CHAPTER 5
For the next hour and a half, Scarlett interviewed each one of the twenty-two players.
The first four were easy enough, young players not quite as experienced as Premier League players, but eager to improve.
They were followed by three older players who, to Scarlett, exuded a quiet desire to retire.
The most likable player by far was the captain, Aban Mensah.
He had been scouted by Chelsea in his youth and even started with them for a year, but his performance had been lackluster, and when it came down to qualifiers, they had let him go.
But he wasn’t despondent about it and had a practical sense about him.
He wasn’t overly positive or negative, he just sort of was, which was rather refreshing compared to the others.
Frank Templeton was a people pleaser, which was lovely off the field, but gave him a sort of distracted sense on the field.
Miles Wilkens couldn’t keep his hands to himself, as Scarlett witnessed.
He would tap, hit, slap, and push his teammates, much to their chagrin, as well as the managers, but he seemed unbothered by their responses.
The team goalie, Stanley Weeks, was suffering from an undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder, only he didn’t believe in therapy.
He was sure that his rituals, such as running around the field one hundred and three times, were helping the team, even if they hadn’t won a game in twenty-three matches.
When Scarlett brought that up, he didn’t back down, insisting that everyone on the team needed to be doing the same rituals to make it work.
She nodded slowly at his response as her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Ah, I think we’re done, Stanley. Thank you so much for your time, and think about what I said about donating some time to the state school, all right? And try to convince Miles. He wasn’t too interested.”
“I’ll try,” he said as he headed back out onto the field, where the rest of the team was doing burpees.
Reaching into her back pocket, she pulled out her phone and was ashamed at the disappointment that engulfed her when she saw that it was a text from Maxie saying that she wasn’t going to be home that night, as she was going to stay at Devon’s place.
Scarlett texted okay in response as the phone buzzed again.
Mr. Wrong Number.
She tapped the screen but was interrupted.
“Miss Simmons?” She gazed up to see a good-looking, dark-haired man with squarish features staring down at her as she sat on the bench. “I’m Josh Majka.”
Scarlett quickly pocketed her phone and stood, holding out her hand, surprised at how gently he held her fingers.
He was handsome, with dark, nearly black hair, cut short at the sides and left a little longer on top.
He was one of the brawnier players, with wide shoulders and a thick neck.
He stood only about an inch or two taller than Scarlett’s five-five height, and appeared pleased to be there, judging by his wide smile.
“Josh Majka, it’s nice to meet you. Gary told me a bit about you. Please, sit.”
Although it was sort of awkward to be interviewing players from an angle, Scarlett crossed her legs and used her knee as a surface to place her notebook.
“So, Josh, how long have you been in the U.K.?”
“Ah, I moved here permanently about three years ago, but I had been coming over during the summers for several years before that.”
“You were scouted, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been with the Bees for two years, after being a backup for Dundee United, right?”
He leaned over slightly, pretending to read her notebook. “Do you have where I was born on that too?”
Scarlett let out a little laugh. “No, but judging by your accent, I’d put you from somewhere in the South.”
“Oh yeah? Can you guess which state?”
She scrunched up her face. “Not really.”
He chuckled, and Scarlett’s shoulders relaxed. “North Carolina. On the coast.”
“Ah, see, that was going to be my first guess.”
He laughed, and Scarlett happened to look across the field at the moment, and saw Theo glaring at her. He turned, almost instantly, as did she. She tried to shrug it off, unsure why she felt so exposed in that moment, and continued with her questioning.
“So, Josh, what are your goals while here on the Bees?”
“Well, I’d like to win a game, for starters, but it’s an uphill battle. Particularly with me.”
“What do you mean?”
Josh inclined his head toward the center of the field, and Scarlett followed. Theo was barking orders at the others. They faced each other again.
“He doesn’t like me much. Or at least, it feels like that.”
“Doesn’t like you? Why?”
He shrugged, but there was something in his stance that made Scarlett wary. “I don’t know. Listen,” he said, glancing out over the pitch again. “Can I be real with you for a minute?”
“Please.”
