Page 25 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

I am a tad nervous when I speak, but then I become astonished when the voice replies, “I . . . I can’t. I mean . . . it’s going to take some time.”

The voice is hoarse. Freaking hoarse, like I-just-woke-up-from-sleep hoarse.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Wait, are you just waking up?”

My astonishment turns into anger, and not even the fact that we fucked on my table stops me from being angry. First, she messed up my contracts, potentially making me look bad in theeyes of two rival companies. Then she took a “sick leave” because she didn’t have the guts to face me. And now she stops coming to work?

“Yes, I . . . I—”

“I pay you a good amount of money to be here as early as 7:45 a.m., and you’re just waking up from sleep. Now listen—I am gonna say this once. If you don’t haul your lazy ass over here in the next twenty—no, ten—minutes, you might as well start looking for another job.”

And with that, I cut the call and hand the phone back to Raphael without looking at his face.

Great, Vaughn! There you have it. Nothing really changed! She’s still just a secretary to you.

Awesome.

I feel invigorated by this thought. Yes, that’s all she is—a secretary and a one-night stand changes nothing. Jokes on her, if she thinks it does. Fuck me—how did I even let it get this far in the first place? The nerve of her, missing workdays like she owns the freaking place!

A surge of energy courses through me as I tell myself there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. I spring up from the bench and sprint back into the training field.

***

The goalie throws the ball into the field, and when I jump up to control it, I almost land on the side of my soles.

Rachel’s ash-colored Honda comes to a stop, and she steps out as the engine quiets. She looks left and right like she’s looking for someone and then starts walking toward the training ground.

I hastily avert my gaze just in time for a player to come with a sweep in an attempt to gain control of the ball. I immediately regain focus and hastily pull the ball backward with my feet. Mysenses are so on edge that I think for a moment I hear her heels clanking as she approaches, but then I remember it is all grass here, no tiles or concrete.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I get pissed at my focus being all over the place upon Rachel’s arrival. Frustration spreads over my chest, and I concentrate a lot of force on my left foot before sending the ball flying toward the goalie. He lunges toward the ball and pushes it outside, making me even more pissed.

My chest heaves, rises, and crashes heavily as I wait for the ball to be retrieved. I pant heavily, and it’s not just out of physical exertion.

I sneakily try to steal a glance—you know, when you try to look at someone without making it seem like you are looking at them? Yeah, that’s what I did. Guess what? I fail miserably.

As soon as I turn my head in her direction, our eyes meet, and I hastily place my hands on my waist because, for some reason, I think that will make it seem less obvious. It is more of a reflex response.

She lets the gaze linger. Then she slowly turns her head to face Raphael, and they continue discussing whatever it is they are discussing.

The unbothered woman standing to my far right looks nothing like the somewhat scared voice that I had spoken with some minutes ago. She seems to have gotten bolder during the drive here. The way her mouth moves, coupled with the way she is dressed, makes her look very professional without taking away from her sexiness—a pencil skirt that hugs her hourglass figure closely and a blouse with a subtle sheen and ruffled at the edges. My eyes wander to her hips, and I feel something stir in my pants as recollections of our time in my study flood my mind.

The ball flies back into the field, and I am thankful as it is the only thing at that point that can stop me from ogling mysecretary. I play some more, but then I wave my hand, indicating that I need a break. I’m not tired at all or even thirsty. It is out of pure curiosity. I want to see how she will react if I come up close. I am curious to see if she will be nervous or fidgety around me. Not that I care if she is—hell, I do care, but in the sense that it might hinder her from doing her job like she’s supposed to. It’s not like she does it efficiently in the first place, so how much more useless will she be if she’s nervous around me?

The videographer and his crew take a snapshot of me as I walk toward the sidelines. At the same time, Rachel continues to engage Raphael in conversation.

I position myself on a spot on the bench that will allow me a good view of her face.

“Toss me a bottle of water,” I say.

Rachel pauses mid-conversation and moves her eyes to me. The green color of her eyes reflects the rays of the 8:00 a.m. sun, and she appears to catch her breath. If you ask me, I will translate the flustered expression on her face as “I am not in the least happy to be here.”

She looks more annoyed than nervous. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I will sure find out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing in our later interactions.

Without wasting time, Raphael dips his hand into a duffel bag lying aimlessly on the floor and tosses me a water bottle.

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