Page 23 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

But before I can tap her on the shoulder, or point something out on her screen, the pilot’s voice comes over the intercom.

“All right, Dallas! We will be arriving in Miami in just about ten minutes. This is your last chance to use the restroom before the seatbelt sign will be on again and we’ll be going in for our landing.”

Behind us, the players jostle and get out of their seats, but Sophie doesn’t even blink, her eyes still glued to the screen, cheeks a shade of pink I’ve already committed to memory.

Nowthisis a stadium.

The Miami Shells share a stadium with the men’s team, and it has much nicer amenities as a result. This time, instead of sitting out in the sun, I find the VIP section indoors, with floor-to-ceiling windows.

I’m just finding my seat when I hear a familiar voice.

“Well, if it isn’t the old suit and tie.”

When I look up, I see two older men — one short with a gray beard, the other taller and more lithe. Both wearing blue and orange scarves, their eyes bright and their cheeks flushed, beers in hand.

“Steven, Rhett,” I say, shaking each of their hands. “It’s good to see you guys. Wow, you really are committed, aren’t you?”

“We don’t go to all the away games—” Rhett waves his hand, then points to Steven, “—but he had a business trip out here. Figured we kill two birds, and all that. I have to say, we’re more shocked to seeyouhere!”

The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. “Well, I may have…” Before I tell them I own the team, something in my mind tells me not to, and I redirect, “…caught the soccer bug.”

“I thought you were some sort of reporter,” Steven says, eyebrow raised, looking me up and down. “You don’t seem the soccer type. Still can’t figure out why you’re dressed like that to come to a game.”

“Don’t listen to him, man,” Rhett says, laughing and slinging an arm around my shoulder. “You can wear whatever you want. You look good in a suit! Where are you sitting?”

When the game starts, Rhett, Steven, and I are sitting together. I surprise myself by missing that smell from the Dallas game — that mixture of grass and water, food cooking for the concessions. This VIP area smells like nothing — just new carpet and glass cleaner.

I stick an earbud in, listening to the announcer as the action starts up on the field.

“Welcome back everyone to another game here with the NWSL. Today we have the Miami Shells taking on the Dallas Bolts. Dallas’s defense is on lockdown, but the question is — can they hold up against Miami without Athens?”

“My answer to that is no,” another announcer says. “The Bolts had a tough task ahead just getting through the Shells’ flexible play style, but without Athens? It’s going to be interesting, for sure.”

“Sold-out crowd here in Miami! Here’s the whistle and the game is underway!”

The players explode on the field, drawing in tight around the ball and moving out again like a firework, the orange of Dallas bright against the green, Miami’s white jerseys blinding in the bright Florida sun.

Dallas gets the ball early, bringing it down the field, and works the goal. I track the ball the best I can, watching as it goes across the box, then?—

“…forward Cascarino floats it across, sends it straight toward Smith and— whoa!”

We leap to our feet, shocked when the ball rockets right into the net, past the hands of the shocked goalie.

“We’re on the board!” Steven says, mouth open like he can’t believe it.

“All right,” Rhett says, and when he claps his hand on my back, I clap mine right back on his.

Nobody expects the Bolts to win this game, and yet they hold strong, keeping Miami out of the goal. They respond to every move, Sophie rallying them visibly.

As the seconds tick down at the end of the game, we watch Dallas hold them off still. The game ends three to two — we’ve won.

I’m on my feet, Rhett cheering, his hand on my shoulder jostling me around as I laugh, beer sloshing out of my cup. I can’t believe it — somehow, the Bolts managed to pull it off.

We beat Miami in an upset.

Down on the field, the team celebrates, even Lena Athens running into the huddle, jumping up and down with them, laughing, tears running down their face.

“Holy shit,” I say when Steven claps me on the back. He looks over at me, grinning, and says, “Indeed.”