Page 4 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

“We. Are. Traveling. To. The UK. Tomorrow!” He speaks slowly and dramatically, pausing at each word as though I have little understanding of the English language.

“Yes, sir. How long, sir?” I sigh, knowing there is no use arguing.

“I can’t tell. A week. Two. A month. Doesn’t matter. It’s part of the job now.”

“Not a problem,” I whisper, my thoughts screaming. Who will watch over Archie for a week a month or more?

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get started. You can’t stand here all day,” he barked at me, dismissing me.

It was at least 10:30 p.m. before I got back to the apartment to find Archie growling with hunger.

“Hey, boy,” I say as he rubs against my feet. I lower myself to scratch his head, fondling him gently. “Sorry, I know you’re famished, but we have a bigger problem on our hands. Who will take care of you for the next few days?”

I hiss and shake my head. The picture of Vaughn kicking a ball across the field with my face drawn on it flashes through my mind as I make Archie’s food.

Chapter two

Chapter Two

Vaughn

Two middle-aged men accost me, stopping me in my tracks, hands outstretched and eager to shake mine.

“Vaughn! Great job today!” one of them beams, his grip firm as he pulls me in for an unnecessary pat on the back.

“Thanks,” I mutter, forcing a smile while my eyes scan for an exit.

Just moments ago, when I stepped out of the conference room, a wave of relief washed over me. The shoot was finally over, and all I wanted was to escape the barrage of people. Now, I am standing in front of two men who seem rather overzealous in impressing me with their chatter.

Where is Rachel when you need her?

My eyes move from the entrance and begin wandering again as I search for her in the room. I try to push out the buzz andchatter from my mind. A part of me desperately wants to wave the cane in my hand around and ask everybody to shut up.

I am in a foul mood, thanks to those bloody stairs that have succeeded in setting me back by another two months. I still curse that defender who tackled me on the field two weeks ago. Now, I am missing the entire season and caught up with two old men trying to read all my achievements back at me in an attempt to get my attention.

I spotted her in the corner. Her black hair is packed in a bun. Her green eyes twinkle in excitement as a handsome man with amazing hair towers over her, holding her hand in his. Her head tilts back, the light catching her hair, and for a moment, I forget about the crowd pressing in on me.

Another scene comes rushing back to me—Jessica, two years ago, with my best friend, or rather a former best friend, at that party. This was long before I caught them two nights after my engagement. It is one of the many reasons I am so hostile toward Rachel. She reminds me too much of Jessica.

That flowing black hair, those expressive green eyes that have a perpetual glint of light behind them, and the striking resemblance. They could easily pass for sisters, with Rachel being even prettier than Jessica. Sometimes, I catch myself admiring her as she walks away from me. Those graceful steps make her lithe body sway from side to side.

Something twists in my gut. The way she leans closer and places her hand lightly on his chest. My irritation flares as I watch them, and I feel the heat rise to my cheeks.

“Vaughn! Can we get a photo together?” one of the men speaks, breaking my concentration.

I force myself to nod, but my gaze remains locked on Rachel. She is still laughing, completely oblivious to everything else around her. The cameras begin to click, and I turn my gazetoward the photographer, barely able to force a smile. The men around me are striking poses when my patience runs out.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, my voice clipped, as I push past the man blocking my exit.

“Just one more—”

I ignore the pleading voice behind me as I make my way up to Rachel.

“Rachel, we need to go.” I brush past the man standing in front of her deliberately.

He is not even that tall.I make a mental note of the man standing beside me with a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, are you done?” The shock on her face is unmistakable, and for a brief second, I feel a flash of guilt because she looks terrified.

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