Page 39 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

Today’s training is light, way lighter than the rigorous sessions we have been having in the past week. We hardly even play a match; fitness drills are the order of the day: sprints, shuttle runs, footwork exercises, and some cone drills. Afterward, the fitness coach does some assessments on us, and we are done for the day.

But the fact that I’m very tired physically doesn’t mean I am fine.

“Perhaps I should call Dr. Craig,” I say to myself. I feel irritable. Perhaps it’s because Paul kept throwing side glances my way while I was in a one-on-one drill with Collins.

Yeah, we had a one-on-one drill, which I had initiated. I feel guilty about how I reacted when I saw him with Rachel. He didn’t seem bothered by it at all, and I’d like to think we are pretty much on good terms now.

Paul, a midfielder on the team and my former best friend, wouldn’t stop stealing glances at me—awkward glances and a stupid half-smile. The fucker had the guts to smile at me after fucking my former girlfriend two years ago!

It wouldn’t be hard to guess that ever since that happened, we hadn’t been on speaking terms. We had mostly avoided each other until necessary, but the fact that this asshole smiled at me today made me mad. I was pissed, and I swore, if not for Coach McLauren’s presence, I would have gone over and given him a smack on the snake face.

What more? Nicholas hasn’t taken me home either—a place I desperately want to be at this moment. Instead, he is taking me to the Charity Center to kick Rachel’s ass—she has fucked up my schedule again, and I am beyond pissed at this point. If not for my great lawyer, my name would have been on the news for terrible reasons:Famous soccer player Vaughn Graham signs deals with two rival companies, sparking controversy.

My patience wears thin as we wait for the lights to turn green, my chest heaving. Even Nicholas shifts uncomfortably in his chair from the tension in the car.

When I finally get to the office, I hop down from the car and head straight to the reception.

“Good afternoon, Vaughn. How is your day going?” I hear a voice say from over the table, followed by a smile that makes me even more annoyed. It’s Carmen.

“Is Rachel here?” I ask urgently without replying to her greetings, and I watch the smile disappear from her face.

“Yes. I saw her come in this morning. She’s likely in her office,” she replies unenthusiastically, her thin, painted red lips flattening into a straight line.

I take the elevator and head to the third floor. I never thought there’d be a day when I would be asking if Rachel came to work, but here we are! After having taken days off in the last two weeks on her own, it won’t be surprising if she takes too much liberty in the free day, I gave her yesterday and adds days of her own. Yeah, she’s changed that much! It irks me even more that there’s this feeling that is stopping me from putting her in check.

I flung her office door wide open without taking the trouble to knock. “Oh, so you came to work? That’s cool. Any explanation as to why you didn’t bring me my breakfast?”

She raises a well-plucked eyebrow in surprise, but she still remained graceful. “I didn’t think—”

“You know what, that’s even beside the point.” I close the distance between us in long strides and stand over her. “You fucked up my schedules again. I am not supposed to meet with that client you called me about until next week!”

I see her swallow. “Y-you mean the ‘energy drink for athletes’ company?”

I drag a chair opposite her and sit down. “Oh, are there more of my schedules that you messed up?”

She shakes her head frantically and pauses to wipe a bead of sweat off her forehead. “I am sorry, Vaughn. I . . . it was a mistake. I thought it was scheduled for today.”

She does look sorry . . . and scared. And I love it! Call me a sadist, but I don’t like feeling like I’m losing control over something that should be under my control.

“I’ll fix it,” she says.

Seeing that she does not match my scolding with a confrontational reaction, I calm down a bit. “You don’t have to. It would be a waste of time to abandon the meeting after gettingthere already, don’t you think? It’s been settled. What you have to do, though, is inform the pilot to get my jet ready. We are going to Australia.”

“What? I thought that was in another two weeks.” Her eyes widen, and her lips slightly part.

“Of course you do,” I grunt. “Might as well be my own secretary.”

You wouldn’t believe the look that she gives me. It’s subtle but obvious enough for me to notice. She better not ruin my mood further with her newfound sassy attitude—there’s no telling how I might react.

She still has a doubtful look in her eyes. I bet she thinks she didn’t make a mistake. She rolls her swivel chair backward and leans forward, exposing generous cleavage between two swollen mounds as she pulls at a drawer.

Sweet Jesus.

My eyes wouldn’t move an inch from her chest for about ten seconds, and it would have taken even longer if not for the burgeoning erection in my pants. I have just shorts on. I can’t risk it.

She slaps a file on her desk, her expression serious as she scans through it, and then she looks back at me in astonishment.

“You are actually right—”

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