Playing for Possession (Playing the Field #5)

Chapter 1 Kieran

Kieran

My pallid reflection in the glass-fronted office door gave me pause.

I ran a hand over the rough stubble on my jaw.

PR meetings were bad enough without a hangover kicking my arse.

What this time? Last month I’d had to feign interest in a mushroom soufflé on live TV.

The media stuff was more annoying than getting subbed off in the first half of a match.

The club paid me to play football, not clown around on cookery shows.

I blew out a breath and pushed open the door.

Sadie, the PR manager, sat at the long table with her laptop open in front of her.

My manager, Rob, sat to her left, and a young woman sat prim and straight-backed at the table opposite them.

She was vaguely familiar. Judging by the crisp blouse and smart pencil skirt, she was probably a new assistant of Rob’s.

They were always young and attractive and they never lasted longer than a month. Rob wasn’t renowned for his patience.

A few wisps of the new girl’s honey-colored hair escaped her elegant bun and framed her pretty face. Stylish spectacles shielded her hazel eyes. She darted a glance at me and looked away. Skittish. I’d give her a fortnight before Rob gave her the boot.

“Grab a seat, Kieran.” Sadie gestured to the empty seat opposite her.

I slid in to sit next to the new girl. Rob glared at me from across the table as though he was playing out a million ways he’d like to see my slow and painful death.

Nausea churned my gut and a drum beat in my temple.

My head hurt so much that perhaps he actually was witnessing my slow and painful death.

Was it possible to die of a hangover? Maybe if it was one this epic.

“Nice of you to join us, Earnshaw.” Rob flashed a not-so-subtle glance at his watch.

I inclined my head and regretted it. The movement made the pulse in my temple beat harder. “No problem.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good night, last night?”

“Nothing to write home about.”

I smoothed a hand over my disheveled hair and hoped I didn’t look as bad as I felt.

Last month, an online poll had named me the third-sexiest footballer in the Premier League.

Now I could probably pass for the third-sexiest exhumed footballer.

Fuck it. It was enough that I’d turned up.

Rob should have known better than to ask.

Sadie pasted on a sugary smile. “Have you met Joanie? Joanie plays for the women’s team.”

“And she’s Mortimer Fox’s daughter.” I didn’t miss the trace of warning in Rob’s voice.

I twisted in my seat to survey her. Really?

No one would ever make the connection that this was a world-famous rock star’s daughter.

This woman’s prim, reserved demeanor was a world apart from her father’s edgy, Gothic aesthetic.

She looked sweet and bookish, whereas her father looked like he slept in a coffin and could turn into a bat at will.

Mortimer Fox was one of the world’s most famous rock stars, and a pain in my arse.

He was on the Calverdale board, which gave him license to swan around the place, bugging everyone whenever he felt like it.

The son, Ollie Fox, wasn’t much better. Ollie was the new darling of the music industry.

It was impossible to escape from his annoying earworm songs.

The moment you stepped into a department store or turned on the radio, Ollie Fox would be screaming at you.

Jack had started partying with Ollie, and it couldn’t end well.

That celebrity scene was full of rich entitled pricks, drugs, and booze, and my brother was desperate to fit in.

Unsurprising that Mortimer Fox’s daughter was lurking at the club.

Nepotism was alive and well at Calverdale United.

It wasn’t enough to put his spoiled nepo-baby son at the top of the music charts, Mortimer had also managed to put his daughter on his favorite football team.

That’s the way the world worked for people like this.

Joanie glanced at me and mumbled something that sounded like hello.

“Hi,” I said.

A pink blush climbed her slim pale neck, and she fixed her gaze on the pen in her hand.

“Great. Thank you both so much for doing this.” Sadie pulled some papers out of a file and put them in front of us.

Doing what? Rob had told me nothing. “What is this about?”

“You’re doing a commercial,” Rob said.

My blood ran cold. No. Fucking. Way. I’d made a few select endorsement deals, but I stuck to fashion and cars.

One young lad on the team had done a commercial for mayonnaise last year.

His delivery had been so stiff it made him the laughing stock of the locker room.

He’d been nicknamed Eggy ever since. Even his mum called him Eggy. I couldn’t remember his real name.

“Come on, Rob. Give me a break. You know I hate all this stuff. You’ll have plenty of volunteers. Give it to Sean.”

He held up a hand to silence me. “The board want to see you pulling your weight for the club.”

I folded my arms. “And the twenty goals I scored last season isn’t enough?”

Rob smoothed his tie. “You’ve turned up late for three training sessions and missed this morning completely. You’re lucky I’m not kicking you off the team.”

A sour taste rose in my throat. He had a point.

The late nights were spiraling. It was hard to swallow, but someone needed to keep an eye on these lads.

The team captain, Sean Wallace, had nearly had the shit kicked out of him last night after he picked a fight with the wrong guys over a game of pool.

This team was a bunch of spoiled kids, and when the booze got flowing, things escalated.

I was only there because of Jack. Hanging out with Sean and his celebrity cronies was still novel and exciting for my younger brother.

