Page 106 of The Thing About My Rival

I swing from side to side on the chair at my still completely unused desk next to my completely unused shelves. “I’ve been hoping you’d say something like that.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile behind them. “You saw Miller’s text, right?”

I nod. He’d sent a joint message to me and Wilcox, asking us to join them in the owners’ box for a celebratory drink when we were free.

“Right, then.” She straightens and yanks her ponytail tight. “Let’s go up.”

“Do you want me to ask if your dad’s still there?”

“Nope. If he’s there, he’s there. If he isn’t…” She shrugs. “Up to him.”

“Okay.” I hold out my hand at full stretch as she approaches.

But as soon as she’s close enough she bats it away. “I can’t hold that. Someone might see.”

Movement over her shoulder catches my attention.

Her head turns to follow my gaze, her eyes turning wide and steely, cheeks flushing.

Mr. Wilcox is standing outside our open door to the hallway. Neatly trimmed hair, graying at the temples, his chin and neck red from razor burn, a pale blue shirt and an orange tie visible under his beige trench coat.

He looks like a dick.

“Congratulations,” he says, his gaze shifting from Wilcox to me as if she could not possibly be where the congratulations should go.

“Hugo,” she says. “This is my father, Brent Wilcox.”

He doesn’t offer me his hand, so I don’t offer him mine. I don’t even get up. And I can’t possibly bring myself tosay it’s either good or nice to meet him. Because it’s not. He’s been a total arsehole to the woman I love. And left her with wounds I’m not sure will ever heal.

I settle on a two-letter word. “Hi.”

He’s very lucky he’s not getting a four-letter one.

“How come you didn’t let me know you’d be here?” Wilcox says, the hurt in her voice obvious—to me, anyway. That man looks like he wouldn’t know compassion if compassion ran up to him holding a giant flashing sign reading “Hi, I’m Compassion.”

“I wasn’t sure I was until the last minute.” His voice is weaker than I expected. “And I didn’t want to bother you. Knew you’d be busy, obviously. So I called Miller just before the game.”

If no one else is going to mention our amazing fucking win out there, I sure as hell am. “It was a great match, Brent. We’ve turned this team around from winning nothing last year, to still being in with a chance of qualifying for the playoffs this year.”

“Yes. You did well,” he says.

We didwell? Fuck off, Brenty Boy.

“Ramon is a real star,” his humorless face continues. “I bet he’ll be off soon.”

Okay, now I get to my feet. “Not if your daughter has anything to do with it, he won’t.” I’ll big her up to him if she won’t do it herself.

Realizing what I’m up to, Wilcox shakes her head. “No, don’t, it’s fine,” she mumbles.

“Don’t be silly, your dad should know what a great job you’ve done.” I turn to her God-awful father. “Your amazing, talented, and incredibly smart daughter has brought this team together in ways I never would have thought to. It’s thanks to her they pull together on the pitch. It’sthanks to her that Ramon is so happy here he might not leave—as long as we can give him a hefty pay rise next season, of course. And it’s thanks to her that I’m a better coach than I ever would have been without her by my side.”

I don’t need to look at Wilcox to know her eyes are boring holes into the side of my head. I can feel them.

Brent adjusts the belt on his coat. “Right. Well. Like I said. Congratulations.”

He takes one step, then pauses to look at Wilcox. I’d like to think that the microchange in his expression is a glimmer of love and affection for his daughter, but I’m more inclined to think it’s gas.

“We have a buyer for the apartment,” he says. “Maybe you’d like to come over for one last dinner in the city before we leave.”

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