As we all sip on our drinks, we start discussing social media, and the guys even ask me for some advice, scribbling mental notes about what drums up more fan engagement—video clips versus still images, behind-the-scenes peeks, that sort of thing. A few minutes later, the conversation shifts back to today’s match and their position in the Premier League, which just shot up, thanks to the three points they gained.
“We’re getting back to our standards,” Finn says, holding his glass aloft like a toast. “Took us a bit of time to find our footing with Delatour, but I think we’re getting there.”
“Yeah, I actually understood some of his speech today,” Archie snickers.
“You know,” Fallon begins, already smiling, “Statistically speaking—”
“Oh, heck no!” Finn hollers, falling back into his seat with dramatic flair.
Archie crosses his arms. “What now?”
“Well,” she continues, unfazed by their theatrics, “a team’s league finish is sixty-five percent determined by their performance prior to January.”
Wade arches aneyebrow. “So, what, we’re doomed?”
She shrugs. “Not necessarily. There’s still a thirty-five percent chance you can turn this around.”
“Why do I even invite you over?” Archie asks with a loud sigh, though there’s no real spite in his voice.
“Oh, come on,” Cameron says. “Since when have we ever proved statistics right?”
Fallon opens her mouth to reply, but Roxy lightly nudges her thigh, and she closes it.
“We’ll get there,” Cameron says, his American accent even more pronounced. “We just have to keep working hard, that’s all.”
They all nod, and Finn shares a high five with Archie. Soon, the chatter starts up again, and they’re all back to teasing each other or finishing each other’s sentences. Archie throws a cushion at Finn for stealing his crisps, and Finn chucks it back with mock outrage. Cameron teases Wade about nearly tripping during the second half, and Wade retaliates by threatening to post one of his old haircuts on Instagram. A team both on and off the pitch, but somehow, it seems like this is where the magic happens. And I’m sure the fans would love to have a window into these moments.
Chapter 6
Millie
The next week is still proving a challenge with Callum. I’ve managed to chat with most of the guys, and some of them have even started following my guidelines, reposting clips or tagging the club account in their new posts. But I still haven’t exchanged more than a few words with Callum—his being mostly “not now” or “I don’t have time.”
I wring my hands on my way to Philip’s office, the soles of my shoes squeaking on the gleaming hallway floor. My anxiety builds with every step. I know he’s going to ask me for a report of my first week, and I don’t want to disappoint him. Hespecifically asked me to focus on Callum, but so far, I’ve come up short. And there are few things I hate more.
I knock gently on the heavy wooden door, my palms sweating.
“Come in,” he calls, and I step into his office.
The space is as polished and precise as the man himself—decorated with dark wood furniture, a single framed photo of the original Regents squad, and a stack of neatly organised folders on his desk. The windows let in the low grey light that feels quintessentially London, and the faint ticking of a minimalist clock adds to the seriousness of the space.
He offers a tight smile. “Ah, Millie. Sit down. How has the first week been?”
“Good, good. Still finding my footing, but I made progress with most of the guys. We went over their content strategy, and everyone has been applying what we’ve discussed.”
Philip arches an eyebrow. “Everyone? I noticed Callum Murray still doesn’t have an account.”
My stomach drops. “Right, um. It’s a bit more difficult with him. I’m hoping to get his account started by the end of next week.”
He nods. “Good. As I said, it’s paramount that everyone participates if we want to reconnect with our fans—especially our younger ones.”
I swallow hard, but I bounce back quickly. “About that: I had an idea for the team’s social media accounts. Maybe we could do some behind-the-scenes footage. I’d take care of that, filming snippets both here at the training centre and at the stadium. It would definitely help fans connect with the team, feel like they’re part of it.”
He locks his eyes on me for a moment, his expression unreadable, then he smiles. “Brilliant idea. You can start today.”
I let out a low sigh of relief. At least with this, I can make up for my lack of results with Callum, and I do think it’s a great idea. If the rest of the team banters like the group I hung out with after the last game, the fans are in for a treat.
After my chat with Philip, I wander through the halls of the training centre, camera in hand. The silence is broken only by the faint echo of trainers squeaking, football boots clacking against tile, and the murmur of conversation drifting from the physio room. Eventually, I spot Callum entering through the sliding doors, his hair dripping from the light drizzle outside, his kit streaked with mud.
