Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
DREW
“I think you’ll find I’m the new head coach,” Hugo freaking Powers says, folding his arms tight across his broad chest. His biceps aren’t as lean as they used to be.
It’s impossible to stop the loud ha that flies from my mouth because that’s clearly ridiculous. Is there any player in the world who’d be worse coach material than Mr. Hard-partying Playboy here?
I can’t say I’m surprised that there’s a mix up of some kind—after the last-minute way this job came about, I was expecting something not to be right.
But I was most definitely not expecting God’s gift to pop star banging to be somehow involved in it. That was a plot twist I didn’t see coming.
And why the hell would the man who’s played at the top of the world game since he was seventeen want to coach the worst team in this league’s history?
Oh yeah, because no other club would touch him with a ten-foot pole. And if they did, they’d need to soak it in Clorox afterward.
The new ownership combo of property developer, movie star, entrepreneur dude, and disgraced prince all move toward me, talking at once in a verbal mush of “We appointed Hugo,” “You can’t be,” “There’s been a misunderstanding,” and “Who are you?”
Fortunately, because my highly trained suspicious gut had already been working overtime, I’m prepared and armed for trouble.
I haven’t worked in soccer to the age of thirty-two without clawing my way up in a male world, fighting for every job and being overlooked in favor of less-qualified men. So I had a feeling this was too good to be true.
But the problems I’d imagined had all been a little less fundamental. Like maybe something to do with salary or sponsorships. I hadn’t foreseen anything as basic as someone else also having been given the goddamn job.
I head back to my kit bag and pull out the perfectly organized folder sitting right on top, ready for whatever issue was certain to crop up.
“Here.” Opening it, I thrust it at the Fab Four and point at the top right corner. “That’s the date on my contract. What’s the date on his?” I jerk my head toward soccer’s answer to a one-man frat house who’s saying nothing. “His has to be dated after mine, because I was appointed right before the sale went through. So you bought the club with me already in this job.”
Leo Johanssen takes the folder and flips through my paperwork like he eats legal documents for breakfast.
After a few moments of awkward silence punctuated only by some heavy nasal breathing, he releases a long sigh .
“She’s right,” he says, then looks up at me. “But why would the old owner give you the job just hours before selling us the club and not mention it to us?”
“Because he’s my father.” There’s a sharp intake of breath from the players I haven’t met before, which is most of them.
Hugo strides up next to me, facing the owners, then takes one step closer to them.
I look up at the impressive wall of muscle, the wide shoulders and solid back. My eyes involuntarily flick downward to the shorts hugging his butt, the shiny black fabric stopping halfway down his tree-trunk thighs. I regain control of my eyeballs before they can do any more damage and glance at the Fab Four, whose attention is fixed on Hugo.
“Look, guys,” he says, acting as if I’m not here. “You’re the owners. And you gave me the job. So that’s that, right? I’m the head coach. End of.”
It’s childish logic—like a kid disputing the unfairness of only his brother getting a chocolate bar. Could it really be that inside that brash, muscular exterior there’s an insecure little boy desperate to prove himself?
“Well, before we’d finalized our purchase, we got word that the previous coach was quitting because of the sale. So we thought we’d better hire a new one quickly,” Leo says. “And I guess while we were scrambling to get you, Mr. Wilcox had already brought Drew on board to fill the hole, and neither of us knew what the other was doing. It looks like this was all a big miscommunication. Or lack of communication.”
Leo rubs his chin. “So, yeah, Hugo. Being hired by us doesn’t trump Drew’s appointment if we bought the club with her already in the post—even if we didn’t know. I’m afraid that’s not how employment law works.”
“It certainly isn’t.” I step forward, level with Hugo.
The top of my head might only reach his shoulder, but there’s no way I’m going to let his larger-than-life presence dominate their attention.
I stand right next to him, less than a foot between us, like we’re reality show contestants waiting to see who’ll be voted off the island, and point at the folder still in Leo’s hands. “And if you check page four, paragraph three, subsection two point five, you’ll see I have quite a substantial termination clause.”
Leo flips the pages. It’s obvious when he finds the spot because his eyes pop. “Jesus. I’m not sure even Ronaldo had a clause like this. What the hell kind of lawyer do you have that you got that through?”
“You don’t need a good lawyer. You just need a parent who underestimates you, so he rubber stamps the contract.”
“Ah, I get it,” Hugo says, a supercilious smile stretching from one side of his stubbled square jaw to the other. “Daddy gave his little girl the big job she’s not qualified for.”
I turn to face his skyscraper frame.
“Not qualified? I’m not qualified?” I shake my head. Poor deluded soul. “ You’re the one not qualified. The only thing you’ve ever coached is the bartender on how to pour your beer.”
There’s a whooshing sound behind me from the players sucking in air.
Hugo finally deigns to turn his head to look down at me. “I’m qualified because I know how to win stuff. What have you ever won? ”
“Er, well, as I’ve been the assistant coach of the US women’s team for the last four years, I’ve won a World Cup. Something your England team hasn’t managed for, let me see…how long has it been now…?” I tap my pursed lips as if in thought. “Oh yes, fast approaching a century.”
Hugo’s dark brows knit together and something resembling a flicker of recognition flashes across his brown eyes. Now does he remember me?
“It’s not that close to a century?—”
“Look,” Chase says. “This is obviously all a mix up. But the thing is, the press room upstairs is full of journalists waiting for us to wheel out our new top secret head coach signing.”
“Great, let’s go then.” I clap my hands together. “Having the first female head coach will be a great story for them. And for you.”
“ I’m the fucking head coach.” Hugo jabs his finger in his chest and his face flushes with that famous temper.
I meet Chase’s gaze and jerk my head toward Hugo. “And you know if you take him into a room full of reporters, he’s likely to punch one.”
“He’s not the only one who’s ever felt like doing that,” Prince Oliver says, exchanging a knowing look with Hugo.
And here we have it. Another boy’s club.
But it’s not the first one I’ve had to battle, and I’m absolutely certain it won’t be the last.
The most important thing about taking this job was that it meant I’d get to work with the team every day, and the Commoners would still be part of my life.
I’ve been excited about it, planning the first speech I was going to make to the squad ever since.
The speech I’d be making right now if I hadn’t been beaten to it by Hugo freaking Powers .
“Okay, look.” Miller takes charge. “How about we postpone the press conference. We’ll have our lawyers and HR look over this whole situation. Let’s meet back here, at the locker room, at nine a.m. tomorrow, and we’ll tell you which one of you actually has the job.”
“Perfect,” I say. Which it is, because obviously the job is mine. My contract predates his and the sale, and the only reason these guys took on Hugo was because they didn’t know they already had me.
Hugo spins around to face the players. “Okay, lads.” He rubs his hands together like he means business and grins. “Be back here at ten tomorrow. And I’ll pick up my speech about how I’m going to lead you to more wins than you ever thought possible.”
Man, is his little boy ego going to be dented in the morning.
Okay, so my dad might have given me this job at the last minute because he was afraid that if word got out the team had no head coach the Fab Four might pull out of buying it, but to hell with that. I’m going to hang onto it and prove to him that I deserve it. And that he should have appointed me because I’m the right person for the role, not just because it was an emergency and he was panicking.
But the best part will be taking it away from Hugo Powers. Not only because I’m more qualified, have loved this club with all my heart for as long as I can remember, and am the best person to lead the team to victory. But because this is the first time the asshole’s spoken to me since I was stupid enough to have a drunken encounter with him in a janitor’s closet at a Euros party in Paris six years ago.