14. Chapter Fourteen
Vaughn
Damn, reporters!
They are always snooping around where they aren’t supposed to—talk about getting paid to invade people’s privacy!
This is entirely their fault. If they hadn’t provided an opening, the stampede by the fans wouldn’t have happened in the first place. I literally had to remove my shirt and put it over my head just to prevent the fans from seeing my face; otherwise, I would have been toast.
“Let’s move this way, Vaughn,” Raphael, who somehow found me amidst the crowd, says.
“Where’s Rachel?” I ask. I haven’t really seen her since Nicholas drove us here, except for the occasional glances we sneaked at each other while I was on the field.
“I have no idea, Vaughn. But let’s get you to the locker room first. I will go back to look for her.”
We walk through the narrow path leading to the locker room, and I finally remove the makeshift mask I made with my shirt.
I step into the locker room, and as soon as I do, I stop.
Rachel is talking with this new guy on the team, all smiles and doe eyed. The heat of anger from what happened back on the pitch hasn’t died down yet and seeing her with this guy only makes me want to explode.
What the fuck?
Worse, she doesn’t even acknowledge my entry. She doesn’t turn to look at who just walked in. She is supposed to be catering to me, not flirting with my teammates!
I am about to snap my fingers when Raphael asks Rachel if she’s okay. She turns her head, meets my gaze, and lets it linger for a moment. Then she goes right back to smiling and getting doe-eyed with the new player, like I am not even here.
I am already pissed from the chaos outside, and seeing her reaction sends waves of jealousy coursing through my veins. Without thinking twice—or even thinking at all—I storm over to where they are seated, just in time to hear Mathew, the defender, call out to me.
The new player stands up, still smiling that stupid smile of his, and opens his mouth to say something, but I shut him up before he can get the first word out.
“Stay the fuck away from my secretary, man! She’s here to work for me and do as she’s told, not hang around for men to flirt with.”
Mathew gets to the scene just as the new player’s smile fades. I hear the clanking of cleats and lively chatter coming from the hallway, indicating that the rest of the team has found their way back. That does nothing to dissipate the tense atmosphere between the new player, Rachel, and me.
I look down only to see this new player holding out an outstretched hand to me all this while—only now the smile is gone.
Mathew whistles.
The guys in the locker room watch in amazement. Rachel looks down, probably shocked as well. My anger turns into a hot embarrassment. I storm toward the exit, walking past Raphael, who has a stunned expression. I get to the exit just in time for the rest of the team to come rushing in. The first ones to enter actually quiet down, probably sensing the change in atmosphere.
Security—wherever the hell they were earlier when reporters and fans threatened to eat the players alive—finally litter the place.
The crowd has dispersed, and the only people left are Coach McLauren, the assistant coach, and some other extras.
I sit down on a bench outside and almost punch myself in the gut. What the hell was that? That was so stupid and unprofessional. Not to mention, I acted this way toward a new player on the team. What will he think of me?
But is that even the real issue here?
A voice speaks in my head. Why did I react that way in the first place, especially in the presence of my teammates?
Why am I jealous that she is being friendly with another man?
That’s just one point. I have been thinking of Rachel, stealing glances at her every chance I got. There was even a point where I got so distracted that Coach McLauren called me aside to ask if something was wrong.
This is bad.
Perhaps it’s because I have come to see more of her—and I am not referring to her breasts—in the past few weeks than I had since she started working for me. She’s no longer the robotic, timid, and submissive secretary I used to know, and that annoyed me. She’s revealed a sassy and daring side, which, for the record, also annoys me, but I guess it also . . .
Stop, Vaughn.
I don’t care what it is. Whatever it is that’s making her the center of my feelings, it must go. After all, she’s just a secretary who appears to have developed an attitude. That’s all this is.
Nicholas drives us back home in silence. And I am not talking about Nicholas’s silence because he’s silent most of the time. I am talking about the thick silence that envelops the car. Even talkative Raphael keeps his mouth shut.
I am sitting next to Nicholas in front, while Rachel and Raphael are seated in the back. I am still in the jersey I played in. I could not bring myself to go back into the locker room and face my teammates.
I can see Rachel through the rearview mirror, staring out the window, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. What is she thinking?
Rachel asks to be dropped off somewhere on the way, saying she has business to attend to. Except for the “thanks” she mutters to Nicholas, she doesn’t utter a single word. She doesn’t even look at me.
What is she thinking?
She had better not be mad at me because that would be a very big mistake on her part!
Raphael is dropped off shortly after, and Nicholas drives me home.
On our way, my phone rings. It is a message from Rachel.
You have a meeting scheduled for 5 p.m. with the manager of the Kinetikor gym wear brand. I told them you’d show up.
Location: 24 St. John’s Avenue.
Playing games with me, huh? Or perhaps she is trying to make her anger known by sending me a text instead of just telling me before she left? Pssst, like I care.
Without thinking much about it, I tell Nicholas to take a detour to the location. After about a ten-minute drive, we arrived at the place.
It is an isolated but sophisticated building at the far end of St. John’s Avenue. Thankfully, it has grown darker than when we left headquarters, so all I have to do is pull a hat over my face before stepping out to avoid being noticed.
A woman about the same age as Rachel is seated at the far end of the room I’m ushered into. She has an authoritative air about her, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out she is in charge. The two other men at opposite sides of the table nod and stand up to greet me, as does the woman.
The meeting is boring, like most meetings of this sort: some cameras going off in my face, crazy explanations about how great their brand is, crazier explanations about advanced materials science and nanotechnology—whatever the hell that has to do with gym wear. At the end of it all, they offer me a proposal to be the brand face of their product, which I humbly decline.
It seems to me that I have been focusing more on modeling and endorsements than my actual soccer career. As it is now, I am trying to clear out other endorsement contracts I have already signed, not add another to my plate. The new season starts in two weeks, and I am preparing to give it my all.