Free Strictly Confidential by Roxy Jacenko

disenfranchised women the world over! Who else could bring me back from the precipice of romantic doom but Marc Jacobs? I hit reply: Hold that thought. And that corkscrew. Am on my way!
    Saint Marc, here I come.
    ‘Actually, you’d better make that Woollahra,’ I said to the driver. ‘I can feel a conversion coming on.’

‘Matt Ashley wants to be the male Paris Hilton of Sydney.’
    This was according to Luke, who’d never met the guy. And while I couldn’t claim to be a fan – of Matt Ashley or of cricket (hell, I couldn’t pick a silly mid-off from a middle stump in a line-up) – I did think that was a bit unfair.
    After all, just because you’re blond and successful and in the public eye doesn’t mean you’re courting controversy. Or that you’re vacuous. Or narcissistic. Or any of the other adjectives levelled at the Hilton heiress. So I was busy sticking up for Matt Ashley in a text war with Luke when I arrived at the Sydney Cricket Ground for tonight’s event.
    And then I met Matt.
    ‘Hey, babe!’ Matt Ashley lumbered over to introduce himself, all toothpaste-ad smile and boyish charm. This was the stuff to make any WAG melt.
    ‘Hi, Matt, I’m Jasmine Lewis from Wilderstein PR. Great to meet you.’ I stuck out my hand.
    He swept me up in a bear hug, the sheer force of which briefly stopped the passage of air to my lungs. Asphyxiation by fast bowler. Awesome. You don’t read that in a coroner’s report every day.
    ‘Great to meet you, babe,’ Matt enthused. ‘Geez, why is it all you PR chicks are hot? Is it in your job description or something?’
    This was hardly a Shakespearean sonnet.
    ‘Yeah, it’s all part of our client care,’ I said dryly, safe in the knowledge my sarcasm would miss its target. ‘Now, I’ve got your publicity schedule here, Matt. The only timetabled interview tonight is with Sports Daily in half an hour. But TVNN Sports have a crew here so I’ll try and get you some face time with them before the night’s out. You’ve got your watch on, yeah?’ Matt was the ambassador of Lacoste watches and Lacoste was the reason I was standing in the heritage-listed members’ pavilion at the SCG. Lacoste was hardly our most lucrative client, but the fact they flew Diane to their team conference in Hong Kong twice a year, all expenses paid, seemed to cement their position eternally on our client list. Duty-free is Diane’s favourite term, after bottom line.
    ‘Oh, shit! My watch!’ Matt swore, grabbing at his naked left wrist.
    ‘No drama, I bought a spare,’ I said chirpily, reaching into my handbag. I’d worked with sportsmen before.
    Slapping the watch onto his arm, its warranty tag swinging on its band, Matt turned towards the Victorian red-cedar bar which was already heaving with bleached-blond pierced guys wearing the iconic green and gold.
    ‘Getcha a drink, J?’ Matt asked.
    I shook my head. ‘Not yet, thanks. I want to check in with Sports Daily in the media room. But I’ll be back soon.’ I added, ‘Don’t get into any trouble before then, okay?’
    Matt winked and my stomach sank. ‘Sure, babe,’ he said, disappearing into the throng at the bar.
    As I bumped my way towards the packed media room the eyes of cricketing greats stared down at me from every wall. This place screamed ‘boys club’ louder than a Cranbrook reunion. Turning the corner to step across the threshold and into the den of media, I was accosted by a guy wearing fashionable three-day growth and a pair of Tod’s loafers. Hmm, this weren’t no sports jock.
    ‘PR flunkey?’ he asked.
    I spied a Canon camera in his hand, hidden casually behind the doorframe. ‘Paparazzi,’ I identified, smiling. ‘What can I do for you, my photo-journalist friend?’
    ‘You’re Matt Ashley’s minder, right?’
    I hesitated. ‘You mean his Public Relations and Media Strategist?’ I corrected.
    The pap grinned. ‘Sure, whatevs. But you’re here with Ashley, yeah?’
    I hesitated