“I’m honored,” I said carefully. “But I have a full schedule this summer, and I think there are instructors who would be better suited for the role. Less conflict of interest.”
Lavinia’s brows rose a fraction of an inch. “Are you saying you can’t put aside personal feelings for the sake of professionalism?”
Dammit. I’d walked straight into a trap I should’ve seen coming.
“No, of course not. I’m simply preempting problems based on other people’s potential perception.” I gave the first excuse I could think of. “I don’t want to be accused of favoritism.”
“I’ll deal with any problems that might arise.” Lavinia looked unimpressed by my explanation. “If it makes you feel better, you’ll only be training two players, not the entire club.”
I blinked, blindsided twice in the space of five minutes. That had to be a record.
I’d thought it was strange Blackcastle would require its players to stay in London for the offseason, but given their performance yesterday, I’d figured it was some sort of special exception.
The two-player development was both a relief and a concern.
“I assume my brother is one of the two players,” I said. Otherwise, Lavinia would’ve denied the conflict-of-interest issue. “Who’s the other?”
There was a short pause before she answered. “Asher Donovan.”
My stomach dropped. “Asher Donovan?” I couldn’t have contained my outburst if I’d tried. “You want me to train Vincent and Asher in private lessons for an entire summer? They’ll kill each other!”
I’d lost count of the number of times I’d had to listen to Vincent rant about Asher, and the internet was constantly debating who was the better player. I thought the comparisons were unfair considering they played different positions, but people loved to pit the two against each other.
It started years ago when an innocent online Match poll asked people to choose the best up-and-coming footballer. Asher won by one point over Vincent, which had my brother fuming. Since then, their rivalry had escalated to encompass who got paid more (Asher), who had the most brand sponsorships (Vincent), and who won the most Ballon d’Ors (Asher, though they’d received an equal number of nominations). It came to a head at the last World Cup, when Asher’s red card turned their feud into something even more bitter.
“Part of your job is to ensure they don’t kill each other.” Lavinia’s face softened a smidge. “I realize it’s unfair of me to spring this on you with so little notice, but when Frank reached out to me, we agreed to keep the arrangement under wraps for as long as possible in order to prevent leaks.” Frank was Blackcastle’s manager. “He also hadn’t committed to his decision until after yesterday’s match.”
I understood the reasoning, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. In fact, the more I thought about it, the worse my gut churned.
It was easy to figure out why Frank Armstrong was singling out my brother and Asher. Their animosity had led to plenty of issues and resulted in Blackcastle losing this year’s league. Things between them were bitter on a good day, and Frank obviously wanted them to patch things up by forcing them to train together.
That was all well and good, but unfortunately, that meant I was now caught in the middle.
Asher Donovan. Of all the people in the world, the other player had to be him. He was most women’s celebrity crush, and he might’ve been mine too had it not been for my loyalty to Vincent, my strict No Footballers rule, and his questionable reputation.
Asher was generally regarded as the world’s greatest footballer. The striker who played as impressively as he looked, the savior whose goals had brought his team back from the brink of defeat countless times. But for all his talent on the pitch, he was mired in controversy off it. The car crashes, the parties, the revolving door of women—all tabloid fodder that the public ate up like sweets at a children’s party.
I’d never met the man, but if other players had a god complex, I could only imagine how massive his was.
“Is there anything I can say to get out of this?” I asked hopefully.
Lavinia’s brows rose another half an inch.
I held back a sigh. That’s what I figured.
“Lessons start next Monday,” she said. “You’ve cross-trained footballers before, so small tweaks to your previous regimens should be sufficient. I’ve also taken a look at your summer schedule and adjusted it accordingly. Are there any more questions?”
It was a subtle dismissal.
“No,” I said. “I’ll have a final training plan ready by Monday.”
“Good.” Lavinia returned to her papers. “Thank you, Scarlett.”
Okay, that was a clear dismissal.
When I exited her office, Carina was already waiting for me with her bag in hand. It was six thirty-five, which meant it was officially after work hours.
She grimaced when she saw me. “That bad?” She could read my expressions better than anyone.
“I’ll tell you about it over drinks,” I said. “I need one. Badly.”
CHAPTER 3ASHER
“A hundred quid says you or DuBois will punch the other before the month is over,” Adil declared. “Wilson, you taking that bet?”
“Absolutely not,” Noah said, his tone dry. “Leave me out of your bets. They never end well.”
“I have no idea what you mean, and I’m offended that’s how you’re sending me off for the summer.” Adil clutched his chest. “When I’m on the flight home, I’ll remember your words. They’ll hurt.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll stop stirring up shit next season.”
“Is that any way to talk to your teammate? What type of example are you setting for your daughter?”
“Yes, it is, and my daughter’s not here,” Noah said.
I shook my head.
