Page 50 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

“A-are you s-seriously bringing this up now?” His brows furrow into an expression of disappointment and disbelief. “I thought we both got the cue never to bring this up again!”

It’s my turn to stammer now. “I . . . I didn’t mean to . . .”

He stood up and disappeared into the bushes right after.

It’s not so much what he said that made me feel hurt, but the tone. Underneath his confused words was a somewhat angry undertone.

I get why he dismissed me the other time when he was driving me home and even laughed it off before asking me to get out, but why is he avoiding it now? Does he see our time together as something he’d rather put behind him, something disgusting and distasteful? Even if that’s what he thinks, why not say so? After all, it isn’t considered very kosher of him to be involved with his secretary in a sexual manner. If that is what he thinks, wouldn’t it be better to discuss it instead and put all of it behind us if that’s what he truly wants?

But why do I even worry? Vaughn has made clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, so maybe I should get past it and try to forget something that happened that day. Our work relationship has survived just fine since then. I see no reason why it should suffer now.

I keep working for the most miserable, most successful soccer player on earth while breaking my back in the process, thencome back home right after to a dinner of pain meds and cold soup while ranting about my day to a fluffy orange cat who’s probably tired of my rants.

As long as it guarantees a paycheck, why bother, right?

A series of waves crash rhythmically against the shore, accompanied by a soft breeze. Tall shadows of the surrounding trees are cast on the ground, and the sun seems to be sinking into the ocean in the distance.

I look at my phone to check what the time is, only to see that the battery is dead.

Fuck!

Powered by the frustration from Vaughn’s reaction, our dire situation, and how generally miserable my life is, I send the phone flying into a small cluster of shrubs to my left. I feel like yelling into the ocean, but that would likely attract Vaughn, whose presence I am actively avoiding; otherwise, I would have gone back to the shelter because it’s starting to get cold.

Something falls from my dress as I stand up; it’s the pain medication I had hidden from Vaughn. A smile crosses my lips as I figure I might need it soon. After all, the reason I use it all too often is right here with me. Perhaps the universe knows that, and that’s why my bag washed ashore.

Nice one, universe.

As soon as I bend down to pick it up, I hear a startling cry in the bushes. My senses instantly tense, my eyes darting in the direction it came from.

“What was that?” I mutter to myself.

It takes a second cry for me to realize that this could mean trouble. It sounds human. Vaughn and I are the only humans around here, and I could bet the cry definitely isn’t from me.

Without thinking twice, I grab the hem of my dress and sprint toward the bushes, my heart pounding. I don’t run for more than two minutes before hearing the cry again, and this time, I stop.

On a branch of a white oak tree perch three northern mockingbirds. The shade from the slender twigs and leaves partially conceals them as two of them keep on wailing, much like the cries I heard back at shore. I stifle a laugh as a wave of relief washes through me. The third mockingbird, which I assume is the mother, is pecking gently on one of the other’s heads. They would have looked cuter if they hadn’t just scared the shit out of me!

“I might as well just go back to the shelter since I have come this far,” I say to myself.

The leaves rustle against my tired feet as I walk toward the shelter, and I can feel soft shivers creeping all over my body. Soon, I hear another set of footsteps approaching me, and soon enough, Vaughn stands before me.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demands. “I was just coming back from the shore. I thought you’d tripped into the ocean or something!”

Yeah, that’s it. Old Vaughn is back. The tone of voice, the mannerisms, the default irritable expression, he’s always had—all back. It is disappointing and kinda heartbreaking. But on the upside, at least I now have my meds to cope with the upcoming stress, so well, yeah.

“What am I, stupid?” I snap back. “Why on earth would I trip into the ocean?”

“Who knows? You obviously can’t just remain in one place!” he scolds in a strong voice, a little too strong of a reaction for thinking I “wandered” off.

I got it now. This has nothing to do with him thinking I wandered off. He’s definitely mad about something. He’s probably mad about me asking what he thought about the time we spent together in his study. But do I blame him? Absolutely not. Instead, I blame my crazy feelings that keep hoping it meant something more to him other than just sex. Besides, am I not theone who brought it up on not one but two separate occasions? I literally set myself up for this sort of reaction! So yeah, I do not blame him at all.

A flame of anger slowly overpowers the hurt I feel, burning steadily in my chest as he keeps mouthing off about how I shouldn’t roam about randomly. My palms clutch tighter on the hem of my dress with each passing second. Just when I feel like I have had enough, I stomp my feet aggressively on the ground and open my mouth to tell him to shut his arrogant mouth and go fuck himself for the time being, only for him to beat me to it.

“Shut up, Rachel!”

What? So he’s figuratively beating me up and stopping me from crying?

Unsurprisingly, this gets me even more incensed, so incensed that it takes me like five seconds—five seconds I will forever be grateful for—to catch the look in his blue eyes, which have now turned dark. His body language is tense, and his demeanor alert.

---