Chapter Four - Mirabelle
CHAPTER FOUR
Mirabelle
WHEN I TOOK this internship, I assumed it would be a lot of grunt work: getting coffee, standing in the background to learn, and combing through the internet to find anything detrimental to a player’s image before it can go viral. I certainly never dreamed I’d be part of the duo shadowing Henry to help repair his image, and help the public get to know him.
Stacey asked me to follow her and began briefing me on the way to a meeting, and to say it blindsided me would be an understatement.
I called my parents later that night to ask them if there were any favors called in regarding my position, and Dad swore there wasn’t. It didn’t do much to make me feel better about it.
I know I’m not like the other interns, but that doesn’t mean I want to stack more bricks on the wall separating us.
Hence, I’m struggling to get out of my Audi while balancing two carriers of coffee after volunteering to make the coffee run today. Stacey only drinks coffee from a specific local coffee shop that conveniently isn’t served at the stadium, but she’s not wrong about it tasting better.
I make it all of two steps before one of the coffees tilts in my hands, spilling all over my cream-colored blouse. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I groan loudly, because my shirt is most likely ruined, and it’s one of my favorites. Stupid me, wanting to look nice for my first day shadowing Henry. He looked horrified in that meeting to see I was one of the people assigned, and I want him to know I’m taking this seriously.
I adjust my grip on the coffee cups, eyeing them with pure disdain. At least the one that spilled on me was iced, so I didn’t burn myself. I think I have an extra change of clothes in the back of my car, too. I turn around, trying to hold the other coffees steady because the only thing that would make this worse is if I spilled all of them on me.
Except when I turn, I crash into someone I hadn’t even heard come up behind me. This time, it’s not iced coffee, but a whole tray of hot coffee crushed against my chest. “Motherfucker!” I yelp, dropping the rest of the coffees to the ground as I swat the steamed liquid off me.
“Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” A deep voice asks, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to pause before reacting.
“It’s fine.” I force the words to come out of my mouth, but it’s painful.
I look up, trying my best to keep a somewhat pleasant expression on my face, but I’m taken aback for a moment because it’s a player. Quinn Mackie, the new wide receiver the Panthers received as part of the trade for Henry’s best friend, Andrew, with the Serpents.
“Mirabelle, right?” he asks, a sheepish smile on his face.
Seriously? We’re going to play this game?
“Yeah. Sorry, but now I’m late, and I have no coffee so my boss and coworkers are going to be pissed at me,” I say, bending down to grab the now empty cups of coffee off the ground so I can throw them away. God, I couldn’t even handle a simple coffee run. Not that juggling eight coffees is simple, but still, I didn’t need to give them another reason to not like me.
“That’s fine, I can walk with you,” Quinn says, falling into step beside me.
Well, okay then. I really don’t have time for this today. I clamp my jaw shut because I don’t trust myself to be kind. I felt sick with nerves all last night because I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing today, and everything has already gone wrong. I’m also annoyed he’s pretending he doesn’t know who I am, when he clearly does. I’m not trying to be conceited for once, but come on.
“How are you liking the stadium so far?” he asks, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
I cast him a sideways glance, my heels clicking against the pavement. “Considering I’ve been coming here since I was a newborn, I’d say it feels like home.”
“What a coincidence, it feels like home for me now too. I can’t say I’ve been coming here that long, that’s impressive.”
What does he want? “Makes sense, since you’re from Seattle, unless you flew out here all the time to attend games.”
He smiles widely as I swipe my badge at the door, dropping the coffee cups in the trash can behind it. “So, you know who I am?”
“It’s kind of my job to know who you all are, at least I’m not pretending I don’t know,” I say shortly, turning a quick corner toward the offices.
Quinn keeps up easily, just as my phone rings in my pocket. It’s probably Stacey, wondering where the hell the coffees are. “I’m also friends with Henry,” he adds, not getting the hint.
“What exactly do you want from me?” I ask. Normally, I’d be a lot nicer, but I’m late, and he knows this because I told him.
“Maybe I want to make a new friend.” He smiles cheekily at me, but I don’t buy it for a second. Quinn’s in the tabloids more than Henry, and I’m honestly surprised he’s not the one we’re doing damage control for.
I laugh sarcastically, shaking my head. “Well, Quinn, I’ll probably see you soon.” I don’t give him the chance to respond before I walk into Stacey’s office.
Her piercing eyes drop immediately to my chest. Oh, fuck me. I never grabbed the bag with my clothes.
“The coffee spilled,” I explain, my stomach churning.
“I can see that—the evidence is all over you,” she says, the corners of her mouth turning downward. I wish I could smack my forehead against the wall. “Tell Ginger to go get more coffee,” Stacey instructs.
“I can do it, it just all fell—” I protest, and she types quickly on her laptop.
“I’m aware you can fetch coffee successfully. I’m telling you to get Ginger to do it because we were due in the training room with Henry Price five minutes ago,” she says, and I hate that immediate butterflies erupt in my stomach. I need to get my shit together. I can’t be fangirling over him every day, but especially not today.
Wait— today —with coffee all over my fucking shirt.
I force a smile on my face when I feel like curling up into a hole and disappearing. Awesome. I grab my laptop and Stacey’s off the desk to shove into my bag, double checking I have my phone to jot notes on. Stacey is already walking out the door, and I hold a sigh in. I definitely didn’t plan to spend my first day shadowing Henry wearing a sopping wet, stained shirt, but apparently the world hates me.
