Chapter 4
To: tieranstone@
From: jademckallen@
Subject: Meeting
I hop out of my cherry red vintage Porsche, bouncing on my feet in anticipation for the meeting I’m embarrassingly early to.
When the email invite came in late last night, my heart started to beat out of my chest. At first I thought she was reaching out to clear the air, but then I saw it was just a calendar invite.
All the possibilities about what the meeting could be for kept me up well into the next day with excitement, and trepidation.
Maybe she wants to sack me without the team around?
Or maybe she wants to speak privately, and that’s why she was so aloof the day before?
Either that, or our night together wasn’t as memorable to her as it was to me.
Not knowing was driving me mad.
The speed with which I accepted the meeting invite should probably be a mark against my character.
Re: a too zealous wanker whose pride can’t take another hit.
And it would take a hit if Jade was able to let our night together slip from her memory, because it wasn’t just the sex—groundbreaking as it was.
I thought we had a connection that went deeper than physical attraction.
Maybe in hindsight, that idealism was idiotic, since we never even exchanged names—a convenient fact that could have saved us in our current predicament—but at that point in time, the anonymity felt exhilarating.
It had been thrilling to have fun with someone, and there be zero strings attached.
I wasn’t the country’s top fly-half turned laughing stock, or the jilted party in a very public breakup.
No one was overanalyzing my words, looking for something they could stake to my chest like a scarlet letter.
I was just me.
It felt like freedom from judgement and expectation, and I can’t remember the last time I felt that. The confidence I felt in Jade’s company that night didn’t feel forced or artificial because she didn’t know who I was and I didn’t know who she was. We were simply two people in a pub.
After an embarrassingly thorough Google search that led to an extensive deep dive through her socials, I could now say I definitely know more about her than is probably advisable.
A millionaire by her nineteenth birthday, hordes of loyal followers hanging on her every well-manicured word, several companies under her belt, and a savviness for business and investing—it was no wonder she had the means to buy out a whole damned sports team.
The question was why.
One would be a fool to believe she wouldn’t succeed at whatever she put her mind to, based on her steely gaze alone, but what could have possibly compelled her to do this? It’s the polar opposite of everything else she’s done so far in her career.
I’m five minutes early by the time I walk up to the door leading into her office. Right before I can knock, the door flies open, revealing the team's left flanker, Thomas Wainsworth.
“Big man!” Tommy’s thick northern accent calls out as he pulls me into a bear hug.
“What are you doing here?”
“Same as you, I’d reckon. Had a meeting with Ms. McKallen this morning.” Oh. Oh. It’s dawning on me now that my assumptions around this meeting are clearly in error.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I duck my head, hoping he doesn’t notice. “That’s sound. Well, I better get in there then. Don’t want to get on her bad side.” I indicate toward the open office door.
“See you on the pitch, Cap.”
I take a deep breath, trying to temper my embarrassment before I step forward and rap my knuckles against the door.
Jade is sitting at her desk, head tilted down with her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, looking over some forms on her desk as she talks assertively to whoever is on the other line.
Her midnight hair is pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck, tendrils falling around her high cheekbones.
From her seated position, I can see she’s wearing a champagne satin blouse that gathers at her side, accentuating her figure.
Somehow, she’s managed to look severe and angelic at the same time.
She knocks me out of my open admiration when she finally addresses me, still not looking up from her work. “Please come in, Mr. Stone.” Her voice is rich, with a slight rasp around the edges that makes a bolt of heat zing up my spine.
Only when I sit in the chair across from her does she finally look at me.
I don’t know what I expected to be met with, but it wasn’t cool indifference.
Not a single flare of recognition lights her honeyed eyes as I remain silent, waiting for her cue as she assesses me, that bright spot of blue beckoning my attention.
“I sent out individual meeting invites to each player on the team so I can gauge everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, as well as ask them if they’ve felt supported in the past. If they haven’t, I want to know how we as an administration can better lend aid and help everyone achieve their goals for this season and beyond. ”
“Where would you like to start?” I ask, forgetting about everything else in the wake of her professionalism.
