured dramatically with my spoon. “Do you know how insane the networking alone would be? The people you’d meet, the doors it could open? This is the kind of opportunity people spend years begging the universe for. You could walk away from this with enough connections to do literally anything you want next.”

She stayed quiet, so I pressed on.

“And I’d hate for you to give all of that up because of a man. Albeit,” I added, pointing at her, “a man who had you looking like he’d personally rearranged your soul when you came back to our room the next morning. But still. He’s just a man. Even if he is still hung up on you—which we aren’t even sure about—that is not your burden to carry.”

I shrugged. “Plus, you’ve managed to go the last two years without even crossing paths. This is one event, Samyra. One job. Then you can go right back to your life afterwards like nothing happened.”

“Yeah,” she said, sounding resigned, but the stubborn resistance from earlier had finally started to crack around the edges.

I tried not to look too victorious about it.

Samyra narrowed her eyes at me anyway. “So,” she drawled, “is that your plan for the day now? Taking your own advice and refusing to let a man ruin your experience on the first day of your dream job, since apparently that’s not your burden?”

A smile tugged at my mouth before I shook my head.

“I said no such thing. You’re a far more evolved and emotionally open-minded person than I am.” I pointed my spoon at her. “I’m still going to the job, obviously. But, personally, I will absolutely be blaming that man for ruining my mood during what should’ve been one of the best mornings of my life.”

That earned the laugh I’d been aiming for.

“I’m serious,” I continued. “Sure, I may have played a small role in cracking open this particular can of worms, but I refuse to spend the aftermath dramatically drowning in emotional damage. Shit happens, and if he thinks pulling this makes us equal…then he’s got another thing coming at him.”

“Thought so,” she replied, shaking her head as she reached for her coffee again, not at all surprised by any of this. “Well, I look forward to hearing how today goes for you.”

8

Maeve

TWENTY MINUTES PAST NINE, and I had officially decided that professionalism was a deeply fraudulent concept invented by people who had never been forced to work alongside elite male athletes who believed the world revolved around them.

Because in every role I’d had before this, I’d never been once introduced to this particular problem. People showed up when they said they would. Meetings started on time. If someone was running late, there was usually both an apology and at least one mildly frantic message sent in advance instead of whatever this collective social agreement to ignore reality was supposed to be.

Lord’s conference room filled with soft chatter with the players of the England Lion’s as we all waited for their vice captain.

Also otherwise known as one of the spirits of Pseudologoi come alive.

Now, if you were wondering what the fuck Pseudologoi was—don’t worry. Until roughly ten minutes before that moment, I hadn’t known either. Calling Rihaan the devil incarnate felt like giving him far too much credit for a man whose primary talent seemed to be wasting everyone’s time, so instead I’d looked up the god of lies. More out of curiosity, and less to distract myself, but I’d learned about a Pseudologoi, i.e: personified daimones of lies and falsehoods, so I’d truthfully accomplished both goals. I’d then continued to spend the next ten minutes learning all I could about them. A task I preferred compared to making small talk with the team doctor, Dr. Blackwood who sat on my left, who’d worn a sour look ever since I stepped inside the conference room.

What I learnt, to my absolute delight was, they weren’t gods, or even a minor deity. Just plain old spirits.

And technically, I wouldn’t have considered Rihaan a pathological liar because of one lie alone, even though it had been significant enough to make me briefly reconsider the decision. But when Oliver King, the team captain and quite possibly one of the finest men to ever walk God’s green earth, had walked into the conference room just as I’d settled down, my father’s very first question had been, “Where’s Rihaan?” as though, them showing up together had been their norm.

Oliver’s response had come easily as he settled down in one of the chairs. “He left before me for some media duty. Said he’d be here just in time.”

Only he hadn’t been here just in time.

He hadn’t been here at all.

Ergo, liar.

I checked my watch again.

Twenty four minutes.

He was twenty four minutes late, and my father looked as content as ever. Which, naturally, made me even more furious because I had arrived twenty minutes early today specifically to compensate for being late to my meeting with him last week, only to discover that sometime within the past seven days, the man had been body snatched and undergone a full spiritual software update and no longer cared.

The fact was, nobody else in the Lord’s conference room appeared remotely bothered by it. Not the assistant coach, who stirred his coffee with the calm resignation of a man who had accepted this as part of the natural order while my father spoke to him. Not Oliver either, who according to the deeply unnecessary amount of research I’d conducted over the past week, lived with the man and currently looked entirely untroubled as he chatted with the players nearest him.

The rest of the squad drifted in loose pockets of conversation across the room, catching up after their three-week break between fixtures. Laughter surfaced now and then, low and easy, bouncing briefly off the walls before dissolving back into the general hum. A few of the younger players, presumably the rookies who had been called up for their debut tour, looked considerably less relaxed, their expressions tightening each time they glanced up from their phones and remembered where they were.