My Grumpy Billionaire Soccer Star (HOT Firefighters & Sportsmen)

1. Chapter One

Rachel

M eow!

With the speed of light and the lurking feeling of failure hovering over me in my bed, I throw the covers off my body and sit up straight with swollen, pulsing eyes and hair that birds would rather die than nest in.

“I’m up! I’m up! I’m up!”

Leaning over to the large pillow by my side, I plant a heavy kiss on the head of my roommate and best friend, Archie.

Meow.

The chubby orange thing never fails me when it comes to getting me ready for the dreary days of my life. I blink the sleep out of my eyes and jump out of bed to stumble into the bathroom.

I don’t think about either the comfort of my bed or the comfort of homemade coffee as I pick up my toothbrush and, later, hop under a hot shower.

As the water pours through my scalp and down my body, I shake my head slowly and wonder about the last time I’ve had a proper bath—with candles, a good historical romance novel, and wine on a cool evening with no worries or responsibilities the next day.

My life seems to be breezing right past me, and even now, I can picture Vaughn, my six-foot-four boss with his sleeve tattoos, kicking me around a field, a horn on either side of his head, and a wicked smile stretching his cheek.

Vaughn is a pain in my ass, but maybe I’m just the only one who sees him that way. Every time he pulls up to Vaughn Charity Center—which seems to be every day now, since his injury—he has a wide, welcoming smile for everyone except me. It’s almost like once he sets his eyes on me, his face turns sour, and suddenly, he tugs at his collar like my presence is suffocating. It’s something I don’t seem to understand.

Everyone admires him, from the janitor who willingly offers to park his car properly to the receptionist who always has a cup of coffee ready. Most people call him an angel without a doubt, and boy, does he look angelic!

His face is in such perfect symmetry that it is almost otherworldly, sculpted with delicate lines that hold both strength and gentleness. He has high cheekbones and a jawline that speaks of his strength. Two large, soulful brown eyes stare at you when he speaks, conveying every flicker of thought and feeling without a word. When he is elated, they widen even more and have a lighter shade. When he is angry, you can see them turn dark amber.

I heard the faint ringing of my phone coming from the bedroom, pulling me from my thoughts. Quickly, I rinse the lather off my head and grab my towel. There are only two people in the world who call me so early in the morning: Vaughn and my mother. I enter the room and find Archie hissing at my phone, the hair on his back rising.

It’s with great luck that he hasn’t thought of knocking the phone off the bed yet. Sometimes, I wonder why the orange cat thinks he has more rights to my bed than my phone. Before now, I used to keep my phone on the dresser, only to wake up and find it knocked to the ground, making me miss my alarms. Archie loves his sleep very much, and anything that dares to wake him from that slumber will have to deal with the consequences.

I see him raising his paw to strike at my phone.

“Don’t, Archie!” I yell at him. He looks up at me and cocks his head. “Go away,” I say, waving him off the bed with one hand while I hold on to my towel with the other.

I read the number displayed on the screen, the last four digits jumping at me and causing my heart to flutter. Somehow, I have convinced myself that not saving my mother’s number will do much good for me as I will no longer feel that anxiety creep up on me every time my phone starts buzzing. However, I can still recognize her number without even having it saved.

“Hello,” I say, pressing the warm device against my ear.

“Hey, Ray!”

I hate whenever she calls me that, like I’m still eight years old, standing in front of the bathroom mirror while she whispers sweet nonsense to me. I can imagine what conversation that girl would be having with my twenty-seven-year-old self now when she realizes that the mother we used to love so much has become our second biggest problem—after Vaughn, of course.

“Mother,” I reply in a flat voice.

“Didn’t expect you to be up this early.”

“Why did you call then? To interrupt my sleep?”

“No, can we just not fight right now?”

“I’m not fighting you or anyone. You are the one who is calling my phone, and how can I help?” I raise a brow, drumming my fingers on the dresser impatiently as the cold begins to seep into my bones.

“Leo and I are getting married this weekend.”

“Good for you,” I blurt, my eyes stinging, the news hitting me like a bucket of ice blocks thrown on my face.

“You don’t sound happy.”

“What do you want me to do? Throw a party because you are marrying your second husband since my father died?”

“Ray, you can’t keep blaming me for the death of your father. I’m sorry I moved on. He loved you as a daughter, but I have needs, too.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

“Too bad. I had needs too when you left me and Father for months with a failing heart to go have fun!”

“Christ! What would you have had me do? We were divorced. Did you expect me to leave my husband and come running? You have no idea what your father did to me! No idea! You were just a kid!”