“You didn’t have the best season last year.” Apparently, we’re going straight for the throat, no preamble.
“I’m aware I failed my team,” I bite out.
“I didn’t say that, Mr. Stone.” She levels me with a withering look. “Your ability to lead your team isn’t contingent on the amount of trys the team scores or how well you play individually.”
“Tell that to the rabid hoard of fans and reporters.” I glance out the window, anywhere but at that intense spot of blue.
“I’m less concerned about what they think and am more concerned about what you think, Mr. Stone.”
I hate that we’re leaning too close to her baldly perceiving all my weaknesses—hate that she’ll see me differently now than she did the night we met. “Call me Tieran.” I plaster on a cheeky smile, feeling the need to distract her.
I shouldn’t be surprised when it doesn’t work, and she raises a single eyebrow at me.
“What happened last season, Mr. Stone?”
I suck in a fortifying breath. “I got a severe case of the yips halfway through the year and couldn’t pull myself out in time to lead the team properly.” My eyes ping pong all over the office, anywhere but at her.
“Are the yips still present?”
The desire to lie, to save face in front of her, is strong, but I resist. “I hope not.”
“As the Legends captain, what can leadership do to support you, the team, and your own individual goals?”
“Honestly?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I wanted lies.
If something is lacking, I need to know so I can course correct it.
Players who feel valued are important to me, a pivotal aspect of building morale amongst everyone.
” Every word out of her mouth sounds clinical, but somehow, it still rings genuine.
She cares about this, at least more than our previous leaders did.
Who is this Jade? Because she’s a far cry from the one I met at the pub.
“Our equipment is older than the sovereign himself and needs updating. Previous owners only ever invested in the appearance of the stadium, wanting to maintain looks so they could justify price gouging tickets and leaving nothing in the budget for us. It may not seem important, because a ball is a ball, but the players notice the things the higher ups deem worthy, and it’s not usually the puppets that make them money. ” How’s that for honesty?
“What else?”
“Revamped uniforms would be nice, better hotels during away games, better meal stipends for when we’re away.”
“How much have they been giving you for meals?” Her tone is skeptical and inquiring.
“Twenty quid a day.”
She smarts. “You’re each at least two hundred pounds, more for the forwards. Twenty quid would only cover a breakfast with the amount of food professional athletes eat.”
“Spot on.” I lean back in my chair.
“Is there anything else I should know?”
I take a minute to think about the needs of the team. “Our equipment manager, Harry, could use some support. He takes on a lot by himself. He may need an assistant, or, at the very least, some updated machines for the washing.”
Jade nods her head in acknowledgment. “And your goals for your time on the team? Beyond?”
This is not a conversation I want to have, but the resolute structure of her shoulders tells me I won’t get out of it. “I wanted to qualify for the men’s National Team…go to the Olympics.” Maybe if I did, I would finally make Dad proud, get him to notice me—to care.
“Wanted?”
I huff out a laugh. "Well, I don’t think they’ll want anything to do with me now.” My shoulders rise nonchalantly, and I shrug it off like I do everything else these days.
“I’ve seen you play, Mr. Stone.” I grimace internally, thinking about this woman—my boss—seeing me off my game.
“Hopefully not a match from last season.” Plastering a false smile across my face and opting for an unbothered approach has been serving me well over the last year, but I have to admit, it’s starting to wear on me, acting like one person when I’m someone else entirely on the inside.
“I’ve seen you play,” she continues, unfettered. “You are a force on the pitch. Your ability to determine the other team’s strategies and adjust your own on the fly is…impressive. We’ll get you on the Olympic team, but you still have to want it.”
She’s so sure, so confident in my ability, it almost makes me believe too. Almost, but not quite.
“That’s all I have for you and my next meeting is in five minutes. Thank you for your time.” She gestures toward the door so I can see myself out.
I stand to leave and make it halfway before my shoulders swivel around of their own accord. She’s staring at her laptop screen when I break the weird bubble of plausible deniability we’ve been holding on to like a life raft.
“Do you really not remember me?” All the air has been sucked out of the room.
She doesn’t look up from her screen. “Of course I do.”