Page 4 of Hotshot

Sloane raised a single styled eyebrow. Full, as was the fashion these days.

“Smart woman. I like you.”

Ella stored that comment away to tell her cousin when she spoke to her. Marina was going to absolutely freak.

Sloane pressed the intercom, then opened the main door when the receptionist buzzed them in. When the glass door clicked shut, two figures rose from the blue sofas in reception. They both approached Sloane, and gave Ella a quizzical once over.

“Sloane,” one of the men began. He gripped Sloane’s hand, and she dropped her posh holdall on the shiny, polished floor. “How are you? We’re absolutely thrilled you could make it in. Good to get you acclimatised before everyone else shows up. The personal touch for our new star player.”

He still pumped Sloane’s hand, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he did. He wore a tight black polo shirt, black jeans and a surprising lemon belt.

“Just happy to be part of the team, Paulo, thanks for the welcome,” Sloane replied. She threw a smile Ella’s way. Like they were in this together.

Ella smiled back. Should she stay here, or go to reception? Probably the latter, but she’d waited here too long now for the transition to be easy.

“Sorry, is this a friend of yours?” asked Lemon Belt, aka Paulo Martinez, Salchester’s chairman. His Spanish accent danced across his English words.

“This is Ella Carmichael, your new elite performance and lifestyle coach,” Sloane told him. “She’s starting today, too.”

Paulo gave Ella a warm smile and a quick handshake. “Welcome, Ella. I’m sure Beth can sort you out over there.” He wafted his hand in the direction of reception, but his focus remained solely on Sloane, the star.

Ella took the hint. “Have a great first day, Sloane. I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Sloane replied.

Ella allowed herself a small grin, then made her way to the reception desk.

Sloane Patterson was not who she expected at all.

CHAPTER3

“How’s the new flat?” Lucy Harris put both hands behind the back of her head and focused solely on her new charge. She wore a Salchester-blue training top with the initials LH on the front. Every time Sloane saw Lucy on the sidelines on TV, she was dressed in her tracksuit, as if she was ready to come on and change the game. At 40, she was one of the league’s youngest managers, having only hung up her boots six years ago.

“It’s good. Nice view of the city. I appreciate getting the penthouse.” She’d spent the first couple of nights breathing in her new city while staring out at the nightscape laid out before her. She’d needed a sweater, though. She’d been here a month now, and it was only getting worse. Even in August. In LA, August nights were still no jacket required.

“You earned it. Keep scoring goals for us this season and you can stay there.” Lucy tapped her pencil on her desk and gave Sloane a wide grin. “That was a joke, by the way.”

“I wasn’t worried. Goals are my currency.”

Lucy gave her an appreciative nod, then sat forward. “And are you coping with the weather?”

“It’s a skill I’m yet to grasp, but I’m sure it’ll come in time.”

Her manager gave a proper laugh to that. “You’re the first major US player to come to this league, and I think a lot of them are put off by the weather. But they shouldn’t be. It’s actually better to play in once you get used to it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Sloane had already ordered an electric blanket.

Lucy was a legend of the women’s game. Someone who’d won it all at club level, and was now one of the most respected managers in the league. She’d taken over Salchester when they put their women’s team together only five years ago. Little by little, the team had got stronger and were now ready to challenge for the league. Sloane was well aware that Lucy wouldn’t stand for anything less than full commitment to the cause. She was ready to do just that.

“You know some of the girls, but I wanted to ask – would you like someone to show you around the city? I can arrange one of the staff to do it if you like?”

Sloane shook her head. “I’m good. I know Layla, I’m sure she’ll show me the sights. Plus, I’ve already been photographed, which surprised me. I haven’t just won the Euros, I’m not a Lioness.”

Lucy sat back in her black leather chair. “Yes, but you’re engaged to one.”

A chill sluiced through Sloane’s body. Was she? According to the rest of the world, yes.

“Plus, last time I looked, you were still a World Cup winner, still closing in on the record for the highest number of international goals scored by an American woman.”

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