“I don’t care. I couldn’t care. It’s not going to change the fact that he died, and you seem pretty fine with that.”

“You can’t keep pushing me away because my marriage with your father did not work. You can’t keep doing that! It is as much his fault as it is mine.”

“Well, you’re not dead, Mom! Happy?”

“Ray, listen to me—”

“I’m going to be late for work. What do you need from me, Mom? Is there anything I can help you with?”

There is a brief pause with a lot of heavy breathing in the background. I am making lines on the mahogany table with my fingernail, a heavy weight on my chest making it difficult for me to breathe.

“Will you come? I want you to,” she says in a flurry.

“Why? Why would I come to your wedding? Why put myself through that level of hurt?”

“Ray . . .”

“Goodbye, Mother.”

“Don’t you—”

The phone line clicks dead. I drop my phone on the dresser and take two deep breaths. My heart threatens to give out, and a tear slips from my eye. Suddenly, I feel a soft thud beside me. I look down, and there is Archie, watching me with his big, green eyes. Without a word, he pads over and climbs into my lap, kneading my legs gently before curling up against me. I can feel the warmth of his body through my clothes, and as he begins to purr, the steady, soothing vibration feels like it’s unraveling some of the tightness in my chest.

“Hey, Archie. Thank you,” I whisper, running my fingers through his soft fur. He presses his head into my hand in response, his purrs growing louder. I can’t help but smile just a little as he curls tighter against me. Somehow, he knows. He always knows when I need him most.

Between my mother’s call and Archie’s little cuddle session, I managed to get to the office an hour late. As I sit in the traffic leading to the last turn before getting to the office, I contemplate exiting the car and just walking down to the office. Two missed calls from Vaughn mean I have to put my phone in airplane mode.

His breakfast sits on the passenger seat next to me. My eyes glance at the clock on the dashboard—9:15 a.m. There is a sea of red brake lights stretching ahead of me. I sigh and rest my head on the steering wheel. I am going to have quite a horrible day. Vaughn will kill me for messing up his breakfast schedule by over half an hour and fourteen minutes.

He has a thing with time where anything later than thirty minutes is enough to incur his wrath. Even his managers know not to interrupt his schedule ever, and here I am, a sitting duck with no hope in sight, the universe playing some kind of cruel joke. I curse my mother under my breath for messing up my emotional and mental state.

I flick on the radio, trying to drown out the noise of honking horns and my own rising tension. The soft hum of a pop song fills the car, but it does little to ease the knot in my stomach. My mind is already at the office—meetings, emails, and the stack of paperwork I left unfinished the night before all racing through my thoughts.

The car in front of me crawls forward again, and I press the gas, moving another few feet before slamming on the brakes once more. I glance out the window at the chaos of downtown: pedestrians darting between cars, delivery trucks clogging side streets, and cyclists weaving dangerously close to bumpers. It feels like the entire city is stuck in this endless, infuriating gridlock.

The light ahead finally turns green, and the cars begin to move more steadily this time. I say a silent prayer as I switch lanes, hoping it doesn’t end soon.

I finally arrive and race through the parking lot, juggling Vaughn’s coffee, breakfast, and my bag in one hand while holding a stack of documents in the other.

“Miss Rachel!” the receptionist calls my name as I walk through the door.

“Hey, Carmen. Is Mr. Vaughn around?” I signal with my head.

“Asking that kind of stupid question”—I jump around to see Vaughn behind me with his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face—“knowing very well that I told you I would be here every day for the next two weeks while my injury heals is just as annoying as handing me a cold breakfast which I assume very well that you are about to do.”

I open my mouth but cannot find the words. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, and his eyes are dark blue.

“Do you have an explanation as to why you are just coming now?” His voice is sharp, cutting through the noise like a whip. I wince internally before looking up at him. He is still wearing his sportswear after his usual rigorous training just before breakfast. Typically, he would have changed into a more formal outfit just after his meal but seeing that he is still in his sportswear means he is waiting for his breakfast.

“Are you deaf? Not a word?” He snaps his fingers in my face.

“I . . . I got caught in traffic.” My words stumble out of my mouth as I try to find a more fitting lie. “My car was at the mechanic, so I picked it up, then—”

“Where is my meal? It looks like you are about to tell me a crap load of nonsense that I am not interested in hearing,” he interrupts me.

Ouch! My eyes begin to sting. There’s never a chance that Mr. Vaughn gives a flying fuck what I am going through.

