Tackle My Heart (The Love Playbook #1)

Chapter 1

Millie

This might be the most important day of my life.

Okay, maybe not my life. But my career? No doubt about it.

I pace the length of my bedroom, carefully dodging piles of strewn clothes. Planting my feet, I position myself in front of the mirror, lift my chin, and flash the kind of confident smile that screams cool and competent.

“Hi,” I greet my reflection. “I’m Millie Templeton, the new social media menacer.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Brilliant.

Snapping them back open, I inhale. Deeply. Then, I square my shoulders, like I’ve seen people do in TED Talks, and try again.

“Hi, everyone. I’m excited to be here today. My name is Millie Templeton, and I’m the team’s new social media manager. If you’re not a fan of social media, don’t worry. I’ll make you fall in love with me in—” I blink, my smile tightening. “Great. That’s just great.”

I groan, then start pacing again, nearly tripping over a pair of jeans I don’t even remember wearing. Maybe I should stop rehearsing. I think I’m making it worse.

My phone pings, telling me that Cedric, my rideshare driver, is two minutes out.

I smooth down my bright orange skirt before dashing out of my shoebox-sized flat.

The moment my feet hit the pavement, the brisk January air smacks me in the face.

It’s cold and aggressively London, all grey misty skies that mingle with the savoury tang of curry drifting from the Indian place next door as they prepare for the lunch rush.

The street buzzes with the usual chorus of engines, honks, and the hiss of black cabs.

I’m tiptoeing near the curb to spot Cedric’s car when a fat raindrop splashes on my forehead.

Come on, London. Not today.

As if summoned by pity, Cedric pulls up in a blue Prius. I pull the backseat door open and dive in.

“Hi,” I say, settling into the seat. “I’m heading to the Regents Football Club training centre.” I already input my destination in the rideshare app, but it doesn’t hurt to double check.

The driver nods, merging into traffic. He’s young, with floppy blond hair and the general air of a uni student who never sleeps. “You work there?”

“First day.” I clear my throat and force a smile.

He nods. “Neat. Who’s your favourite player?”

My brain short-circuits. “Um… Wade Hunter?”

I don't really know the team too well yet, but Wade is my friend Roxy’s husband—and the one who helped me get this job.

Cedric drums his fingers on the wheel. “The captain. Solid choice.”

“Who’s yours?” I ask.

“Wilcott, obviously. Best goalie of his generation.”

“Really?” I blink, genuinely impressed by his knowledge.

Cedric frowns, clearly unimpressed that I didn’t know that detail, and focuses back on the road. Meanwhile, I turn my gaze to the window.

I take a deep breath as London slides by, the rows of brick buildings blurring behind the steady drizzle.

Nerves creep in, threatening to cripple me again, but I take a deep breath to calm myself.

I'll be fine. First-day jitters are normal. It doesn’t matter that I’ve never run such a big account before.

If they hired me, they must think I’m good enough.

Since no form of public transportation passes by the training centre, I'll need to get myself a car soon. Using a rideshare every day isn’t a long-term solution, and since I’m determined to rock this job, I’ll need a cute car to take me there and back.

I’m eyeing the various vehicles buzzing past, wondering how much they cost, when the traffic becomes as heavy as the falling rain.

Cedric sighs, and I do everything to maintain my positive attitude. We left early enough to account for a bit of traffic. It was to be expected.

But the minutes tick by, and we’ve barely moved. We’re getting dangerously close to “I’m going to be late” territory. Why didn’t I leave earlier?

“Um, do you know what’s going on?” I ask, anxiously checking my watch again.

“No idea,” he grunts. “Might be an accident. We’re only six minutes out, though. It might be faster just to walk.”

“Okay. Thanks!” I say, slipping out of the car.

I will not be late on my first day. Shielding my face, I set off in the pouring rain, running as fast as my varnished Mary Jane shoes allow.

I try not to dwell on the fact that this one-of-a-kind pair I thrifted in Notting Hill might be ruined forever.

Why do I always forget my brolly? Splashing across the asphalt, I zigzag between cars until I reach the next intersection and survey the scene before me.

The entire street is blocked on that side, the flashing lights of ambulances and police cars contrasting against the dull grey sky.

I speed-walk through puddles, the rain coming down harder now, until I finally reach a pedestrian crossing.

I pause, waiting for a break in the cars whizzing past. If traffic is at a standstill on one side, the other lane is practically a speedway, and the drivers there don’t seem to care that I’m late for work.

I’m turning my head again to see if the coast is clear when a lorry barrels past, sending a tidal wave of stormwater over me.

I snap my eyes open, hoping that was just the punchline of a particularly bad dream, but I’m still standing here in the street, soaking wet up to my knickers.

Movement catches my eye, and I notice a kid in the backseat of a car in the gridlocked lane, pointing and laughing at me.

I'm two seconds from bursting into tears, but I ultimately decide I won’t be humiliated by a kid in a Paw Patrol hat. Channeling every ounce of dignity I have left, I check that no one is about to play Poseidon again and sprint across the road.

Finally, the gate of the training centre comes into view.

I show the guard my credentials, and he lets me through, even if he does give me a weird look.

I try to ignore his bewildered expression.

Best if I don’t think about my appearance right now.

Hopefully, I’ll have a few seconds to clean up in the loos before the briefing.

My soaked Mary Janes carry me across the big parking lot until I reach the main building.

It’s sleek and modern, all glass panels except for the large Regents logo hanging front and centre.

I enter through a set of double glass doors and into a large lobby with white-and-blue walls, catching the faint whiff of citrus.

Stopping, I glance around, trying to figure out where to go next.

The club owner didn’t say much when I spoke with him on the phone last week.

After a moment, a security guy walks over to me.

“Hi,” I say, flashing him a smile. “I’m Millie Templeton. It’s my first day. I was supposed to meet with Philip Mountford.”

“I’m here,” a voice booms from behind me. Wheeling around, I see Philip marching from a corridor. He’s wearing a charcoal suit that complements his salt-and-pepper hair nicely. “Glad you made it, Ms. Templeton. I heard there was a bit of traffic.”

My shoulders sag. “Yes. Sorry again. I promise, I’m not normally—”

“It’s all right,” he cuts in with a sharp smile. “Do you want to use the facilities before the presentation? It’s just over there, on the left.”

“Yes!” I blurt out louder than I intended and hurry toward the door.

I can’t even imagine what I must look like right now.

If he had to suggest I clean up, it must be pretty bad.

I drop my bag on the sink and let out a little cry when I glimpse my disheveled state.

My light-brown hair is dripping, rainwater is plastered on my face, and runny mascara clings to my cheeks.

I grab handfuls of toilet paper, hoping no one will choose this exact moment to enter the girls’ toilets, and wipe my cheeks.

With my face somewhat presentable, I wring my hair out.

I scrutinise myself again in the mirror.

Better, but not great. There’s only so much one woman can do in ten minutes with a wad of two-ply paper.

“Are you ready, Ms. Templeton?” Philip asks when I step out. “I’ve got the entire team waiting for you in the briefing room.”

Tightening my grip on my purse strap, I nod and follow him into the corridor.

Here we go.