Chapter 17
Callum
When I arrive at the training centre on Tuesday, I’m instantly summoned to Philip’s office. Which can only mean one thing—I’ve done something wrong.
I didn’t check the headlines this morning, but I’d say there’s a one-hundred-percent chance it’s got something to do with the daily gossip. Always does.
I knock once and hear a clipped, “Come in.”
Philip is standing behind his massive mahogany desk, hands clasped, his stony expression unreadable. “Hi, Callum. Sit down.”
He gestures to one of the two chairs in front of him, the other occupied… by Millie. She gives me a look that says “I have no idea why we’re here” as I sit down next to her.
“So,” Philip begins, sitting back down and studying us in turn. “You know I’m not a fan of relationships between staff and team members.”
“It’s not—” I start, but he lifts a hand to silence me.
“But,” he continues smoothly, “I must admit it’s had a positive impact on the team. And your reputation.”
Wait. What?
“I told you to get back in the media’s good graces.” He drills me with his gaze, then glances at Millie. “And your job was to help make that happen. I didn’t expect this particular strategy, but…” he shrugs, “the results speak for themselves.”
Millie sits up straighter. “I’m sorry, sir. That wasn’t—”
“Don’t apologise.” He smiles brightly, which is honestly terrifying. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile like that. “The heart wants what it wants, right? I know the feeling. Anyway, it’s good to see your name in the press with a positive spin for once, Callum. I hope it lasts.”
I just clench my jaw, not sure where to start.
“Well,” he goes on, checking his watch. “I’ve got a call in five minutes. Thanks for stopping by.”
We both stand wordlessly and step out of the office. Once I close the door behind me, Millie and I share a look of confusion.
She swallows hard. “Well, that was…”
“Weird.” I nod. “I never would have thought I’d hear those words from Philip’s mouth. Definitely a first.”
She breathes a chuckle.
“And a last. I’ll probably be the media’s favourite troublemaker again in no time.” I cough out a laugh. “It was fun while it lasted, though.”
A frown pulls at Millie’s lips as her eyes meet mine. “Or maybe it doesn’t have to end? We could keep this going, for the press. Anchor this new side of you in the media.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“It’s not a big deal. We just have to be seen together once in a while, and well, we both work here, so that’s easy enough. We don’t need to kiss or anything. Since we ‘made it official’ at the gala, no one will second-guess it.”
I stare back at her in shock. She can’t be serious. Fake dating? The thought of dragging Millie into the media circus makes my stomach twist. She deserves better than having her name splashed across the headlines, especially for my sake.
“You don’t have to do that. The media can be awful, and I’d never want to subject you to that.”
She swats a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry. I deal with the media all the time, and if it starts to get nasty, we can just end it. Trust me, you need all the help you can get with your reputation.”
“Haha.” I roll my eyes.
She shrugs one shoulder, offering a smile. “Hey. At least we can get something out of this crazy scheme I roped you into.”
I scratch my forehead. “Right, well, you’re the boss. If you think it’s worth a shot, let’s do it.”
“Absolutely.” She beams. “It doesn’t really require anything on our part, so why not take advantage of it?”
Millie
I’m on my way to Callum’s, chatting with my dad through the car’s Bluetooth speaker, when I slow to a stop at a red light.
“I’m not dating him, Dad. I told you,” I insist for what must be the fifth time. “I’m just helping him out.”
“Still don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbles. “What kind of job would force you to date a footballer? Even if it is just for show.”
“It’s not like that,” I sigh, pressing the gas as the light turns green. “I wanted to do it. Just trust me.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe I should have a talk with that Munchford bloke. Tell him my thoughts about the way he’s running his business.”
My hands jolt on the steering wheel. “Dad, please. I beg you. Don’t. I promise I can handle it, and besides, Philip had nothing to do with this. It was my idea.”
“I’m just worried about you, honey,” he says, his gentle tone breaking my heart. I can practically feel his anxiety, and I know how it must look from his perspective.
“I’m sorry, Dad. But I promise you there is nothing fishy going on. It’s all perfectly professional.”
He breathes out a woosh of air. “All right, I’ll trust you, and I’ll keep your secret. But if something feels wrong, you have to let me know.”