I got it. I’d been the same at his age. Soon he’d realize what Sean was really like.

Until he wised up, I wouldn’t let my brother out of my sight with that lot.

“Half the team was out last night,” I said.

Rob blew out a breath. “You’re doing the commercial. This is coming from the board.”

“The fucking board. What do they know?”

Rob winced. “I apologize.”

Joanie gave an awkward cough and swept a strand of hair off her cheek. Shit. She was so quiet, I’d forgotten she was here.

“No worries.” She flashed a tight smile, but kept her gaze fixed on whatever it was she found so fascinating about the ballpoint pen in her hand.

Rob gave me a hard stare. Was he expecting me to apologize too? Fuck that. The silence grew heavy.

Rob let out a deep sigh. “You want to know what the board knows, Earnshaw? They know you’ve got a shitty attitude.” His disparaging gaze drifted over the tattoos on my neck. “And that you broke a man’s leg last season.”

“That was an unlucky tackle. You know it was a fair challenge.” My head ached. He did know, didn’t he?

Sadie swiveled her laptop to show me a packed spreadsheet with a myriad of columns highlighted in different colors. “Shall we get back on track? Let me tell you about Fizzz.”

She said the word as if I was supposed to have any clue what it meant. “I’m sorry?”

Sadie kept her tone light and breezy. “Fizzz. It’s a soft drink. One of our corporate sponsors.” She reached down under the table and pulled up a six-pack of blue cans, then stood and handed two cans across the table. “Try it.”

I waved it away. “No. Thanks.”

Rob sent me a withering look. “Try the fucking drink, Earnshaw.”

Jesus. Rob had not come here to play. Last night’s excesses were melting my brain, and I didn’t need Rob on my balls.

I popped the ring pull and took a sip of repugnant syrupy blue liquid.

Bubbles stung the back of my throat. It looked and tasted more like a dissolved bath bomb than a desirable beverage.

Sadie’s smile was polite and professional. “What do you think?”

I couldn’t lie. “Fizz is possibly the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Joanie let out a little chuff of laughter before immediately smoothing her expression.

Sadie’s smile didn’t falter. “It’s Fizzz, actually. You’re not putting enough emphasis on the z’s.”

Seriously? I looked at Rob but he didn’t crack a smile. I held my hands up. “Apologies. This Fizzzzz”—I put so much emphasis on the z’s my lips buzzed—“is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. The aftertaste is still going. Why is that? When is it going to stop?”

Joanie took a small sip. I watched her throat bob as she swallowed.

A brief grimace twisted her pretty lips.

I swiveled in my chair, waiting for her to comment, but she held herself stiff and upright, and didn’t say a word.

What was she even doing here? What did Mortimer Fox’s daughter care about Fizzz?

She could have her pick of endorsements.

Her father had enough influence to ensure that.

“Wrong answer.” Rob’s sharp voice snapped me out of my reverie. “You are the face of Fizzz. You love it and you’re delighted to promote it. Luckily for you, you have a lifetime supply of the stuff, so you have plenty of time to grow to appreciate its . . . unique flavor.”

Unique flavor was one way of putting it. If the guys started calling me Fizzz, then I’d be walking out the door with a one-finger salute. I’d never live this down.

Sadie’s smile didn’t falter. “I don’t have the details on the commercial yet, but they are flying you out to Menorca to film it.”

Joanie’s mouth dropped open. “Menorca?”

She was probably disappointed it wasn’t somewhere more exotic.

Of all the people to get teamed up with on this, it had to be Mortimer bloody Fox’s daughter.

I could see the resemblance now. They shared the same high arched brow and quick, clever eyes.

Sponsorship deals with corporations intent on rotting kids’ teeth and buzzing them to the eyeballs with caffeine were probably the norm for Joanie Fox.

Sadie closed the laptop. “Fizzz is a celebration of summer, and since summer lasts three days in England, they’re flying you somewhere you can celebrate. I’ll get you more details when I have them. I’m here if you have any questions.”

Rob stood and brushed down his suit. “Sounds great. You have our full cooperation. Whatever you need.” He gave me a warning look. “Right, Earnshaw?”

I withheld my sigh. If I was sensible, I’d get on board with it. Life was always easier when your manager didn’t hate your guts. But sometimes you had to take a stand. If I rolled over on this, what was next? Rob would have me like Sean Wallace, posing on a billboard with my junk shoved in Speedos.

I stood. “I appreciate the opportunity but it’s not for me. You’ll easily find someone else.”

Rob glared at me. “The board want you to be the face of Fizzz.”

Tough luck. What we want and what we get are two different things. I held his gaze. “I’m not being the face of childhood tooth decay.”

Rob’s lips thinned and he rapped his fist on the desk. “Sit down, Earnshaw.”

A tense silence wrapped around us. I’d be in shit for this with Rob, but so be it. He’d come round. He always did. Rob wanted to win the league this year and he needed me for that whether he wanted to admit it or not. There were so many better candidates for a commercial. He’d have to suck it up.

I held my can of Fizzz aloft, and headed to the door. “Thanks for this. It might come in handy for deicing my windscreen.”