Page 10 of The Hellion and the Captain
“I have so many questions,” Lily said. “What your voicesounds like, how you plan on changing after matches, what you would do if you were ever discovered.”
“One thing at a time, Lily,” Emmaline said with a smile. “First, I have to make the team.”
Lily bit her lip. “Rhys is deciding which players will remain with the club.”
“He is making the recommendations to the club committee to make a decision,” Emmaline corrected.
Lily’s eyes rose to hers. “Is that why you were being so contrary towards him yesterday?”
“I was not being contrary!” Emmaline protested, to which Lily rolled her eyes.
“Perhaps not contrary, but you must admit you were teasing him.”
“I was flirting.”
“Well, I suggest you avoid flirting with him in the future, or he will soon realize that Emmett is Emmaline.”
“He doesn’t enjoy it otherwise?”
“Honestly, I have never seen Rhys show interest in a woman for longer than an evening. He is always too focused on all the business before him, all that he is responsible for. I don’t believe he has time for love and romance.”
“Well,” Emmaline said, smiling at herself in the rusted and cracked floor-length mirror sitting in the corner of the attic, “maybe I can change his mind.”
“I would highly recommend that you do not try,” Lily said with a sigh. “For both of your sakes.”
Chapter Four
Rhys sat back in his oak captain’s chair, stretching his arms far above his head as he attempted to ease the aches in his shoulders.
His secretary, Mr. Underwood, had just shown out Rhys’s last client of the day. Rhys hadn’t relished declining the man’s loan, but in the end, he couldn’t grant the man’s request. He had made a decent case, but Rhys used the same instinct that he did on the football field to know that it wasn’t a proposition that would ever work, as much as the man was trying to prove – even if it was just to himself – that it would be so.
Rhys considered that he was doing the man a favor.
Some days, he truly hated this job, even though he knew how fortunate he was to have risen to such a position, considering where he had started.
The quarters where he now worked seemed worlds away from the crumbling brick and tumult of the factory district. He didn’t take it for granted for a moment, and at times, he could still feel the shadow of soot and steam on his shoes. He was thankful for the relentless drive his father had instilled in him.
He wished that all of his success was due to hard work, but he had to provide credit where it was due. He had played football for a man who owned a bank, who had decided that he could use the leadership Rhys exemplified on the football field in his business.
Rhys looked around his office. It was spacious and well lit, thanks to large windows lining two walls. The desk was a polished mahogany, merging seamlessly into the shelves filled with leather-bound books. The carpet underfoot was thick and plush, a deep burgundy color contrasting with the neutral walls. A serene landscape painting hung above Rhys’ desk, the only touch of nature in the otherwise sterile room, a room in which a movement-oriented man like Rhys found difficult to spend nearly the entirety of his days.
He shouldn’t complain—not when so many of the people he lived next to and played football beside spent their days in a mill, a factory, or a mine that would likely take years off their lives due to the conditions.
But the bank was not where his mind was. His mind was still on the football field, specifically the grassy stretch beyond the Harcourt Mill.
He had a big decision to make today. While he was not the final judge, he knew the club committee would consider his recommendation for which player should complete their eleven.
He ripped a piece of paper from the ledger on the desk before him, not feeling guilty about focusing on football now that the bank hours were over.
Sometimes he felt like he was two different people, acting as one of them for half the day and the other for the other half.
He had three options.
He wrote the names of each player over the top of the page. James Anderson. Montgomery Jones. Emmett Williams.
He listed the best qualities of each of them as well as theless redeeming qualities. He couldn’t help but return to Williams. He was the most naturally talented of the bunch, that was for certain, but he lacked conditioning more than the other two.
Still, Rhys was drawn to him more than the others, for reasons he couldn’t determine.
