Page 32 of Scrum Heat

I’m still the new girl, but as the days have passed, the stares have softened. The questions are more curious than nosy. Someone said I looked settled yesterday. I almost cried.

I didn’t expect to like it here, but I do.

*

Evie returns first thing on Thursday morning with a sharp blazer, tight bun, and eyes like she’s just walked out of a courtroom and won on a technicality.

She finds me in my office—which is a generous term. It’s technically a converted supply closet with a door that sticks anda window that faces a fence, but it’smine, and it’s more work space than I’ve had to myself in years.

I’ve already made it a little homely: a tea stash in the drawer, my work laptop wallpaper set to a cat in a rugby jersey, and Finn’s knitted gecko perched proudly on the side cabinet.

I’m halfway through scheduling a match-day teaser post for tomorrow when she walks in.

“Oh, good,” she says, nodding at the screen. “You didn’t burn the socials to the ground.”

“I thought about it,” I say dryly. “But Theo threatened to give himself an unofficial takeover and I panicked.”

“Well. Don’t get too comfortable. Everything’s about to get messier.”

“...Are you going to tell me what happened at Denton Vale?”

“No,” she sighs. “But I will say that if a certain transfer document leaks, I was never there.”

She doesn’t explain. I don’t ask.

We move on.

I swivel the laptop monitor toward her and pull up the dashboard.

“Training day edit went live Wednesday night—like you approved,” I say, clicking through tabs. “Views are climbing steadily. We’ve got over three thousand likes across platforms, four-hundred shares, nine-hundred saves, and the comments are… mostly thirst-adjacent, but enthusiastic.”

Evie scans the numbers. Scrolls. Pauses. Scrolls again.

“Also, someone made a gif of Theo pouring water on himself and captioned it ‘hydration is a lifestyle.’ It’s been reposted twenty-seven times this morning.”

She watches the footage again, this time with the data beside it. Still doesn’t smile, but she does nod.

“This is good. You’ve got a good eye.” She straightens. “I’m giving you full control of the social schedule.”

“Wait—like,fullfull?”

“I’ll still manage sponsor approvals,” she explains. “But content planning, post scheduling, match-day coverage—it’s yours now.”

“And the players are fine with that?”

“They don’t get a vote.”

I mean—fair enough.

“Sounds…good,” I reply, trying not to look visibly underqualified.

“You’ll need to make sure you’re hot on your weekly diary. Plan ahead. Touch base with me on Mondays. Oh—and before I forget—”

She digs around in her bag for a moment before she hands me a key fob and a lanyard with my name printed on it in corporate Helvetica.

It feels…weirdly official.

“Don’t let them drag you into nonsense,” she adds. “Theo’s already asked if you can film his ‘hydration routine.’”

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