Chapter 4
Austin
I didn’t have a problem with fancy parties and I wasn’t terrible at mingling. In fact, I used to really enjoy it. Probably
because when I was in my twenties as a footballer, these parties always meant beautiful women in London who loved my American accent. And I was an idiot who had really enjoyed that type of shallow shit for a long time.
Now, in my mid-thirties, I mostly just wanted to go home. But this auction was too important to miss.
“So have you given my plan any thought?” Jesse, my agent, asked as he typed into his phone, his drink untouched because he’d
spent the last five minutes reading off different variations of his future plans for me.
I put my whiskey glass down next to his on the bar behind me and glanced around the entry hallway inside the Great Hall of the Met.
The Amherst Initiative’s annual New York’s Most Worthy charity auction was in full swing.
Celebrities and socialites spilled through the wide hallways examining the displays, which featured some of the larger items lined up for the auction later.
“Yeah . . .” I responded tightly because, actually, no, I hadn’t been thinking about my next move right now. I’d been thinking,
hoping, that tonight went well. The only other thing I’d ever attempted outside of soccer was this foundation, and it was
struggling. “But tonight is about the foundation.”
Jesse had been handling my career since I was eighteen, when I was promising and got pulled into the European leagues. I landed
in the UK and ended up in the Premier League. It was a Cinderella story—if Cinderella had a pushy, fast-talking agent instead
of a fairy godmother.
Jesse’s mouth stayed a tight, unmoving straight line. “There wouldn’t be a foundation without Austin Cade, so he needs to
quit sulking and start making a move into coaching while there is interest.”
I loved the game and I wasn’t sure I was ready to let it go. Coaching seemed like the perfect compromise. A place where I
could succeed. And I was tired of feeling like I was failing. I was injured, the foundation was struggling, and I was still
making up for lost time with Joseen.
Jesse was right; we did need to move fast if I was going to transition to coaching. But I couldn’t just hop on a plane and disappear off to Europe
again. Not before I’d set things right here.
“I’m not sulking.” But like my knee, any will to be charming had been severely battered over the last few months. “I’m just
thinking.”
The auction started soon. It would take place in three parts, one for each arm of the Amherst Initiative. My foundation, the Mistry Foundation, was part of the first block of the event.
“You are sulking and you’ve been this way the last few months.” He clicked the side of his phone and tucked it in his pocket. He took
a long sip of whiskey. “I didn’t pull that kid off the streets in Queens all those years ago just for you to drive your own
career into the ground now.”
I bristled. “I’m not doing that.”
“And what about bailing on an insane Premier League contract, coming home, and then signing one here to stop any chances of
going back?” Jesse huffed. When I went against everyone’s advisement and signed with the New York Lightning, Jesse had to
bend over backward with the agency’s partners to keep representing me instead of passing me off to some assistant. “What would
you call that?”
“Grieving,” I bit out. I didn’t want to keep having this same discussion.
What was I supposed to do when the only family I had—the one I put on the back burner for years while I chased a dream and
all the frills that came along with it—died? Theo got sick, and a couple years later, he was gone. The least I could have done for Theo was to have been around more in those final years. I couldn’t make the same mistake with Jo and
Zoya, at least not in the immediate aftermath when they needed support. I couldn’t go back to the Premier League, but I also
couldn’t bring myself to stop playing. Besides, that would have only pissed Theo off. The New York team was how I stayed in
the game and at home.
“Look.” Jesse raked a hand through his hair, apologetic. “I get it, okay? But it’s been two years. The world can’t wait around for your comeback forever. Now that you’ve had a pretty bad injury this late in your career, the sooner we move you to a new path, the better.”
I let out a conciliatory breath. He was right. “Okay. Let’s set up some meetings.”
His disposition instantly brightened. “Great, because I talked to FC—”
“Just let me get the foundation on its feet.”
I couldn’t fuck up the one thing Theo left me in charge of.
“Fine. You focus on settling the foundation, so long as you let me line up some meetings in the meantime. If an offer comes,
then you can choose.”
