Page 37 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

I always make it a habit to appear as professional as possible on workdays, even though that is not really necessary. It’s not like I work for a corporate industry. I always do my hair in a bun and wear professional outfits and shoes. Somehow, it makes me feel more competent, and I think it also keeps me from punching Vaughn in the face anytime he annoys me. I just look at myself and think,You’re at work. Be professional.

The streets bustle with activity: people rushing home from work in buses, younger people making their way into bars and clubs, street vendors with merchandise in full display, and yeah, the ever-present street performers looking to charm you into parting with your last couple of bucks.

Archie won’t let me appreciate the nice and warm weather as she keeps on walking with quick steps, pulling me with her collar. Archie leads, and I follow.

Gosh! I have almost forgotten what it feels like to have fun outside of work!I think to myself. I know simply walking your cat down the streets might not be many people’s idea of fun, but if this is the first real break you’ve had from work in months, it’s the most fun thing on the planet. They say people crave what they don’t have: a full day off, in my case.

I couldn’t do this when I faked illness just to stay home because, well, I was avoiding Vaughn at the time. My troubled thoughts wouldn’t let me think of enjoying myself. And now, I can enjoy myself all I want, knowing that I have gotten all or most of Vaughn’s schedules planned and managed to reach a settlement with Mobilix Solutions so that they withdrew their lawsuit. For once, everything seems to be in order.

I stopped at a mall to get some snacks for my movie night. Typically, days like this should be spent with friends, but you don’t work all day for Vaughn and expect to have friends. I pick up two bags of Doritos and a bag of Cheetos, pay, and exit the mall.

My phone rang as soon as I stepped out of the mall. Just as I reach into my purse to check who it is, desperately wishing it’s not Vaughn, I collide with someone—or they collide with me. I am not sure.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” I say, frantically bending down and gathering some papers that spilled out from the man’s bag.

He reaches down and does the same. “Don’t worry about it. I bumped into you.” He gives me a reassuring smile that helps make me less tense, and for the first time since the collision, I notice he’s wearing a suit.

We finish gathering the papers, and he is still smiling at me. His tailored suit, his well-groomed hair, his shoes, his eyes. He reminds me of Wall Street guys and conmen at the same time, but I guess there isn’t much of a difference.

“Nice cat you’ve got there, young lady. What is its name?”

There’s a way with which he asks the question that makes me feel he’s genuinely interested rather than looking for a way to start up small talk.

“Archie.”

“Hmm, quite an uncommon name for a cat, don’t you think?”

I laugh lightly. “Well, that’s one of the things that make him unique, I guess.”

“I see. Well, I just happen to be getting out of the hellhole I call work, and I am heading back home. But could we grab a drink, if you don’t mind? Just my way of apologizing for bumping into you.”

You bump into someone, and the next thing you’re asking is to grab a drink. A little too random if you ask me.

I had misgivings about having a drink with a total stranger, but really, what do I have to lose? It’s a day off, so why not? Sometimes, it takes one stranger to make the rest of your day.

“Sure, sir.”

“Thank you.”

We walk to a nearby café and take our seats.

“Can I pet your cat?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?”

He reaches out to touch Archie on the head, and Archie swishes at the man’s hand.

“Hey! That’s not nice!” I scold.

He simply laughs it off and says it’s okay.

We engage in small talk as we sip our coffee, only for him to steer the conversation in an entirely different direction.

“There’s a matter about Vaughn Graham I would like to talk with you about.”

I’m not surprised at the mention of Vaughn’s name. I told him earlier that I worked for Vaughn when he asked where I worked simply because he doesn’t strike me as someone who cares for soccer much. I usually don’t do that out of fear of some crazy fan pestering me into getting their stuff signed like I even have the power to do that.

Still, it catches me off guard. “Excuse me?”

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