“Theo Ross is a good manager, don’t get me wrong, but the way the owner undermined him by insisting that Deago play last year, well, it hasn’t left a good impression on the other players. Wilkens might be the unruliest player, but Aban is the one who dictates the team.”
Scarlett frowned and leaned toward him. He smelled like sweat and freshly cut grass. “You’re saying Ross has to prove to Aban that he can manage the team?”
“Not manage the team, but take command of the team. Half the players don’t trust him. There’s no confidence since last year.”
“But that wasn’t his fault, and with Deago gone, surely you all can give Ross another chance, can’t you?”
He shrugged, leaning back. “I’d like to, but the one that needs convincing is Aban.”
Scarlett sighed, jotting down everything Josh had said. It didn’t seem fair that the players were judging Theo based on something completely out of his control, but then, she hadn’t been here last year. Maybe she should talk to him and get his point of view before making any suggestions.
Tapping her pen on the notebook, she looked back up.
“So, according to my notes, while you’re one of the better players on the team, you don’t have an impression among the fans.
In fact, according to a survey the team sent out a few weeks ago, only about half of the people know your last name. Do you think you know why that is?”
“Because I’m not playing. I’ve been recovering for the past eight months,” he said nonchalantly. “But there’s no helping that, is there?”
“Well, actually, there is. I’m advising each player to find a local charity or organization to which they can dedicate at least ten hours a week.
I’ll allow two players to each organization, but no more than that.
We want to spread the team out, to get the community and city on board with the franchise.
Do you have any interests that you’d be willing to volunteer for? ”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. My grandpa died of Alzheimer’s when I was a kid, and I ran a few 10Ks growing up benefiting that. Maybe I can do something with that, if there’s a charity or something around here?”
Scarlett beamed. “That’d be wonderful, Josh. I’ll look into it and get you in contact with someone soon, all right?”
“Sounds good,” he said, standing. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the season, huh?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Lucky me,” he said with a wink, grinning widely before heading back out onto the field.
Scarlett made a note to search for Alzheimer’s charities in Manchester.
Talking to Josh had been a little balm to her soul.
It was nice to talk to someone familiar with living stateside, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she could have sworn that wink was a little flirtatious.
Not that she had any romantic ideas, of course.
Relationships within organizations like this were usually forbidden.
She had learned as much with her last relationship.
“Are you done?”
The cool tone of Theo’s voice echoed around her, causing her head to snap up.
His stormy, pale gray eyes glared down at her, and a lump formed in her throat. She needed to get over her little infatuation with being snarked at by him. But damn, if there wasn’t something provocative about being the focus of this man’s ire.
“Nearly,” she said with a pointed sweetness, unable to stop herself. “I need to get a one-on-one with you now.”
Theo scowled. “Me? Why?”
“Branding isn’t only about the players. Coaches—or managers,” she corrected herself, “are as important in this sport, particularly in this country. So, I’m going to need an idea of your goals for this team, both personal and professional, and any ideas that you may have to become a more visible representative for the Bees would be wonderful. ”
Seemingly stumped, Theo gazed back over his shoulder at the team while Scarlett stood, gathering her things in her arms. By the time his attention was back on her, she was in front of him.
“I can’t leave the practice.”
“That’s fine. Maybe you can come to my office afterward?”
He hesitated, visibly unwilling to agree, but then he did. “Sure.”
She beamed at him, privately delighted at seeing him caught off guard. “Great. I’ll see you then.”
Twirling around, Scarlett walked off the sidelines, back through the tunnel that led to the locker room.
There was something decadent about leaving Theo nonplussed, and she relished in the sensation once she was back in her office.
She had completely forgotten that Mr. Wrong Number had texted her until a reminder ping hit her phone.
She took her it out of her pocket and read,
Was it actually an accident?
A wave of familiar humiliation washed over Scarlett. She had been so close to forgetting that, but it was sort of hard to do, since it was the last thing she had sent.
Yeah, it was. Sorry about that. My hand slipped.
Not a problem.
She bit her lip, nervous as she typed.
I’d like to try again if you’re up to it.
Absolutely.
“Hello?” A voice came from the doorway after a knock.