I’m about to grab all my shit and leave for the day when Stan calls me into the gaffer's office.
Great. This can’t be good.
I find myself outside the office a few moments later, still dripping with sweat, though I don’t know if it’s from training or the nerves, because my gut’s already twisting.
I knock once, then push the door open. Gaffer’s behind the desk, leaving Stan leaning up against the wall like always, arms crossed like he doesn’t want to be here.
“Close the door, Bradshaw,” Stan grumbles, already scowling.
Right. Not ominous at all.
I sit down in the chair across from Gaffer’s desk, waiting for whatever this is about. He leans forward with a bright smile. “We need to talk about Addison Scott,” he says, getting straight to the point.
I don’t even try to hide my eye roll. “Do we?”
Stan exhales sharply. “Save the attitude,Bradshaw.”
My brain flashes through the past week. I’ve given her non-stop attitude, sarcasm, and false directions set up to embarrass her. Did she seriously report that to Gaffer?
“Did she complain about me?”
“No.” Gaffer waves his hand dismissively. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Gaffer clasps his hands together and softens his expression, like he’s about to tell me bad news. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled about us bringing in a PR manager, but she’s here for a reason.”
“A reason we don’t need,” I mutter.
“I said, save it,” Stan says, glaring at me. He can’t be any happier about this than I am, so I don’t know why he’s scolding me for saying what we’re both thinking.
“Oliver,” Gaffer says, cutting through the tension. “We’re on the verge of promotion. Everything we do from here on out is under a microscope—our tactics, our players, our behavior. One misstep and the media will have a field day.”
“I don’t plan on making any missteps,” I say, crossing my arms.
“It’s not just about you,” Gaffer says, tilting his head. “It’s the whole team. Addison’s not here to ruffle our game. She’s here to smooth things over so we can focus on our game. That’s the priority, yeah?”
I grind my teeth, but nod.
“Good,” Gaffer says, smiling. “Now, as captain, your job is to lead by example. Not just during the ninety minutes. We need you to be better about this.”
I bristle. “Better how?”
Gaffer looks down, like he knows I’m going to get angry with whatever he’s about to say. “Help her settle in. This is a big change for her. Make sure the lads don’t give her too much trouble.”
I blink. “You’re joking.”
Stan levels me with a glare. “You don’t have to be best mates, but youdohave to be professional.”
Gaffer leans forward, staring at me like this is already settled. “She’s here to help, Oliver. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be.”
I exhale a slow, frustrated breath and sink back into my chair, defeated. “You’re ordering me to do this?”
“I’m asking you not to make me order you, Oliver.”
I clench my jaw. I fucking hate this. Having her here is one thing, but now you want me to roll out the red carpet and be a bloody one-man welcome committee? Like I don’t have anything better to do?
I don’t want her here. I don’t want her meddling. And I sure as hell don’t want to be responsible for making her feel at home. But I don’t really have a choice. I take my job as captain seriously, and I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize Gaffer taking the armband away from me.