“Of course I will,” I assure him as I turn into Callum’s street. “I have to go, Dad, I’m almost at—I’m here.” No need to add another layer to his anxiety. “Talk later, okay?”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and draw a deep breath. It’s weird, lying to my dad again. Actually, it’s not just weird. I hate it. I just wish he could see things my way.
I park in front of Callum’s double garage, grab my overnight bag from the trunk, and walk up to his front door.
When the door opens, I’m greeted by Fergie’s fire alarm impression and an exasperated Callum. Talk about a warm welcome.
“He won’t shut up,” he groans, pushing the door aside to let me in. “Maybe you’ll be able to do something about it.”
I drop my bag in the entrance, kick off my shoes, and follow him up to Fergie’s room. The second he spots me, his screeching stops.
“What’s up, little guy?” I crouch to stroke his lime-green feathers through the bars.
“I’ll go get my stuff,” Callum mutters, turning away.
“Don’t be jealous now,” I sing out after him, grinning.
“Definitely not,” he throws back dryly.
“Callum jealous,” Fergie echoes, cocking his head. “Cuddles?”
I reach in again and gently scratch his head. “We’ll play a game after your dad leaves, okay?”
“Puzzle?”
I nod. “Yeah, puzzle. After.”
“Goodbye,” he calls toward Callum, and I puff out a laugh.
Callum pokes his head back through the doorway, brows raised. “Is he kicking me out?”
I wince.
“Out,” Fergie confirms, tap-dancing dramatically on his rolling perch.
“Fergie,” I scold through a laugh.
“I’m leaving anyway,” Callum says, waving at Fergie before turning back toward the stairs.
As I follow him down, he glances back at me. “You sure you’ll be all right? He’s been throwing a fit since this morning.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
He nods. “Well, thanks again for coming. I’ll be back tomorrow, late morning. That should give you plenty of time to snoop.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m done with the snooping, okay? Just needed an initial assessment. I might, however, use the bathtub in your guestroom. I don’t have one in my flat, and I dream about soaking in a bath at least three times a week.”
He chuckles, and my heart tap-dances, taking a page right out of Fergie’s book. “You should use the one in my room instead,” he says, reaching the foyer and shifting on his leg. “It’s bigger, with jets and bubble settings and everything.”
My entire body warms at the thought of using Callum’s bathtub. “Um, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He lifts his bag over his shoulder, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Have fun, then.”
I work from Callum’s home for the remainder of the afternoon.
Once I finish up, Fergie and I do another puzzle before settling in to watch the match.
Just like last time, Fergie spends most of the time heckling the players—particularly Callum—only breaking his streak to belt out the London Lions anthem with passion.
This time, though, I was prepared and filmed the whole thing.
I can’t wait to show Callum. Maybe he’ll even want to post it.
The match ends 2–1 for the Regents, and we finally call it a night.
Bringing Fergie back to his cage, I stroke his back a few times before saying goodnight.
Then, I head to Callum’s room for my well-deserved bath.
His bathroom is spacious and modern, just like the rest of his house, and the bathtub looks more like a small pool than a bath.
I run the water and squirt in some shower gel that smells like eucalyptus.
Finally, I slip into the hot water, savoring the sound of the bubbles popping and the soft hum of the jets.
I close my eyes, sinking deeper into the warmth. My limbs feel weightless, my mind blissfully blank.
And then—
“Millie pretty! Millie! Miiiiiillie!” His voice travels down the hall.
I crack open one eye.
“HELLO! HELLOOOO! Millie pretty!”
“Settle down, Fergie,” I call out. “Time for bed.”
I close my eyes again, intending to fully enjoy this once-in-a-lifetime bath, but just as I’m untensing my shoulders, he goes at it again.
I try to focus on the bubbles and the warmth of the water, but guilt continues to gnaw at me until I mutter, “Fine.” I climb out of the water like a soggy gremlin.
Wrapping myself in a towel, I march to his room, water dripping down my legs to the hardwood floor.
“What’s going on?” I ask, almost slipping on a small puddle that’s forming beneath me.
He crow-hops on his perch towards me and bows his head for cuddles.
“Really? That’s why you dragged me out of the first bath I’ve taken in five years?”
But being the cutie he is, it’s kind of hard to stay mad at little Fergie for long. I caress the top of his head for a few minutes. “All right now, time for bed. For real this time.”