As we walk toward the training room, Stacey has me keeping notes on my phone about the questions she plans to ask him. I type them all, despite knowing Henry isn’t going to answer anything that isn’t related to football.
I haven’t told Stacey I know Henry because I don’t want to abuse that connection. I also refuse to call him my friend because I don’t want him to simply be my friend.
Henry is running on a treadmill when we walk into the training room, and my heart stutters at the sight of him. There’s a thin sheen of sweat coating his body, making the impressive muscles on display glisten as he runs. My eyes drift to the dark hair that trails from his navel underneath his shorts.
My goodness, he’s beautiful.
I blink quickly, reminding myself I’m working, and this is the last place I should be staring at Henry like a piece of meat. He makes eye contact with me, his mouth immediately turning downward as he slows the treadmill down, stopping it completely. “What the fuck happened to your shirt?” he asks, grabbing a towel to wipe his face off, and I can feel my cheeks flush bright red. I look like a slob. This is a nightmare.
“Coffee incident. I’m going to send your buddy Quinn my dry-cleaning bill.”
Stacey shoots me a quick look of disapproval, and I take a half step back to stand behind her, allowing her to take the lead. I’m meant to be seen and not heard. “Good morning, Henry. After talking to your coaches and Greg, we decided today would be the perfect day to start gathering information for our first piece.”
Henry runs a hand through his dark hair, his shoulders tensing. I feel bad how uncomfortable he looks. “Sure. Whatever, I guess.”
“Great,” Stacey says, smiling at him. I’m honestly impressed she hasn’t let her eyes drift from his face because I can’t say the same.
I pull my phone out, getting ready to record this conversation when out of my peripheral vision, I see Henry hang his towel over his neck. “Mira,” he says, using my nickname, and I hate how quickly my head snaps up to look at him.
“ Oui? ” 4 I ask, responding in French because he’s going to blow this for me before it even starts, if he hasn’t already. Maybe I should have let him know I wanted him to pretend he doesn’t know me.
“ Qu’est-ce-que Quinn a avoir avec ta chemise? Est-ce-qu’il t’embête? ” 5 Henry asks, an odd expression on his face, and I shrug.
“ Non. Je vais bien. ” 6
“What language is that? French?” Stacey asks, guessing correctly.
Henry nods shortly, the look of unhappiness still not gone from his face. “My stepmother is from France. My godparents speak it as well, and taught me the language as a kid.”
My parents and Penelope made sure all of us were bilingual from the start.
“And who are your godparents?” she asks, curiosity gleaming at the kernel she earned.
Henry’s eyes drift back to me, thinking the same thing I am. It’s not public knowledge my parents are his godparents. It’s not a huge deal, but still probably not something that should be advertised if we can help it. He doesn’t have a choice, though. I dip my head into a short nod, silently telling Henry the choice is his. “Some family friends,” he answers.
Stacey purses her lips, shaking her head. “I was promised you would answer my questions honestly.”
“I did answer honestly. My godparents are family friends. You didn’t specify and ask for their names. If you had asked the right question, maybe you’d get the right answer,” Henry says, his face guarded, and I can’t blame him. He digs into his bag, throwing a white bundle at me. “ Envoie-moi la facture de ta chemise. Je vais parler à Quinn. ” 7
I look at the fabric in my hands, my brain slow to catch up, realizing he threw me his shirt. “ Tu n’es pas obligé de faire ca, ” 8 I reply, resisting the urge to look at my boss.
Holy shit, I’ll be lucky if I still have my job after this conversation. I guess if I get fired, then I can go to the house in France, and work at the gallery for a couple months. It’s not what I want to do, but I’m fortunate to have options.
This isn’t a version of Henry I’m used to. It’s entirely different from that morning on the surfboards when it was just us, the mermaids, and the ocean.
“I know you’re supposed to follow me around and all, but I’m going to shower without an audience if that’s okay with you.” He doesn’t pose it as a question as he stares at Stacey, almost like he’s expecting her to put up a fight. I have to give her credit, she doesn’t react, whereas the thought of watching Henry shower has me nearly self-combusting inside.
“You need to stop thinking of this as a bad thing. It’s not the end of the world for people to learn who you are.”
He rubs his jaw, clearly disagreeing. “Really? Then why don’t we switch places, and you can deal with everyone wanting to know every single fucking thing about you.” Henry’s hazel eyes have shadows underneath them, and he sighs tiredly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a dick. I just . . . this isn’t easy. I don’t know how to do this.”
This is more like the Henry I know. I smile faintly, because this is the guy I’ve been in love with for years. Stacey opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to it. “You’re in a position to be a role model and help people. You’re a good person, Henry. So what if they get to know you a little bit? It doesn’t mean they’re going to shun you if they find out who you are.”
Henry meets my eyes, but he doesn’t say anything, staring at me for a moment before walking away. Walking away might be worse than the alternative of him getting upset with me.
Stacey turns to face me, her arms folded over her chest. “When were you planning on informing me that you know Henry Price personally?”
I wish I’d never opened my mouth in the first place. I look down at my hands still holding onto his shirt. Henry is literally the kind of guy who would give people the shirt off his back if they needed it. I don’t know why he’s so afraid of people learning who he is.
“He played with my father for a few years, and our dads played together at Duke. I didn’t think it was important.”
I don’t think I like how she’s looking at me, as if I’m suddenly more interesting. It makes my skin crawl.
“You might just be the key to getting him to open up.”
Fuck me. I should have stayed home today.