“Practice is an hour earlier tomorrow. The nutritionist is coming in to go over some things,” Jack reminded me.
“I know.” I got to my feet, already pulling my phone out of my bag. Mo and I were going to have to have a chat.
“You can let yourself out.” Jack had already turned back to his computer, a sign that I was dismissed.
I walked out to my car, seething, wanting to punch Mo in his fleshy gob.
I started to dial his number then thought better of it.
There were some conversations that needed to happen in person.
“LUCAS! WHAT AREyou doing here? Leizel is here cleaning, but why don’t you come on out to the patio. Can I get you something to drink?” Mo let me inside his ridiculously large house. I could hear the sound of a hoover running in the other room. Leizel, his German housekeeper, came daily to clean the five bedrooms, three bath house, even though he was the only one that lived in it.
Mo had never married. Never had kids. His work was his life.
“I don’t need anything to drink. What I need is for you to explain why you’re continuing to have talks with Liverpool behind my back. I thought we had addressed my transferring and I told you I was happy at Chester.”
Mo stopped and turned to face me, his eyes—hidden in the fleshy folds of his too large face—were worried. “How did you—?”
“Jack called me in his office after training today. Wanted to know why I was talking to Liverpool. Or rather, why my agent was. And it’s funny, because I don’t remember you telling me you were still talking to anyone about my transfer.”
Mo started chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, I had planned to talk to you about it during our weekly catch up call. But since you’re here, I suppose we can talk about it now. But you need to take a deep breath, Lucas. I don’t want you yelling. It upsets Leizel.”
“We can’t upset Liezel, can we?” I spat out. Mo was officially on my shit list.
“Come on, Luke. You know I have your best interests at heart. Always have. We’re family.” He was trying to placate me. I had known Mo long enough to see when he was trying to soften a blow.
“We are not family, Mo. You’re my agent. You work for me. Which means you don’t make decisions on my behalf without consulting me. Ever. It’s a good way to lose some teeth,mate.” I bared my teeth in a smile that wasn’t at all friendly.
Mo opened the glass doors that led out onto a stone patio. Mo’s garden was overly manicured. It was meant to look like a Victorian garden, complete with an over the top water feature and a small hedge maze towards the back. I sometimes wondered if he walked around his house when no one was around with a powdered wig and waistcoat.
“Have a seat and let’s talk about this.” Mo pulled out a chair for me to sit in like I was a fucking woman he was trying to wine and dine.
“I can get my own chair.” I grabbed it from him and sat down. “Now, explain to me why you’re still in talks with other teams? The last thing I need is more rumors in the fucking papers. My teammates are already questioning me. I don’t need this shit, Mo.”
“Can I get you and Mr. Bradley anything to drink?” a small woman with black hair and a large chin asked. Mo smiled at her with genuine affection and I could have sworn Leizel the housekeeper blushed. I was pretty sure Mo was diddling the maid, but I didn’t really give a toss where he stuck it.
“No thank you, Leizel,” Mo told her. I smiled at the woman and she closed the door and went back to her duties.
Mo let out a breath. “Yes, I’ve been talking to Liverpool. They’ve been particularly persistent. I know you had expressed your desires to stay with Chester, but given your meteoric rise in the league, I think you’re doing yourself a disservice to not get every possible penny your worth.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at my manager. “It’s not just about the money, Mo.”
Mo leaned forward, resting his arms on the glass-topped table. He leveled me with a hard look. “Don’t be so fucking naïve, Lucas. It’s always about the damn money. If you think otherwise, you’re a fool.”
“Chester are paying me nicely—”
“Liverpool has offered you a five year contract for 20 million quid, plus a two million signing bonus, Luke.”
That gave me pause.
Twenty million pounds?
Holy fuck.
Twenty million pounds.
“So don’t tell me that doesn’t interest you.” Mo’s smirk annoyed me. Mostly because he was right. It interested me. I couldn’t forget I used to a kid on a councill estate who couldn’t afford a pack of Match Attack cards at the newsagent, now here I was being told that one of the best clubs in the world wanted me to play for them for more money than I could imagine having.
