Mix & Matches (Neymar Jr) ✔

#47, Damage control

Pai contemplated her words for a moment, knowing they were true and there was no reason to argue about that. He put his hand over hers, trying to find a half satisfying conclusion for now. There was nothing to do but speculate until he could get a hold on his son – who conveniently had shut off his phone ever since this morning. "Maybe we're not seeing everything here. We'll get this sorted out, alright? But for now it would be best if we didn't jump to conclusions. I'll get some answers for you."

Emilia nodded solemnly. "You better talk to Duda about damage control."

She stood up, taking a deep breath and trying her best to pull herself together. The thought of her daughter getting hurt was still too much to deal with; especially when it was the kind of hurt a mother couldn't really help with by kissing a scratch or putting a plaster on a cut.

"Good idea," Pai said, grabbing his phone from his pocket. "Would you get Richie to come by as well so that we can have a video conference with Duda. He's still in town because of the whole club incident, isn't he?"

"Yeah," she replied, pulling out her phone and dialling Tamira's manager's number.

In the adjourning room, Neymar's best friends, Gil and Jo, exchanged worried looks, having listened to the conversation, unbeknownst to the conversationalists.

Gil tilted his head, pondering. When they could hear Pai and Emilia talking on the phone, he said, "I'm not sure as of yet, but I think our brilliant plan from yesterday sort of backfired."

Jo scoffed and rolled his eyes. "No kidding." For further emphasis, he hit him on the upper arm.

"Ow! Hey, that hurts!" Sulking, Gil rubbed the offended body part. "You know that's where I crashed into the bar counter yesterday!"

Jo only gave him a nonplussed look. "Yes, well, you did manage to find the one girl in the club with a brick wall for a boyfriend for that publicity stunt, so I say that was well deserved! Now come on." He grabbed Gil's arm and pulled him into the kitchen. "We gotta do damage control here."

—–-

The door of the refrigerator closed with a clank. Tamira moaned unhappily and went to grab the whipped cream spray dose from the cupboard instead. Neymar's shirt rose up over her thighs.

"Hey, Ney, we're out of chocolate sauce, so I hope you like whipped cream with the strawberries!" she shouted.

She didn't receive an answer so she was just on her back into the living room, humming happily to a tune in her head, when she heard the repeated sound of her phone beeping. She'd gotten a message. She stopped, irritated by the sound; mostly because she thought she'd put it on silent. Walking over to the kitchen table, she grabbed the phone that lay there and pressed a button. Immediately, her eyebrows rose in wonderment – there were over ten missed calls and several chat messages waiting for her.

Curious now, she dialled back the one number that had called her the most.

"Thank God you finally picked up!" Emma said instead of a greeting. "Please tell me you've seen the screens and links I've sent you?"

"What screens and links?"

But Emma hadn't heard the question; she was on a roll. A quite obviously angry one, going by the rant that followed. "Is the B.I. still there with you? I just found out about an hour or so, and Rafa is making it incredibly difficult to leave his house because he apparently doesn't want to be in a relationship with a murderer! I swear, otherwise I'd already be there, kicking that stupid, evil, lying, disgusting Brazilian Idiot's ass the hell away from my best friend! That–"