CHAPTER 2 #2
“That’s a good outlook.”
“Ah, Miss Simmons,” Chard said with a sigh. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our meeting short. I’m needed in London.”
Scarlett dropped her necklace. “Oh, right, not a problem.”
“Perhaps Marrero could give you a tour?”
“I have a scouting appointment this morning,” the manager said, addressing Ross. “Would you mind showing her around?”
Scarlett peered up into the stony face of Theo Ross and, for the first time since scalding him with coffee, took note of him.
He was a tall man with dark-rimmed glasses, wide shoulders, and a trim waist. His carefully cropped beard highlighted an already square jaw, making it appear sharper, and she had to tell herself she was not, in fact, interested in touching it.
What was wrong with her? Having a desire to touch a growly man’s beard was not her usual thing.
His light brown curls were another point of interest to her.
Scarlett couldn’t discern if his hair was actually dirty blond or light brown, and it was strange how such a silly thing stuck in her mind.
He was frowning, as usual, Scarlett saw.
Never had she seen such an attractive person scowl so much, as if he were actively endeavoring to make himself appear permanently miserable.
“Let’s go,” he said in a clipped, deep tone, and Scarlett nodded, grabbing her things as she followed him out of the office and into the hallway.
She had to admit that whoever was in charge of the styling of the facility had really done an amazing job.
She was curious how much it had all cost, as it looked expensive as hell.
The walls were painted black, with gold lines slashed across.
The carpet was also black, and the lighting above was provided by three-foot-long fluorescent bulbs, encased in gold shades.
It was like walking through some evil villain’s lair.
“This place is impressive,” she said, hoping to make conversation. “I can imagine it’s intimidating for visiting teams.”
“If only that intimidation won matches,” Theo grumbled as they made their way to the end of a fork in the hallway. He turned left and headed down a flight of stairs. “This way.”
“Isn’t my office upstairs?”
“It is, but if you want to know where the locker rooms are, I suggest you follow me.”
Scarlett was surprised that she was only now detecting a Scottish accent. She stared at him as they walked, causing him to glance at her.
“What?”
“You’re Scottish.”
“And?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Well, don’t get any ideas.”
Scarlett tilted her head. “What sort of ideas?”
“I don’t need any more American women telling me my accent is charming.”
Scarlett scoffed, amazed at the arrogance of him. She usually liked the clipped tone of grumpy men, but to think that she would fawn over him because of an accent? Please. And what did he mean by “any more American women”?
“Don’t worry. I would never call you charming, Mr. Ross.”
Scarlett wasn’t short, but she had to hurry alongside him when he made a sharp right into what appeared to be a locker room.
Full of half-naked men.
She had to beat down the urge to cover her eyes.
“Shield yourselves, boyos! New meat in the building.”
Scarlett was hardly scandalized by a dozen or so shirtless men, but there was a level of professionalism that she had hoped to maintain, a line she didn’t wish to cross, and meeting the men’s team for the first time in the locker room seemed, well, like an ambush.
“Oi—oh, who’s this?” said a man with dirty-blond hair and a physique that belonged on the cover of a fitness magazine.
Come to think of it, this man probably had been in several magazines.
This was Miles Wilkens, one of the more troublesome players on the Manchester Bees. “New trainer or something?”
Several hoots and whistles sounded around them.
“Ah, actually I’m the new public relations coordinator, Scarlett Simmons. Nice to meet all of you.”
A short, middle-aged man with a messy gray hair came forward, dressed in a Manchester Bees polo and khakis.
“Gary Fielding, assistant manager. My apologies for not being at the meeting this morning, but,” he said, shaking her outstretched hand before pivoting back to the team, “there was a bit of an issue down here.”
“Issue?” she repeated.
“Ah, it was nothing. A bit of a disagreement,” the dirty-blond man said as he slapped the bare chest of another man standing next to him, who lunged for him. It appeared the man had a swollen eye. “Oi, Kelly, calm down!”
“I swear to Christ, Wilkens, I’m going to murder you—” the man with the swollen eye snapped as two other teammates held him back while several others ooooohed at them.
“As I was saying,” the assistant manager said before motioning to a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a towel wrapped around his trim waist. “This is Aban Mensah, our team captain.”
