Page 70 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

I shake my head, irritation simmering within. “I’m not interested in the offer, thank you. I like my job, and I like Vaughn.”

I see Collins’s demeanor soften slightly, and I can see the disappointment across his face. He presses, with an air of defensiveness in his tone, “Are you sure it’s not because of Vaughn? Doesn’t he treat you that well?”

The words hit me with the force of a slap, and my irritation burns to anger. “What do you mean by that?” I ask, my voice sharp. “There’s a lot going on for Vaughn right now. You don’t know what he’s dealing with.”

Collins raises his hands in mock surrender. “You could do better, is all I’m saying. You deserve someone who appreciates you.”

“Stop,” I say, my patience fraying. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve. You don’t know me or my relationship with Vaughn.”

He crosses his arms defensively and leans back in his chair. “I’m just worried about you,” he says. “It feels like you’re always stuck in his shadow.”

I snort, and my anger boils over. “Stuck in his shadow? He’s a person, not a shadow I get cast over me. I have my own life, my own goals, and I’m not going to let someone—let alone you—tell me otherwise.”

Collins’s expression changes, and for a moment, I see him realize his mistake. “Okay, okay, I get it. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

I try to calm the anger bubbling within me, but a deep breath doesn’t help. I just want to be respected on my own merits.

“Collins, I don’t need you to come in and play savior,” I say.

He nods, and we just sit for a moment, the tension in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. My heart is racing, a mix of frustration and some other feeling I can’t quite put my finger on.

My phone buzzes on the table. I look down and see an onslaught of missed calls and texts from Vaughn. My heart skips a beat as I swipe to check the texts.

Rachel, where are you?

I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.

Please pick up.

The urgency in his messages twists my stomach. How did I get so absorbed in this conversation with Collins that I missed his calls? I can’t believe it.

“I have to go,” I say abruptly, standing up. I pick up my bag and think about what Vaughn might need to talk about.

“Wait,” Collins says, standing as well. “I’m sorry for pushing. I just—”

“Not now, Collins,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “I need to get to Vaughn.”

As I rush out of the café, I can feel Collins’s eyes on my back, but I don’t turn around. I’m listening—listening to Vaughn, to the urgency in his words. It must be important; whatever it is he needs to discuss.

Once I’m outside, I pull up my phone and I see an incoming call from Vaughn. He wants to see me immediately.

I shake off the remnants of frustration as I make my way to my car. I don’t want to let that get in the way of what’s important. I need to be there for him, and he needs me.

The busy streets blur as I drive, my heart pounding in my chest. Anxious thoughts swirl in my mind. What could have happened? Why was he so insistent?

I can’t help but partially rush toward Vaughn’s mansion. I can’t move any faster. Every step feels heavy, the urgency of his messages propelling me forward. What could have happened to make him so frantic in the world? Something is terribly wrong, and I can’t shake the feeling.

I pull into the driveway, and there’s Vaughn, pacing up and down in front of the door, his fury a full storm. When I get out of the car, I can feel the tension radiating from him, the tangible energy sending a chill up my spine.

“Rachel!” he barks as I approach, his voice slicing through the air. “What took you so long?”

“I came as fast as I could!” I say, trying to keep panic from rising in me. “What’s going on?”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing, his voice filled with anger. “You’re lazy. You’re too busy playing the field with my team and not doing your job!”

He accuses me, and I blink, taken aback. “Flirting? What are you talking about, Vaughn?” The words get caught in my throat.I can feel anger bubbling beneath the surface. I don’t deserve this.

“Collins,” he snaps, the name sounding like a curse. “You two are always together. You’re my secretary, not his plaything!”

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