He looks at me and starts bobbing his head in a weird, jerky way.
I frown. “What—”
He opens his beak and throws up.
“Fergie,” I exclaim. “Oh my gosh, are you okay?”
He just looks at me, his expression perfectly serene, as if he didn’t just vomit.
“Are you okay?” I ask again.
He just flies to the other side of the cage and perches there.
Darn it. What’s going on? Should I call the vet?
I’ve never seen him throw up before. I zip downstairs at lightspeed, almost breaking an ankle in the process, and grab Fergie’s folder from the drawer in the entryway.
I dial the vet’s number, but a voicemail tells me they’re closed.
They do provide a number in case of emergencies, but is this really an emergency?
He didn’t look like he was choking or anything.
Maybe I fed him something I shouldn’t have?
Or he snuck a bit of my food when I wasn’t looking?
I race back upstairs—after drying my feet this time—and to my relief, he’s still alive. He calls my name as soon as I enter the room.
What should I do? I can’t ring Callum. He needs his rest, and he’s probably asleep anyway.
I flip through the documents in my hand, and one sheet catches my eye.
The page is sticking out slightly from the edge of Fergie’s health record booklet, the title peeking out in bold letters: “Need help? Ask us!” It’s a flyer from Fur-ever Homes UK, the refuge Fergie is from.
They have an online forum where pet owners can chat with one another or ask questions.
According to the flyer, there are even vets in the chat.
I hurry back to my room, grab my phone, and scan the QR code on the brochure.
Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I enter Callum’s info and the password provided to access the chat room.
It’s an ongoing chat, and scrolling up a bit, I see that pet owners are asking a lot of questions—some weirder than others—and are receiving help almost instantly.
I immediately introduce myself and explain what just happened, praying someone will be available to help.
Turning off my screen, I hustle back toward the cage, my heart still racing. I really hope he’s okay. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to him.
“Cuddles?” I ask, and he flies to the perch beside me. At least he still wants cuddles, and he can fly. It can’t be too serious, right?
I’m scratching his little head when a notification pings on my phone. I unlock it right away.
@vet_evan
Did he eat anything out of the ordinary today?
I exhale sharply. A vet!
@callum&fergie
No, he had the usual: broccoli, courgette, apples, and pellets.
@vet_evan
No treats? Crackers? Seeds from a fruit?
@birdmom88
Poor thing! Was he alone in the house? My macaw once ate part of my shoelace, and I swear it looked like spaghetti coming back up.
@callum&fergie
No, just some walnuts earlier, but he always gets those. And I was with him the whole time. I really don’t think he ate something he shouldn’t have.
@cleoclaws
Not to be that person but… are you sure it wasn’t poop?
@snugglepaw7
Did it smell sour or rancid?
@vet_evan
Did he bob his head first? Kinda like… a little dance?
My heart jolts.
@callum&fergie
Yeah, actually!
@birdmom88
OHHHH. Regurgitation.
@vet_evan
Yes, it’s not vomit. It’s a way of showing affection, a courtship behavior.
I stare at the screen. What is happening?
@cleoclaws
Congrats! He’s into you.
@snugglepaw7
How adorable!
@callum&fergie
Are you sure?
@vet_evan: As long as he's alert, flying, and behaving normally, regurgitation isn’t a medical concern.
Just a way to bond with someone or something.
But don’t reinforce the behavior, because it can lead to hormonal imbalances or aggressive behavior.
If he does it again, don’t overreact. Just distract him or gently redirect his attention with a toy.
I blink as a mixture of relief and… horror washes over me. Fergie is into me? Like, it just got real?
@callum&fergie
Okay. Wow. I did bond with him, but I didn’t know it could become unhealthy.
@vet_evan
It’s okay. And it’s definitely not your fault. It means you’re doing a great job with him, so keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t stop the cuddles or play time. Just react calmly if he regurgitates again.
@callum&fergie
Got it. Thank you, everyone. Sorry for the freakout.
Except I’m still freaking out a little. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad he’s fine and that he loves me so much, but I’m going to have to be careful and make sure I don’t encourage this unhealthy behaviour.
Sitting back, I let out a sigh of relief, but then my freakout comes back in full swing.
Because I realise I’ll have to tell Callum.