Scarlett took his hand and shook it. Aban Mensah was one of the few unproblematic players on the team, and had once been one of the most promising young players in the United Kingdom until a hamstring injury requiring surgery left him sidelined for a season.
After that, he had been transferred to the Bees and was trying to work his way back up into the Premier League.
“Aban, it’s a pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“Why exactly are you here again?” a dark-haired man with a goatee asked.
“I’m here to help with the current image of the Bees.”
“What’s wrong with the current image?” another asked.
Scarlett twisted to peek over her shoulder at Theo, who was giving the very believable impression of being completely uninterested in helping her. Exhaling, she faced the team again.
“Well, it’s not exactly a secret that the Bees aren’t the best in the league.”
“We’re not even the best in this city,” a square-faced redhead said from the back of the group.
“Shut up, Templeton.”
“I will not.”
A smattering of agreements and disagreements rang throughout the room as the men’s voices rose.
Scarlett waited for Theo to quiet them down, but he remained perfectly silent and still next to her, as if he couldn’t be bothered with this meeting.
He wasn’t even paying attention. In fact, he was pulling out his phone, ignoring the entire situation.
Well, he obviously wasn’t going to be much help.
“Settle down, please,” she said, holding her hands up, but an argument had broken out. “Guys? Hello?” She twisted behind her. “Are you going to do something?”
Theo’s brows lifted, but he didn’t take his attention off his phone. “I’m not going to be with you every single day that you’re here. If you want their attention, you have to get it.”
“Hey! Listen up!” Gary tried, but the team didn’t seem to hear him, and he gave her an apologetic expression.
Scarlett’s mouth set in a hard line. Fine. If Theo wasn’t going to help, she’d do it herself.
Taking a few steps forward, she reached for one of the stools that sat in front of the lockers and climbed precariously on top, ignoring the fact that she was wearing heels. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she took a deep breath.
“HEY!” The loud shout caught everyone’s attention, and the players quieted and faced her.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “Thank you. Now, I am aware of the varying feelings there are regarding this team—pride for this city and these colors, shame for the losses that have been accrued over the years. Hope that blooms every year at the start of the season and pain when those hopes are dashed. I understand it because I’ve been a part of this sport for a long time.
I was a fan as a kid, a player in school and professionally, and a member of management. ”
“You played?” Miles asked.
Scarlett bobbed her head. “I did. I played two years with New York City Gotham.” She paused for a moment, noting the lack of recognition on the faces around her.
As much as she had come to terms with her playing career ending after only a few years, it was still a sore subject for her to bring up, but one that she felt infinitely more comfortable talking about with other players.
“I was selected for the women’s national team during the World Cup several years ago.
I played twenty-eight minutes before I was caught in a side tackle that tore my talofibular ligament. ”
Several men hissed and sucked air in through their teeth. It was one of the more common career-ending injuries.
“Did you have surgery?” Aban asked.
“I did, but I wasn’t ever able to play like before.
” She paused, eyeing the men, who were all now staring at her with sympathetic expressions.
“But! I found a new career and am very pleased that I still get to be a part of this great game. So, as the new public relations manager, I would like to set up individual meetings with every one of you, including managers.” She shifted slightly to her left to indicate that she was speaking about Theo.
“Assistant managers, kit people, and the like.”
“We can do that,” the one named Templeton called out. “Right, lads?”
A murmur of affirmations spread throughout the group, and Scarlett smiled as she bent to get off her podium.
“That’s awesome, guys. Thank you all so much. Oof!”
The edge of the stool was nearer than she’d realized, and her foot slipped. She fell backward, bracing for the hard impact of the floor, but was caught by two strong arms that immediately cradled her against a firm, solid chest.
The wind had been knocked out of her as she gazed up to see the cool gray eyes of Theo Ross staring down at her.
What did he see?
“Nice catch, boss!”
Almost instantly, he set her upright, back on her feet.
His hands remained on her arms to make sure she was steady, and the scent of him lingered.
God, he smelled amazing. The scent was sweet and refreshing, but also earthy, and she was momentarily distracted by it.
She would have to ask him later what cologne he wore.