It’s been four days since the match, and I’m still raging they benched me after halftime.
Charlie leans back, steepling her fingers. She has this way of watching you that makes you shrink, a bug under her collector’s pin.
‘The team has a concussion protocol for a reason, Finn. You took a significant impact.’
‘Aye, and I was ready to go back out. The doc was being a fanny.’
‘The doctor was being a doctor.’ She keeps her tone flat. ‘Your long-term health is more important than one half of one game.’
‘Tell that to the league table.’ I slump down in the seat, and barricade my chest with my forearms. This place is all glass and brick and the faint smell of stale coffee. It’s too quiet. Too clean. I need mud. I need anything other than this sterile box where my fuck-ups get dissected.
The door clicks open, and the entire atmosphere in the room shifts. Like opening the curtains to let the sun in.
Of course it’s her. Even the fucking air changes when she walks in.
Theo sweeps in with a stack of files in one arm and a tin of shortbread balanced on top. She’s wearing a dark green dress today, one with a collar that makes her come off as tidy and untouchable. Her hair’s pulled back, not a single strand out of place. The polar opposite of the rain-soaked mess from the match.
And fuck me if that didn’t do something to me, knowing she gave a shit. That for one breathless minute, I wasn’t just a client or colleague. I was someone worth panicking over.
‘Morning.’ She places the files on Charlie’s desk and pops the lid on the biscuit tin. ‘Brought reinforcements.’
‘A woman after my own heart.’ Charlie beams and takes one.
‘Snack sisters,’ Theo says.
‘Fmack fifpeff’, Charlie agrees with her mouth full.
They are sweet. And also steeled professionals with shark-like instincts. I’m lucky to have them clean up my mess.
In the glass wall, I catch the stitches bisecting my eyebrow. ‘Battle scars, eh? Makes me seem brooding and mysterious.’
Theo’s gaze skims over the cut for a fraction of a second before dropping to her tablet. ‘It makes you seem like you’ve been in a fight with a stapler. Okay, so the social engagement metrics dipped by eighteen per cent.’
The numbers give her a shield to hide behind. She looks away, but not before I see it. A hint of softness, something that isn’t on one of her spreadsheets. I want to poke it. I want to see what happens if I lean across this desk and trace the line of her jaw. I want to kiss that stern, clipped drawl right off her lips until she’s breathless and clinging to me as she did in the med-bay four days back.
I shove the thought down, far below deck.
‘The interviews.’ Charlie’s voice yanks me back to the room. ‘What’s the verdict, Theo?’
Theo swipes a finger across her tablet. Her nails are painted a glossy cherry red without any dots. ‘Sentiment analysis is mixed. The Herald piece landed well enough. They framed it as a young talent under immense pressure.’
‘See? Talented,’ I chip in.
‘The Tatler profile, however, was less favourable.’ She keeps her eyes on the screen. ‘They described you as an “unhinged rogue with a knack for rampant hedonism”.’
‘I’ll take it. Sounds better than “unemployed”.’ I swipe a piece of shortbread from the tin.
Charlie leans forward, her pleasant expression gone. ‘It sounds like a risk and bad press going to happen, Finn. Which is precisely how Knox Montgomery is starting to see you.’
‘The owner?’
‘Yeah, and he’s not the only one. I’ve had word that Lord Dalcrieff is turning the screws behind the scenes.’
The biscuit sticks to the roof of my mouth. Dalcrieff. The Tory MP with a chin you could open a tin on and the fiancée I’d accidentally…entertained. ‘He’s just pissed off that his woman has a refined taste in men.’
‘He’s pissed off that you’re still on the team,’ Charlie corrects, her voice sharp as broken glass. ‘He’s been making calls. Quietly, of course. Leaning on sponsors. Reminding people how much this reflects on the club’s values. And let’s just say I personally don’t feel charitable towards cheating engaged people, as you might know.’
Ah, right. Callum. That evil dick who cheated on Charlie with the TV presenter he’s now going to marry instead of her. I know she’s happy as a clam with Brodie, but that must still sting.