“Here.” I hand him the nylon containing his food and give him his cup of coffee.

“This had better not be cold or wrong in the least.” He yanks it out of my hands, unsettling my balance so that everything else falls out of my hands.

“Shit,” I mumble as I squat to grab the items off the floor while Vaughn opens his food. The savory smell of poached omelets and egg salad fills the room as Vaughn takes a bite of his meal.

“Still good.” He lets out a satisfying low grunt as he munches. I whisper a little prayer in relief, seeing that I won’t have to deal with the bigger problem of having to go back and get him a new meal. He was annoyingly picky. Too crunchy? Toss it in the bin. Half burnt? Hand it to a staff member. Wrong order? Nag about it all day.

There are times I want to quit my job, but the satisfaction that would give my mother always throws me back into my career. She has always wanted me to be a lawyer like her, but I want to be a model instead. For two reasons: I love modeling, and my mother hates it.

“My office now, Rachel!” Vaughn yells at me with a mouth full before turning to walk away.

I finally get all the items off the floor and place them on the counter behind me, where Carmen is watching me with curious blue eyes. I try to ignore her and focus on putting everything together so it’s easier to lift.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but you have to put it under control. You seem to be the only one here who keeps riling Vaughn. At this rate, you might get fired. Are you sure you don’t want to ask the management for a different role? Working at the front desk isn’t all that bad.”

I feel the hot air escaping my nostrils as I level a firm gaze at her. Carmen is one of the several ladies in the center who desperately want to do everything within their power if it means that they can get closer to him, including switching places with me, as she suggests.

“I guess I’m glad he hasn’t fired me after all.” I shrug and pick my items off the counter. “You might actually make a great assistant for him, seeing how much you adore him,” I finish with the fakest smile that I can muster and watch Carmen’s face fall before walking away.

After two knocks, I turn the handle and walk in.

“Oh, God!” I exclaimed, turning my eyes away from the figure in front of me. Vaughn is topless, his hair wet from just having his bath.

“What? You’ve never seen a topless man before?”

I fumble with the stack of files in my hands, trying not to let my gaze drift, but it is impossible to ignore the sight in front of me. Vaughn stands over a cabinet looking through some files, shirtless, his back to me, muscles shifting smoothly under his tan skin as he stretches his arms above his head.

Oh, God.

I quickly turn my head, pretending to be far more interested in the paperwork I am holding, but my eyes betray me, flicking back to him. His body is perfect—lean but muscular, with broad shoulders and a sculpted back that tapers into a trim waist. The way the light from the window highlights every curve and line makes it impossible not to stare. Heat creeps up my neck as my pulse quickens.

This is not the time. I silently scold myself, but my thoughts keep slipping into dangerous territory.

“So, I called you into my office because there has been a recent development.” He turns to look at me while trying to ease into a shirt. His front is exposed in the moments it takes him to put it on. My breath hitches in my throat as my eyes rest on his firm, swollen chest, rising with every breath he takes.

My gaze travels lower, taking in the sharp lines of his abs, the defined muscles seeming to ripple with every subtle movement. I swallow hard, feeling warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the room temperature.

I shift awkwardly, pressing the files tighter against my chest as if they can shield me from the wave of desire slowly creeping up on me.

“We are traveling to the UK tomorrow. Once you finish all your tasks here today, head home and get packed.”

His words hit me like a pack of bricks, jolting me out of my drooling.

“What?”

His brows furrow together. “You heard me, right?”

“Well, the UK? I didn’t—”

“Your contract says you are available to travel at any time, doesn’t it?” I nodded my head slowly.

“We. Are. Traveling. To. The UK. Tomorrow!” He speaks slowly and dramatically, pausing at each word as though I have little understanding of the English language.

“Yes, sir. How long, sir?” I sigh, knowing there is no use arguing.

“I can’t tell. A week. Two. A month. Doesn’t matter. It’s part of the job now.”

“Not a problem,” I whisper, my thoughts screaming. Who will watch over Archie for a week a month or more?

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get started. You can’t stand here all day,” he barked at me, dismissing me.

It was at least 10:30 p.m. before I got back to the apartment to find Archie growling with hunger.

“Hey, boy,” I say as he rubs against my feet. I lower myself to scratch his head, fondling him gently. “Sorry, I know you’re famished, but we have a bigger problem on our hands. Who will take care of you for the next few days?”

I hiss and shake my head. The picture of Vaughn kicking a ball across the field with my face drawn on it flashes through my mind as I make Archie’s food.