Page 29 of The Thing About My Rival

My head almost spins off my neck as it snaps to look at him. Hugo Powers agreeing with me is about as likely as my dad telling me I’ve done an awesome job.

Or could it be that soccer’s gift to women is as afraid of being fired as I am?

“Like I said,” Hugo continues, “this is an unusual situation. But it was an inspired decision.”

Ah, the good old-fashioned suck-up technique. Excuse me while I try to stop my eyes from rolling out of my head.

“With my experience on the pitch and Wilcox’s expertise in the all-important behind-the-scenes player maintenance, fostering their physical longevity in the game and the longevity of their loyalty to the club, and all the mindset work and mental health support she’s brought in, well…”

He pauses to flash them that dazzling smile and point between us like he’s always thought we’re a great team. “…you’ve got a winning combo here.”

And, with that, I’ve learned something new about Hugo Powers—he’s a very convincing liar.

“Oh, right, well then I guess there’s no problem.”Prince Oliver makes to stand up, clearly considering the issue resolved.

He drops back into his chair when Miller starts speaking. “But what about the fight at training the other day? And whatever was happening when I just came downstairs?” The property developer pushes his hands into his pants pockets. “And the yelling at the sports psychologist? None of that is good for team morale. And I can’t imagine the doctor got a very good impression of us.”

Ah, so it’s Hugo they’re pissed off with. It’s impossible not to feel a small sense of relief.

“No,” Leo joins in. “We need to be boosting the club’s reputation, not dragging it further into the gutter. Having to pay both of you is bad enough, but these stories have already gotten back to us, and with Sharpe and Rossi always sniffing around for leaked info for their podcast there’s a chance they could spread wider. Rumors of petty backroom fighting would be more than embarrassing—it’d be intolerable. And I’m not sure that’s a risk we’re prepared to take.”

The relief is washed away by a wave of returning panic. Guess it’s not just Hugo then.

“Oh, it’s just animated debates,” Hugo says, trying to dismiss it. “Part of the passion for the sport. We all just want what’s best for the team, what will make us win. That’s the name of the game, right?” Underneath his usual confident bluster there’s a hint of scrambling in his voice, like he can sense himself on the chopping block.

“Well…” Chase says it like a question and folds his arms. If even Mr. Nice Guy is pissed off enough to be unsure about keeping us both, then we’re in serious shit. “It’s only Thursday. You guys haven’t even been here a week and already people are talking about how obvious it is you don’t get along.”

“We never wanted two coaches,” Leo says. “But we thought we’d stay positive and see it as two being better than one. But if you’re going to fight like you’re on opposing teams rather than the same one, and drag down the club’s already pretty low reputation, we’d be better off putting one of you on a leave of absence.”

A fire rips through me so hot he might as well have lit me like a match. “Oh, I’m sure we can?—”

I stop mid-sentence, realizing Hugo’s talking at the same time, saying something about being a team player and being able to get along with anyone, except his words are coming out in the wrong order. Something like, “It’s fine. We’re player teams. We together well work. Fine. Totally.”

His hands are clenching and unclenching by his sides, and I swear to God there’s a sheen on his forehead that wasn’t there a minute ago.

Watching even Mr. Cockyface lose it, is like being on a plane at thirty thousand feet and watching a panic-stricken flight attendant run down the aisle and strap herself in.

I knew he wanted it badly but had no idea he wasthisdesperate.

But this is survival of the fittest. The only way to guarantee they’ll keep me is to make sure they don’t send either of us home—because if one of us has to go, the odds are that it will be me. So to save myself I—oh, irony of ironies—have to save him too.

I heave in a breath, but my chest is so tight I can only fill the top ten percent of my lungs. “So sorry it’s comeacross that way,” I tell the Fab Four. “We’re both very passionate about what we do. That’s all it is.”

I glance up at Hugo, who’s subtly trying to wipe his top lip.

“We are both committed to leading this team to victory,” I continue. “And Dr. Boateng is so delighted to be working with us that she’s coming back next week. She felt like we were on the verge of a real breakthrough when Hugo barged—” Shit. “I mean, when we decided to cut the session short and get the guys out onto the field.”

“Here you go.” Amelia appears in the doorway behind us holding a tray of mugs. Her arrival cuts through the atmosphere and thankfully distracts from my blunder.

Hugo catches my eye as I turn back to face the room and gives me a tiny nod of approval for my intervention.

God bless Amelia for buying me a bit more thinking time. She and I were good friends in high school, but fell out of touch when we went to different colleges. So I couldn’t have been happier when my dad took her on right after graduation. And she’s been here ever since—for ten years.

I don’t doubt she could have moved on to a much more glamorous club long ago, but she’s come to love the Commoners as much as I do. Plus, she has some family issues that keep her in Boston.

I’m excited to get to work with her—she’s always been as sharp as a freshly sharpened tack, and it didn’t take her long to pick up almost everything there is to know about how to run this place.

And I’m absolutely certain that if this office were mine now, with Amelia behind me, we’d be a force to be reckoned with in the league.

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