Could I even relinquish control for that long? The reason I’m so swamped all the time is because I refuse to not have my hand in every single pot. Type A, perfectionist, workaholic—call it whatever you want, but I won’t put myname on something I’m not proud of, that I didn’t understand every facet of in some way.
Which meant long days of statistical analysis, financial reporting, creative directing, design, on top of being the face of every branch of the brand. I alone drove fifty percent of the businesses’ sales. All of that was already a massive workload, so incorporating the responsibilities I had for The Legends into the fold was borderline insane enough to earn me a shopping trip for a straightjacket. Maxine would probably try to get it sponsored.
But I didn’t regret moving here. I relish the challenge the team brings me, the stretch to my cognitive abilities doing something so different allowed, the change of scenery London brings, and being close to my dad. I wouldn’t trade any of it for a lighter workload.
I wouldn’t even change it for a flat that came in pristine condition, because the former disaster of a home I was walking into was now near spotless. The cockroaches have been evicted, the walls have been washed and repainted, and as of today, the old musty carpet is gone and replaced with wood floors. Thankfully, I convinced the landlord to let me upgrade the space at my own cost.
“Darling, thank goodness you’re home. This nefarious gentleman was trying to get me to abscond with him to the countryside and steal all your best silverware.” Aanya puts on a theatrical accent and throws her arm around me. “But I told him, I shan’t leave my lady love—that’s you—so turn that frown upside down.” She pokes her fingers into the corner of my mouth and pushes up.
I glance over at the man installing the last bit of pop-and-lock floorboards.
“She’s been at this all day, creatin’ these fake scenarios in ‘er head. I can’t keep up anymore,” he says, voice somewhere between confusion and charmed.
“She’s quite creative,” I reply.
“You’ll be thankful for these memories one day whenmy name’s in lights, Colin!” Aanya floats into the kitchen as Colin packs up his supplies.
“You’ll mail me the final invoice?”
“Aanya already took care of it, miss.” I whip my head around to find her pouring two generous glasses of wine as Colin slips out of the flat.
She looks at me guiltily. “Don’t give me that look. You gave me your bank details for a reason. Very foolish, though; I could have been a con-artist and swindled you for everything you’ve got.”
I laugh. “I’m going to miss having you as my assistant.”
“Lucky for you, I live just across the hall, and you won't be getting rid of me easily. You buy the good wine, not the cheap shite I buy.”
I take in my flat, now mostly furnished, clean and smelling softly of vanilla and bergamot. The personal touches would come slowly as I found things I truly loved to decorate the space—to make it feel like home—but for now, the simplicity would do. Even without it, it feels more like home than my place in LA ever did. The space here is small, but that’s what I love about it. It’s cozy, warm, and intimate, with charming crown molding and just enough space for me but not so much space that I feel the emptiness closing in around me.
Shifting into the kitchen and pulling a glass out of Aanya’s hand, I down it in one large gulp. When I look up, she is staring at me, mouth agape.
“You alright? Did something happen while you were out filming today?”
Last week, during one of her forced girls’ nights, I finally told her about my less conventional job while only slightly inebriated. To my utter dismay, she didn’t care. I had been so worried she would judge me for it, like so many others had in the past. But she shrugged, said “wicked”and continued slurping up the pasta she was eating. It felt like a hundred pound weight lifted off my shoulders, and I had toexcuse myself to the bathroom so she wouldn’t notice me getting emotional over it.
I stifle a burp, pressing a hand against my mouth. “Fine,” I say, pushing my glass toward her for a refill.
She pours me another, and I take a more modest sip. “Really, I’m okay. Just a little concerned for one of our players.”
“Did he get injured?”
“No, nothing like that. It’s… I don’t know, I think he’s having an identity crisis of sorts.” I move around the kitchen, gathering a few things to make us a simple dinner.
“Sounds like something the coach should handle. Don’t you have bigger things to deal with?”
Yes. I do. But I can’t shake the image of Tieran sitting alone on the pitch after everyone left, or that moment during the game when it looked like he was somewhere else entirely.
“Probably. It was odd. At the match earlier this week, it’s like I could see this shift in his demeanor happen mid-play. The Legends were down, but they were hustling to get another try, and there was a moment where he just…froze.”
“Maybe he was just having an off day?” Aanya offers.
“I think it’s more than that. It’s like a switch flipped, and he wasn’t on the field anymore, but somewhere else.” I put a pot on the stove to boil pasta and start seasoning shrimp.
“You must have been looking very closely to notice all that.” The tone of her voice is curious, questioning, and it almost seems like she’s suggesting something.
“It’s my job to pay attention.” Heat creeps up and settles on my cheeks.
Aanya prowls over to me and clasps my face in her hands, looking me over. “Why are you blushing?”
