Page 14 of Offside Angle

I’m only half paying attention.

My phone is already in my hand as I shove my notebook into my bag. I shoot Lena a quick text.

Mats: tape’s done. heading to the airport to grab my parents. see you at home later

I’m typing out a second message when Zara walks back into the room with someone beside her.

“Alright everyone,” she says, voice cutting cleanly through the noise. “As I promised, starting today we have a new member of our staff for photo and video. Everyone meet Santiago.”

A few of the guys whoop and clap, the sound loud in the small room. I barely glance up. I’m still focused on my phone, trying to finish the text to Lena before I forget.

People start moving toward the door, clapping the new guy on the shoulder as they pass, voices loud and welcoming. I keep my head down, shoving the last of my stuff into my bag and double-checking the time for my parents’ flight.

Eventually the room clears out.

I swing my bag over my shoulder and turn toward the door, already thinking about the drive to the airport and how I’m going to survive having both my parents and Lena under one roof for the next few days.

That’s when I hear it.

“Hola, Matteo.”The voice is low, smooth, and way too familiar.

I freeze. Nobody calls me Matteo. Nobody except my parents… and one other person.

My stomach drops. I close my eyes, jaw tightening as the name lands hard, then force myself to turn around.

Santiago Vega stands near the front of the room, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding the camera strap across his chest. Dark hair slightly messy, sharp features, that same calm, knowing expression that used to drive me insane when we were kids. He’s taller than I remember, broader through the shoulders, but that unnerving sense that he can see straight through me hasn’t changed at all.

“Long time no see,” he says.

I stand there with my bag slung over one shoulder and my pulse going fucking haywire. Santi.

My brain is moving too fast and too slow at the same time, struggling to process the fact that Santiago Vega is standing in our film room after years of being completely absent from my life, acting as though appearing here out of nowhere is perfectly reasonable.

Meanwhile, I’m having a small existential crisis and trying very hard not to show it.

Santi stays quiet, head tipped slightly to one side as he studies me. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the camera hanging around his neck and takes a picture.

The shutter clicks.

I blink and immediately roll my eyes. “What are you doing here?” I ask, and I really hope my voice doesn’t sound as stupid as it feels coming out of my mouth.

Santi lowers the camera and gives me a small, crooked smile. “Been hired to take pretty pictures of you.” He even winks.

I stare at him, then let out a short, disbelieving breath. “No.” I turn around and start walking toward the door, already feeling my face heat up. This is not how I expected my day to go. This is not how I expected to see him again.

Behind me, Santi chuckles softly. “Aw,” he says, teasing. “And here I was hoping you’d like having me here.”

I stop with my hand on the doorframe, but I don’t turn around. I can still feel his eyes on me. I can still hear that familiar tone in his voice — the one that always managed to get under my skin no matter how hard I tried to pretend it didn’t.

I force myself to keep walking. I need to get out of this room before I say something I’ll regret. Or worse — before I ask him something I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the answer to.

“See you tomorrow, cariño.”

My eye twitches.

I don’t even respond. I slam the film room door behind me harder than necessary and stalk down the hallway, irrationally pissed off at everything in my path. My heart is pounding far too fast for what should’ve been a normal end-of-meeting interaction.

I make it outside and practically throw myself into the car, shutting the door hard enough to shake the whole vehicle. For a moment, I stay there with both hands locked around the steering wheel, holding on while my brain scrambles to reject what just happened.