Page 8 of Once Upon A Player
I really need to break my hermit habit.
Not once has Mum or my stepdad told me I need to get over myself and get on with my life. They’ve always supported me, and I don’t know what I would’ve done without them. But today I not only met one of the biggest names in English football, I managed it without my world caving in.
Geoffrey Hawthorne-Douglas was my first boyfriend, and a rising star in his League Two football club. We dated for fourteen months, and truth is, I thought the sun shone out of his backside. When he humiliated me in front of all of our friends, I just wanted to hide in a hole and never crawl out again. But I haven’t seen any of them in a year, and in spite of Geoff’s delusions of grandeur, when it comes to the great scheme of things, he’s still the equivalent of a minor moon orbiting Jupiter.
Jupiter, naturally, being Lucas Carter’s elevated sphere.
And today I proved to myself I can talk to a hot guy—in the same profession as Geoff—without sounding like a total muppet.
Time to take the next step, Vi.
I pull out my phone and text Katie.
Meet you after work?
Katie works less than a ten minutes’ drive away, at Sycamore Lodge, a 1930s art deco building just off Wood Green High Street, that’s now a budget priced hotel for artists and creatives. She started off as a receptionist straight from school two years ago, and even though she’s only a couple of months older than me, she’s now the assistant manager and responsible for hiring and firing the staff under her.
I just hope I’m not too late, and the temp position she offered me a couple of days ago is still available. Although I work ten hours a week as a virtual assistant for a local agency, it’s not like I’m meetingreal people.A few hours working reception in the real world is what I need.
Baby steps.
The lobby takes up most of the ground floor, with the reception desk near the double glass doors and the bar at the other end of the cavernous room. There are several seating areas, and the whole vibe is relaxed and laid back, which is perfect when most of the guests are on a shoestring budget.
And the likelihood of anyone waltzing in here who knew me when I was dating Geoff is zero to none.
Katie’s at the front desk talking to a young guy, and her sleek French plait trails over her shoulder. Self-consciously I fork my fingers through my messy hair. Maybe I should’ve tidied myself up a bit before coming here? Then again, Katie knows I scrub up okay. It’s not like this is an official interview or anything.
When she’s finished dealing with the guest, she takes a couple of phone calls before she joins me. “Sorry about that. We’re so busy it’s insane.”
We make our way to the high street and to our favorite pub, the White Hart, which is situated on the corner and does a happy hour for locals on Friday afternoons. It’s probably not a good thing that they recognize our faces as soon as we walk in the door, but on the flip side, Friday afternoons are practically the only times I drink alcohol.
Although the pub is packed, we manage to find a table on the front terrace. Well, I sayterrace,but it’s just part of the pavement, really, which has been enclosed by a low brick wall with iron railings.
I might as well get straight to the point in case I change my mind again. “Is that receptionist job still available?”
Katie’s eyes widen over her cocktail glass, and she takes a long swallow of the bright orange liquid before replacing the glass on the table.
“Are you interested?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes.”
“You weren’t two days ago. What’s happened?”
“Nothing. I’ve decided it’s time I get my life back on track.”
“Okay. And this ismeyou’re talking to. I’ve been telling you that for the last six months, sosomething’shappened since the last time we saw each other. Come on, spill.”
I take a quick sip of my own cocktail. It’s not that I wasn’t going to tell Katie about my meeting Lucas Carter. I just don’t want her thinking that’s got anything to do with my decision to get a part-time job.
Even if it has.
I sigh. That plan was doomed before it even started. “I met Lucas Carter today while I was cleaning his penthouse.”
“Lucas Carter?” She frowns as though she’s trying to place the name. “Who’s that, then?”
Inwardly, I groan. “He’s a footballer.” It sounds almost sacrilege to describe him that way, without adding a few superlatives, but I don’t think it would’ve made any difference. She still looks clueless, so I give her another hint. “The guy with his shirt off in the cologne ads.”
She might have a dim view of all things football related, but she’s definitely on the ball when it comes to noticing hot guys. Her mouth forms a shockedO.
