Page 30 of The Thing About My Rival

She puts the tray down on Leo’s desk, and he breaksinto the first warm smile I’ve seen on him since we met. “Thank you.”

Amelia ignores him and picks up two mugs, hands one to Miller and one to Chase.

“I asked for black coffee,” Miller says.

“And me for white,” Chase says, giving the contents of his mug a suspicious sniff.

“Oh, sorry.” Amelia takes back their drinks, gives one to Prince Oliver, the other to Leo.

“Hot chocolate?” Prince Oliver says.

“Mine,” Leo says. “And I have your tea.”

They switch drinks.

Never in my life would I have had Leo down as a hot chocolate drinker, but I guess you never can tell.

“Not to worry,” Leo says, flashing Amelia another smile that reaches right to his eyes.

If he’s suddenly in a good mood, we definitely need to take advantage of that.

“These must be yours then.” Amelia hands the other two mugs to Miller and Chase.

The two men look at them, then switch drinks.

“I’m not here because of my waitressing skills,” Amelia mumbles as she picks up the tray. “I would have ordered in from Found Grounds if you’d given me more notice. They’re the professional hot beverage makers, not me.”

She gives me a subtle eye roll as she passes by on her way out. Maybe I’m not the only one who wishes this was my office.

“As I was saying,” I tell Leo, who’s gazing right past me to watch Amelia leave the room. “Everything’s great.”

I look to Hugo for backup, but there’s nothing. Is he so frightened of losing this job that he’s been struck speechless for the first time in his life?

“Isn’t it, Hugo?” I give him a nudge of encouragement, my elbow making contact with the forearm that felt so good wrapped around my waist in Paris.

Jesus, why the hell has my stupid brain gone there? This is the worst possible moment to be distracted with those ridiculous thoughts.

“Oh, sorry. Yes.” He turns to look down at me, his eyes meeting mine for a second in unspoken agreement of the game we’re playing here. The game where we’re both on the same side. “Yes, everything’s great, guys.”

He drapes his arm around my shoulder.

Okay, well, I didn’t see that coming.

It’s as unexpected as the flutter that starts in my chest and shimmies worryingly lower when he pulls me to his solid side. I tuck perfectly under his arm and catch a waft of that spicy antiperspirant—the aroma shoots my mind right back to him perching me on the shelf of that Paris janitor’s closet.

He dangles his hand over my shoulder, like it’s lived there all its life, and leans into me. “Wilcox and I are a top team. The finest. At the end of the season, you’re not going to want to get rid of either of us.”

Shitbags. Don’t put that idea in their heads. If I can’t have the owner’s office—and clearly I can’t—then I want the goddamn head coach job to myself.

“No chance,” Leo says. “The budget’s to the bone as it is. That’s why you decided to rent your own apartment, remember?”

“Well, the one you were offering wasn’t quite?—”

“You were offered an apartment?” I look up at him over the rise of his right pec.

He raises his eyebrows, mouth curled up at one side. “You mean your dad’s contractdidn’toffer you one?”

Not that I’d want to waste the club’s money on my accommodation when I can stay over the pub for free. But still, my dad… Urgh.

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