Page 13 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

“Wait, we—” I try to protest, attempting to remind him that we have a meeting scheduled in about two hours.

“Go on, Ms. . . .” Vaughn cocks his head as if trying to remember her name.

“Laurie!” she blurts out enthusiastically.

“Laurie! Beautiful name for a fine lady.” He grins. “Well, I would never turn down a request to do good for the kids. I’ll be right there.”

Laurie’s face turns red, revealing yellow-stained teeth. “Thank you,” she mumbles before turning away.

“We have the meeting with the Campbells. We don’t have any more time to waste as it is.”

He takes a step closer, his voice lowering to a dangerously calm whisper. “You should have thought of that before setting up a fundraiser at an airport.”

“I didn’t—” I start, but he cuts me off again.

“You didn’t what? Do your job? The gross irresponsibility.” He shakes his head, letting out a harsh breath.

His words feel like a punch to the gut. Irresponsibility? I’ve been running myself ragged, managing his schedule, juggling meetings, fan appearances, and his absurdly unpredictable moods for months. I haven’t missed a single detail, but he never misses the opportunity to undermine my efforts.

I bite my lip, trying to hold back the flood of frustration threatening to spill over. Vaughn turns on his heel and starts marching toward the crowd; the bodyguards follow him, leaving me standing there.

“Vaughn!” I call after him, but he doesn’t stop. My fists clench at my sides as I watch him walk away, his shoulders stiff, his back straight, like I didn’t just call his name. As he approaches the crowd, the fans go wild, pushing and shouting and holding their jerseys. Vaughn forces a smile and waves at them.God, I hate him. For a minute, I think of quitting on the spot, just walking away and hailing a cab home. But looking for a job right now was worse than hell; even if I did find one, it wouldn’t pay me as much as Vaughn pays.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Rachel! Is Vaughn at the signing yet?” a squeaky voice blasts through the phone.

“What?”

“It’s Raphael.”

“I know it’s you, Raphael. What signing?”

Vaughn’s agent, Raphael, irritates me just as much as Vaughn does, especially this high-pitched voice of his.

“The jersey signing for the orphans at the airport.”

“So it was you, after all!” I hiss.

“Is he—”

I hang up and slide the phone into my back pocket. I have had enough nonsense for one day.

Chapter six

Chapter Six

Vaughn

Afeeling of relaxation settles on my chest as Nicholas navigates skillfully through the hills, each minute bringing us closer to my Hudson Valley mansion.

We have driven in total silence from the airport—not that we usually engage in chitchat. Still, even if we did, I wouldn’t have entertained him, as I am utterly exhausted mentally and physically after the encounter with the fans at the airport.

Damn Rachel!

This is all her fault. This is an incident she should have anticipated and prevented, but her dumbass couldn’t even do that. I bet she was the one who sold my location because who else on earth knew I was landing at the airport?

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