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There were serial killers with brands more redeemable than mine.
Mother gave me a placating smile, but her voice held a silken threat of warning. “It’s not negotiable, Gabe. We discussed this. We need to clean up your image. It’s going to take a miracle without a lot of work.”
“I don’t like the cameras.”
“You need to take back control of the narrative. It’s the only way to stop the lies.”
I sighed and returned my attention to the blonde as she tackled an opposition player effortlessly and ran the length of the pitch with the ball at her feet as though she’d been born to do it. God, she was good. If Claire Easterly wanted her team to be the best, she needed a player like this. I’d been scouting talent for years. Some people were born with a gift. It was a spark that made no sense. This girl was a world-class player. She also looked like a goddess. She lifted her shirt to wipe her brow, revealing a flash of her white sports bra and a perfectly sculpted stomach. My mouth went dry. Those long, toned legs in those little red shorts were a nice image to store away for later when I got back to my suite.
A roar went up again as the blonde fired the ball straight into the back of the net. A triumphant smile lit her face, and she took off in a victory sprint. Her teammates rushed for her, but she sprinted too fast. She whipped off her t-shirt, flinging it round her head. Her tits bounced deliciously in her white sports bra. I fought to tear my gaze away from her tempting athletic physique. Maybe being involved with women’s football wasn’t the worst thing in the world if the players looked like this.
“How long do you expect me to do this for before you give me the men’s team?”
From the corner of my eye, I saw a smile pull at Mother’s lips. She liked winning. Like mother, like son. “Get them promoted to the next league. Then you can have the men’s team.”
I could do it. If you threw enough money at something you could do anything. With this girl on the team, it wouldn’t take long.
I dusted my hands together. “Right. Fine. Let’s get this done. Leave it to me.”
Claire shot me a questioning look. “You’ve made a decision?”
“Yep. I’m all in. One hundred percent. Let’s do this. First order of business, we get this number seven playing for us.”
Claire took a deep breath and adjusted her smile. “It won’t be that easy. I told you. I’ve been trying—”
“Leave it to me. If we need Mary Forster, then I’ll get you Mary Forster.”
“It’s Miri,” Claire said.
“Right. Mary. Miri. Whatever. I want this girl.”
“Don’t even think about it.” Mother shot me a withering look. “Every woman is an employee. You can’t lay a finger on any of them. If you do, it’s got sexual harassment case written all over it. This is a new start for you. No more stories in the press.”
“Of course. I’m capable of professional relationships. I want this girl for the team, that’s all. I’m taking this seriously.”
Lies. I wanted her bent over my desk. Technically, this woman wasn’t my employee since she wasn’t even on the team yet. I could do what I wanted until then. And what Mother didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. No reason I couldn’t have her on my team. If I played it right, everything I wanted was within my grasp. I could get this woman on my team and in my bed and be directing the men’s team within a couple of months. A smug smile curved my lips.
Maybe it was worth getting out of bed on a Sunday morning more often.
Chapter 5
Miri
“Miri?Canwehavea word?”
An enormous camera appeared from nowhere. Claire Easterly stood awkwardly in front of me. We’d met a few times before when she’d been courting me for her team. A handsome dark-haired man towered next to Claire. Expensive-looking sunglasses shielded his gaze and a well-fitted suit hugged his lean frame deliciously. What idiot wore sunglasses in November?
Claire offered me a tentative smile. “Hi, Miri, great to see you again. I wanted to introduce you to some colleagues of mine. This is Joyce and Gabe Rivers.”
The smartly dressed woman at Claire’s side offered me her hand and spoke in a plummy tone. “Hello, darling. You don’t mind if we film this, do you?”
Film what? And Gabe Rivers? As intheGabe Rivers? What was a celebrity doing at a Sunday morning training session? Gabe perched his sunglasses on his perfectly tousled chestnut hair and his bright green eyes met mine. I’d never spotted a celebrity in the wild. He was so much taller than he looked in the news. He had the kind of dazzling good looks that were best viewed through a pin-hole camera like an eclipse in case the full force of him blinded you.
“Nice to meet you. We were watching you play. You’re talented, Marie.” His cool, clipped accent spoke of private schools, rowing clubs, and privilege.
I hated him already.
Claire coughed. “Miri,” she whispered.