When I didn’t say anything, regret dragged down the corners of his mouth. After two decades of knowing him, we were friends
now.
He tapped his foot on the floor. “If it weren’t this bad, I wouldn’t be this big of an asshole, okay? You only have so long
before the interest in you dries up.”
“I get it,” I said. I tilted my head back and scanned the room, stopping for a moment at each high-top table covered with
crisp, white linens and tiny floral arrangements. Then a flash of yellow caught my eye.
Leaning against the bar only a few feet away was someone I knew, but in an entirely different context.
Her jet-black hair, usually pulled back into a tight bun, was loose and bouncing in curls along her shoulders.
Mint-green scrubs were traded in for an elegant dress with thin straps that left her shoulders almost completely bare.
The canary-yellow satin kissed every curve along her skin.
As if she could feel my stare, she turned her head in what felt like slow motion to catch my eye.
Every gear in my brain was riddled with sludge, moving slowly to piece together who I was looking at.
Isabelle.
Dr. Mercado, I corrected myself in my head.
The woman standing beside her leaned close to whisper something. The side of Isabelle’s mouth tipped up along her cheek in
quiet, teasing acknowledgment. She and her friend picked up their drinks and took a few steps to us.
“I thought you auctioning yourself off had to be a misprint in the catalogue,” Isabelle said by way of greeting.
I swallowed against a dry throat. “Huh?”
She flicked her wrist up and displayed the packet with all the items up for auction tonight.
“Oh right,” I answered, still trying to focus. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Hi.” Her friend’s cheerful greeting finally cut through my haze. She stuck out her hand. “Selena Montez.”
“You’re with Pearson PR,” Jesse immediately cut in from behind me, seemingly recognizing the name. “Right?”
“Yes,” Selena answered, and Jesse perked up like he hadn’t been laying into me five minutes earlier.
With that, Jesse went through a light-speed introduction and took it upon himself to pull Selena away into a conversation.
Jesse, always working, knew how to make inroads when I needed them.
And apparently, right now he had designs on Selena’s contact list. At least all the irritation he had with me seemed to evaporate.
That left me alone with Isabelle. After an extended moment, I pushed the words out of my mouth. “Are you secretly a socialite,
Dr. Mercado?”
I was still trying to figure out why I was so thrown seeing her here. She had a life and friends outside of the few pockets
of time that I saw her. But something about seeing her in this setting, confidently moving through a room of Manhattan’s biggest
donors like she belonged here, was . . . intriguing.
She let out a small, airy laugh. “It’s Isabelle. Actually, call me Isa. Dr. Mercado makes me feel like I should still be in
scrubs.”
I nodded. “Isa.”
“And no, I am just the third wheel to my best friend tonight.” Isa tipped her chin in the direction of Selena and Jesse, who’d
taken a few steps away from us, deep in conversation. “But your date seems . . . charming.”
I coughed a nervous laugh. “He’s my agent. And he’s a little annoyed with me.”
“Why?”
“Depends on how much you overheard.”
“Enough.” She winced. “But maybe I was right about the coaching thing . . .”
“You were.” I put my drink down on the bar, trying to ignore how her eyes seemed to sparkle under the dim chandelier’s light.
“Coaching is probably the next thing. I just need to spend some time with the Mistry Foundation before I commit to anything
else.”
“That’s your foundation,” she said like she was confirming it to herself.
“Yeah.”
“Well . . .” Her tone jumped up like she was trying to lift the mood. She flipped through the catalogue. “Nothing says committed
to a cause like being an auction item.”
“That was a friend’s idea,” I pointed out.
She opened her mouth, but another voice filled the space between us.
“Oh, Henry’s here.” Selena had stepped back toward us to put her glass down on the bar. She smiled politely at me and then
took Isa’s arm in hers. “The auction should be starting soon. It was nice to meet you, Austin.”
She pulled Isabelle away, who waved a quick goodbye over her shoulder.
Once again, I was at the bar alone with Jesse but, this time, I wasn’t scowling.