Page 9 of My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star

He picks up the bottle of water sitting by the fence and chugs it while holding his food in one hand. In all of this, he looks rather content and not the vicious boss who seems to scare everyone.

“Are you sure it’s safe to be training with your knee?”

He looks up at me, saying nothing as he continues to chew slowly. I can tell that he thinks I am asking a stupid question. I look down at my fingers and rub them slowly. I can see a swelling beginning to appear around the area where it stings.

“What happened to your fingers?” His gaze shifts down to my hand before I can pull it away.

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, feeling embarrassed. “Got a bit bruised when the door swung open.”

Without a word, Vaughn reaches for my hand, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they close around mine. His touch is warm, and there’s a softness in the way he turns my hand over to inspect the bruise. His thumb brushes over the tender spot, and for a moment, my breath catches.

It’s strange to see him like this, focused but not in that cold, detached way I’m used to. It’s the first time he is paying me any attention outside of work, which is often negative. I look at him as he inspects my hand. What could possibly be going through his mind? Does he like my manicure? Does he find my fingers too thin or my hands too coarse? But then, just as quickly, he drops my hand, just like he had done when he first placed his hand on my knee in the car.

“You’ll be fine,” he says, his voice flat. “You can tell Nick to take you to the hospital to have it checked out if it bothers you so much. Make sure you both get back here in time, though. I’ll be training for the next”—he pauses and flips his wrist to check the time—“three hours. Besides, every day not spent training is a day wasted.”

As he says the last words, he turns and jogs back onto the field.

I stare after him, my hand still tingling where his fingers touched. That’s it? No concern, no acknowledgment of what just happened—just back to business as usual.

I sigh, shaking my head as I watch him call for the ball again. Another man I hadn’t noticed earlier throws a ball at him, and in seconds, his focus is completely back on the game. He dribbles it with that same relentless intensity, his body moving in perfect sync with the ball. Another shot flies into the net, and the soundof the ball hitting the back of the goal echoes across the empty field.

“Mr. Nick?” I turn around to find the driver, who is sitting three rows behind me. There is a wide smile on his face as he watches Vaughn. I feel irritation creep across my skin.

“Yes?”

“Take me home. We have to be back in three hours, and I really need a nap as it is.” There is no way I am going to waste another three hours waiting for him to be done with training.

Chapter four

Chapter Four

Vaughn

“Didn’t I ask you to get this checked yesterday? What were you then doing in the three hours you were gone?” I say, watching her face.

Today, she looks almost breathtaking. At the back of my mind, I always knew she was a beautiful woman, but it’s stark and glaring now, making it hard to look away. The way the lip gloss gives her lips a wet, exciting invite.

“I . . . I was tired. I slept off when I got home.”

“You were supposed to go straight to the hospital,” I carry on scolding her as I finish wrapping her hand. She winces as I wrap the gauze around her hand. I try as gently as I can, but she yelps from time to time, complaining about the tenderness.

We are still at it when Nicholas walks into the room with a bag slung over his shoulder. He smiles in our direction as ifexperiencing a blissful moment. I became aware of the close distance between Rachel and me. Slowly, I moved away from Rachel and drop her hand.

“What?” I bark at him, irritated by the smile on his face.

“The jet is flying back to New York.”

“Are all the bags loaded?”

“Yes,” he replies, nodding aggressively.

“Alright,” I say, waving my hand and dismissing him.

I turn back to Rachel, who is inspecting her bandaged hand and poking it with a finger.

“Stop doing that. You are going to make it swell even more. Let’s go.”

The morning air bites as we walk toward the jet, the sky just beginning to lighten with streaks of soft pink and orange. My body feels like it’s made of lead. Every muscle screams, and my eyes burn. I am back on my cane, my knees burning. I had hoped that moving them a little would help loosen the taunt muscles and tendons, but now, it is even worse than before.

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