Page 12 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

“Yes, what manner of landing was that?”

“Landings can be very tricky. That is why we ask you to—”

“You know what? Never mind. Everybody has an excuse to give.”

He gets up from his seat and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge before storming off. The pilot gives me a curious look. I shrug my shoulders and grab my handbag. Vaughn takes long strides as we cross the tarmac. I scurry after him, trying to keep up. Vaughn’s hands rest casually in his pocket, his sunglasses still perched on his face even though the dim airport lights don’t require them—a small disguise to keep the fans at bay.

I exhale softly, my body relaxing now that the jet ride is over and we’re almost at the car waiting outside. Vaughn turns back and looks at me. I start jogging immediately; he’s most likely about to give me a new set of instructions. I have just closed the gap between us when it happens.

The gentle humming of voices in the airport gives way to loud screaming and a thunder of footsteps. A crowd of fans rush toward us, shouting and waving jerseys, others holding up phones to capture the moment. My heart sinks into my stomach as I realize what’s happening.

“Oh my God! Marry me, Vaughn!” a female voice yells from the crowd.

“Sign my jersey!” another yells, holding up his jersey, eyes wide with excitement.

“Rachel!” Vaughn turns back to look at me, his voice low and tense. “What is the meaning of this?”

My stomach twists into knots. This isn’t right. We are supposed to head straight to the car. No detours, no public appearances. I am clear about that. I look over at Vaughn and open my mouth, but the words do not come out. The crowd has now pooled behind mesh netting, stopping them from spilling onto the tarmac.

Two of the bodyguards who must have been waiting by the car start running toward us.

“Who did this?” His gaze narrows.

“I have no idea.”

“What do you mean you have no idea? You are my assistant. You are meant to be ahead of everything. It is your duty to make sure nothing goes wrong!”

“I made sure everything was in order, but—”

“Then who keeps setting me up for the paparazzi? How can I be sure that you are not selling my location to people?”

“What?” My face burns from his accusation.

The two bodyguards arrive and form a barricade between us and the incoming crowd. Just as we are standing there, a woman appears with a wide grin on her face. She is wearing a jersey, and her hair is tied back in a bun.

“Welcome, Mr. Vaughn. We were expecting you.”

“Expecting me?” Vaughn is taken aback.

“Yes, we are doing a fundraiser, and all the people here are dying to meet you.”

“A fundraiser?” Vaughn quips, turning to look at me. “What is the meaning of this? Who organized this without even asking me first?”

I turn to the young lady and eye her with a look of disgust. “How did you know that Vaughn would be here today?”

“We got the information, and I am so glad that it turned out to be true.” Her eyes twinkle as she stares at Vaughn in awe.

“What information?” I ask, fuming at the possibility that someone has told other people that we are coming. Someone I can safely assume is his greedy agent, who would take any deal just to make himself a profit. A part of me wants to shake the woman vigorously until she tells me how she learned of our arrival. “Who gave you this information?”

She doesn’t respond to me and instead focuses on Vaughn. “We are doing it for the orphaned children. It is nothing serious, just a few signings of shirts and maybe a donation, if you will.” She ends with a smile.

“For the kids, huh?”

“Yes, for the kids. We have a few ill kids at the cancer center, too, who need money for treatment. We raised some money by selling the jerseys after we promised you would sign them.”

Vaughn takes another look at me and then pinches his nose in frustration.

“I guess helping the kids will always come first,” he responds with resignation.

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