Millie steps back, eyes trailing over me before she catches herself and quickly nods. “Yeah. That’s—yeah. Perfect.”
The photographer starts snapping, and I do my best to hold still without looking like a total plank. Millie is standing in the corner, taking videos with her phone.
“Documenting for social media too,” she explains when she sees me looking.
“Isn’t this whole thing for social media?”
Her eyes rove over my naked torso and kilt. “Yeah, but fans like behind-the-scenes content, you know?”
A few more shots, and it’s over. I step down from the X and trudge back to the changing screen. Once I’ve traded the kilt for my practice gear, I dip my chin to Millie.
“Well, see you tomorrow,” I mumble, opening the door to head off.
“Wait, aren’t you coming tonight?” she calls after me.
I shift back on my heel. “What’s tonight?”
“The sponsors’ gala,” she says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I curse under my breath. “Is that tonight already? I thought it was next week.” I hate those stupid galas. Unfortunately, they’re in my contract. “All right. See ye tonight, then.”
“Maybe you could wear the kilt,” she peeps up behind me, sounding a little out of breath. And this time, I can’t hide the stupid grin that springs to my face.
Chapter 13
Millie
The vision of Callum in a kilt, his glorious torso gleaming under the studio lights, will be forever etched in my mind—and my phone, because I’m never deleting that video. I kind of want to call Roxy to tell her my kilt fantasy has basically come to life in front of me, but since it’s Callum, I’d feel a little weird about it.
Plus, I have to spend the entire evening with him—and the rest of the team—so maybe it’s not the best time to spiral. I’ve already changed my outfit five times, and I still don’t know what to wear. Roxy said to opt for something fancy, adress or a pantsuit. She even sent me pictures of the outfit she wore to last year’s gala. But for some reason, I hate every single piece of clothing I own right now, and I’m seriously questioning what went through my mind when I bought some of this stuff. And unfortunately, “elegant” usually rhymes with boring, solid colours, and well, I don’t really have any of those. My wardrobe is bursting with polka dots, bright tones, and funky patterns. After duking it out for another hour, I finally settle on a blue rockabilly-style dress with crisp white polka dots. It’s bold but classic. And technically, blue and white are the Regents’ colours, so… let’s call it on-theme. These retro dresses are my comfort zone anyway—fitted at the waist, then flaring out at the hips to hide my love handles.
I tug on a pair of tights, grab a black leather bag, and I’m good to go. I wait for my rideshare under the narrow overhang of the boutique next door to avoid the soft drizzle that’s gaining momentum. Naturally, my coat is cropped and adorable—but provides approximately the same warmth as a napkin. And of course I forgot my brolly again. I release a sigh. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I have an appointment at a used car dealership in the morning that promises I can leave with keys in hand. Some might say it’s a bit early to buy a car when I’ve barely been at this job a month, but I have a good feeling about it. Philip is happy with my work, and we’ve drummed up incredible engagement on social media. Scores of new followers, lots of comments, and plenty of shares. The players are doing great too, especially with Archie’s dance videos frequently going viral.
Just as I start rubbing my hands for warmth, my driver Bashir arrives, and we set off down the glowing streets of London. The gala is being held in central London at a grand old hotel that looks like it belongs in a royal period drama. Think sandstone columns and wrought-iron balconies, the whole place softly lit in shades of gold and amber, like someone dipped the entire building in candlelight.
Through the tall glass doors, I catch glimpses of gowns and suits, champagne flutes clinking, and I swallow hard. The second I enter the room, I know all eyes are going to be on me. Not because I’m a dazzling beauty, but because my dress stands out in this sea of black and white suits and evening gowns. It’s a little sad, if you ask me, but at this very moment, I really wish I owned a black dress.
Gliding into the ballroom, I spot Roxy and Wade near the bar, deep in conversation with Finn, Cameron, and Callum. And wow, do they wear those tuxes well. Finn’s tie is askew, Cameron’s jacket is already off, and Wade looks like he could be hosting the Oscars. But it’s Callum who steals my breath.Even if it’s a little disappointing to see he didn’t wear his kilt.
He looks different tonight. Sharper. Taller somehow. Or maybe it’s just the lighting. Or the tailored jacket. Or the simple fact that he’s standing with his hand tucked in his pocket, swaying slightly, the tiniest twitch of a smirk pulling at his lips as his deep brown eyes find me.
“You made it,” Roxy squeals, opening her arms to hug me. “You look magnificent.”
“Thanks. Doesn’t exactly fit the dress code, but you know me.” I force out a chuckle. “You look great too.” I step back to admire her very elegant black-and-white pantsuit.
We grab a drink and start chatting, but Callum doesn’t say much, which isn’t a big surprise. Then, parting from the group, Roxy introduces me to her friend-slash-colleague Lina and Lina’s fiancé Jude, editor-in-chief of a men’s fashion magazine that sponsors the team.
Archie approaches us with a laugh, already halfway into some story, and Fallon trails behind him. She smiles shyly and gives us a small wave.
“Hey,” she says, hugging us each in turn. She’s dressed in a soft purple gown dusted with silver, her makeup impeccable. But her shoulders are stiff, her smile a little too forced.
“No Brent?”Cameron’s voice is gentler than usual as he scratches the back of his neck. I know he’s referring to Fallon’s boyfriend, though I’ve yet to meet the mysterious man.
She breathes a long sigh, staring down at her high heels for a beat. “Nope. He’s on a work trip.”
Roxy offers her arm, and Fallon loops hers through it. “Well, his loss. You look amazing.”
We all fall back into easy conversation, and Fallon seems to relax. After a couple of drinks, my tiny bladder has abandoned its attempt to hold it together, so I make my way to the toilets, my heels clacking softly against the polished floor. When I’m done, I move to wash my hands, but the tap is stronger than I expected and splashes water across the front of my dress.
