Page 8 of The King Contract
“I don’t know Millie,” I say. “But I can guess she’d rather chew her own arm off than spend time with me.”
“That’s the brilliant part,” Mack replies. “She’s immune to your bullshit. You said you hit on her, and she rejected you, right?”
“She didn’trejectme?—”
“She won’t get mushy eyed with you,” Mack cuts in. “It’d be a business transaction. Everyone’s motivated by something so make her an offer for her time. Buy her a new camera or whatever she wants. What you get back is a temporary cock-block from dangerous women and hopefully, some of her sainthood will rub off on you. Sponsors respond to sainthood.”
Dan rolls his eyes as Callum snorts.
It’s ridiculous. It’s stupid and naïve and the most cliché scenario I’ve ever heard.
But I don’t hate the idea.
Dan interrupts my train of thought by shifting in my peripheral vision. “Tell me you’re not considering this.”
“Of course not,” I lie.
Dan grunts his approval, and Mack lets out a whine of protest.
“I appreciate your imagination and your efforts to help me,” I tell Mack sincerely. “But it’s not worth bringing an old schoolacquaintance into my life for a big charade that probably won’t work.”
Mack tuts in defeat. “Fine, but you’d better get back to kissing ass if you want one of the big brands to come back onboard. As your manager and agent, I’m running out of ideas.”
He slumps back onto the couch next to me, reaching for the remote, his lightbulb moment quickly forgotten.
I try to pay attention to another re-run ofDie Hard, but my mind wanders. I need something to turn my luck around. Fortunately, I’ve still got my place for the Championship Tour next year after my antics of the past few months. I don’t know if the WSA has ever struck someone from competing for being scandalous, but they seem hellbent on their threat.
My friends warned me this might happen. All year they’ve tried to tell me I was going down a slippery slope of debauchery. In the beginning, it was fun for all of us, but I was the one that took it too far. I was the one who wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t until Dan slapped some sense into me that I realised how much I’d fucked everything up. Mack’s right. I’m going to have to kiss some serious ass to get anyone to work with me again. Not only with surfing, but for the things I want to do outside of that, like running an affordable surf camp for kids and adults, that’ll blow anything like it out of the water. Pun intended.
I head to the kitchen and grab my phone, and search for the photos Callum showed me. My eyes focus in on another caption:Australian surfing legend, Noah King, looks happy and calm for the first time in months.
Perhaps Mack’s idea isn’t totally stupid.
NEWS ROUND-UP
@emilygossip:THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Noah King spotted canoodling with a local NSW cafe owner and I’m not even jealous. I repeat: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
@hushnews:Reports are flooding in that Noah King is cosying up to a long-lost school friend back in his hometown of Fingal Head, New South Wales, Australia.
@newnewsaustralia:Playboy Noah King spends time with local business owner, Millie Schofield, as he tries to re-connect with his roots.
4
MILLIE
I don’t like your tone
By the timeI make it back to Beans,I’m soaked to the bone.
It’s blessedly warm inside, the smell of fresh coffee and lilacs filling the now empty main room. The gold, lantern-style lights around the space give the timber floors a golden hue, my soaked shoes dirtying them as I thud across the floor.
I love this place. This store has been in my life since I can remember. I grew up running around the tables of items for sale, drinking coffee from way too young an age and sneaking slices of banana bread from the cabinet.
My aunt Donna opened it when Ellis and I were toddlers, creating a cosy, artsy space where people could drink caffeine and peruse items made by local creators. Paintings, photographs, books, flower arrangements, hand-knitted baby clothes, jewellery and trinkets, stickers and stationery. Nothing was off-limits for Donna. She welcomed every local with a smidge of talent and spent all day upselling their items or simply encouraging people to hang out in the lounge area to their heart’s content. She even quietly encouraged me to share my art,but I’ve always preferred to share it without my name and face attached.
A chocolate-brown blob makes its way over to me and I lean down to pet Winston, assuring my cousin’s labrador he didn’t miss out on a good walk. No. He missed out on my near-death experience and a run-in with a knobhead from my high school.
Winston follows me outside onto the sheltered balcony, where streams of rain seep through the cracking cover. Ellis sits at our favourite corner table, staring out at the gum trees with her hands around a half-full tumbler of amber liquid.
