‘Their sporting director loved our rebrand strategy.’ Charlie grins, wickedly pleased with herself. ‘The redemption narrative we’ve been crafting worked like a charm.’
The muscle under his ear twitches. Locked down, but not fast enough.
Charlie doesn’t seem to notice his reaction. ‘Think about it. You’re perfect: young, talented. There’s already media buzz swirling around you. An affordable risk with a high PR upside.’ She’s on a roll and oblivious to the two stiff people sitting in front of her. ‘The French club sees commercial potential in you.’
‘Right. Commercial potential.’ He stirs in his seat. The thread on his sleeve has unravelled further, and he tugs at it absently.
‘Most Top fourteen players are already under contract,’ Charlie explains. ‘But the pressure from Lord Dalcrieff, whose fiancée you…’
‘… slept with,’ Finn finishes flatly.
Charlie winces. ‘Yes. That situation makes this a perfect escape hatch. If you want it.’
A bitter tide surges in my stomach. Escape hatch. The phrase echoes in my head. My mind is a swirling vortex of what-ifs and oh-gods. France. He’d be in fucking France. For good.
‘When would this happen?’ I ask.
‘Soon,’ Charlie replies. ‘They want him in Marseille by next week.’
Next week. Two syllables, frostbite-sharp, carving space between my ribs.
‘What about my current contract with the Rebels?’ Finn asks.
‘I wanted to talk to you first before I poke that particular bear.’ Charlie says. ‘I’m sure they’d like to keep you, but considering what’s been going on, they might also be open to it. I could get it done.’
Finn rubs his palm across his jaw, the scratch of stubble audible in the quiet room. ‘I see.’
‘The financial package is impressive.’ She pushes the folder toward him. ‘200,000 pounds gross per year; 60,000 pounds signing bonus; 20,000 pounds per year in image rights and sponsorship. Fully covered relocation, housing, French-language coaching. Plus, Marseille in spring is lovely. Sunshine, Mediterranean lifestyle…’
I stare at a small water stain on the ceiling, trying to ignore the emptiness expanding in my chest. The Mediterranean is over a thousand miles from Edinburgh.
‘And what about—’ Finn starts, then stops abruptly.
Yeah. What about us?
Those unsaid words are like a tripwire between us, and we’re both too terrified to set it off.
Charlie glances at us. ‘This is a lot to take in. But career-wise, Finn, this is a golden ticket. The board at RC Marseille-Provence meets early next week. They want an answer in three days, so Monday.’
‘Three days?’ His tone fractures.
‘You know how it is,’ Charlie says. ‘They need to move quickly, since it’s mid-season.’
I force myself to breathe normally, even as panic bubbles beneath my skin. Three days. One weekend. Seventy-two hours to process that the man who’s somehow become central to my existence with lightning speed, the only man who ever made me feel complete and myself, might drop out of my world just as fast.
This is the chance of a lifetime.
‘I need to think,’ Finn says, standing abruptly. His chair squeaks against the floor.
‘Of course,’ Charlie nods. ‘Take the contract details with you. Review the terms.’ Then she turns to me, eyes gleaming with pride. ‘Our first international contract! We did it, Theo!’
‘Our? We?’
‘Yeah. This wouldn’t have happened without you. Nothing would.’ Now she grins like the cat that got the cream. ‘How does a full partnership sound to you?’
Chapter 20
Finn
