Page 28 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

Carmen is as pretty as she is stupid. When you add her arrogance to the mix, it becomes even worse. Oh, the ignorance in what she just said! She’s been around for some time, but it seems to me she still doesn’t understand that being Vaughn’s “secretary” means being his personal assistant, his courier, his maid, his manager, his secretary in the conventional sense, and oh, even his cook sometimes. It goes far beyond being the person to deliver his morning meals!

“Oh, I appreciate the gesture, Carmen. But I can’t just leave everything to you. I am sure you’ve got enough on your plate already, and that wouldn’t be very fair, would it?” I reply sassily.

She opens her mouth to say something stupid and annoying, I am sure, when suddenly, a loud bang rattles through my head, right to my brain and my molars.

The inflated ball ricochets off my head. The force behind the kick is so heavy that my bun instantly loosens. My knees give way, and I fall to the ground, my vision blurred.

Raphael and some of the crew members echo in concerned voices: “Are you okay, Rachel?”

“I am fine,” I answer, clutching my head.

I lift my throbbing head to see that even some of the players who had been training with Vaughn have rushed over to me. The ones who didn’t at least stop playing for a while to acknowledge that someone has just been hit.

Vaughn?

He just stands there staring at a ball under his feet, and the indifferent look he has on makes me feel like he only stopped because the other players stopped.

Hands pull me to my feet as I keep repeating, “I am fine now.” Even Carmen has come over to where we stand, but Vaughn, the asshole, just watches from the center of the soccer pitch, like we are some sort of characters in a TV show or something.

Son of a bitch.

I feel a pang of intense hurt pierce my heart, and then I chastise myself for feeling hurt about a man like Vaughn, who doesn’t give two flips about me. It’s not like he’s ever cared, so why even bother?

As I am escorted to the bench, reality hits hard: Vaughn Graham is an enigma, and I am just a mere secretary in his vast world of fame and glamour. Nothing is going to change that.

***

Would it have made much of a difference if I hadn’t taken practically two days off from work a week earlier? I don’t think so at all. The fatigue and stress I have gathered over the week aren’t something a workaholic will be able to adapt to in a short time.

Stressfuldoesn’t even begin to cut it. There have been a handful of tasks for me to work on aside from the normal “non-strictly secretarial” tasks that come with working with Vaughn Graham.

Preseason starts in a few days, and I have had to work on his schedule. And oh, did I mention that Mobilix Solutions, the rivals of the company that Vaughn has done an ad for, actually sued?

The professional soccer player, his lawyer, and I now have a real case. We have the meeting in an “air-tight chamber”—meaning it is strictly confidential. I am thankful the lawyer’s presence fixes the issue of having to be with Vaughn for an extended period.

Reporters will have a field day with this case if it ever comes out. We have negotiated a settlement with Mobilix Solutions, but they refused and sued instead, so obviously, it’s only a matter of time before the whole situation comes to light. But before then, we have to make sure that Vaughn is not painted in a bad light.

I have just gotten home from the pharmacy to get some painkillers when my phone rings. Yeah, you guessed right—Vaughn.

“Rachel, come over to my place now.”

What?

“Okay.”

The line clicks dead.

That’s strange. What does he need me to come over to his place for? I should have asked him, but my dumb ass reflexively mouthed off an “Okay.” Why? Because it’s always an “Okay” to all of Vaughn’s requests?

Certainly, he isn’t stupid enough to try any funny business with me again, is he?

I shake my head to dispel my thoughts. I head toward my car, but not before grabbing my prescriptions because I know it will only get worse by the time I am done with whatever it is that Vaughn wants me to do.

Shit. The car won’t start.

It’s high time I asked Vaughn for a raise so I can save up for another car. By the way, I more than deserve it!

Without wasting any time to see what’s wrong with it—because Vaughn will kill me if I get left trying to figure that out—I hail a cab.

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