“You ready for this?” I ask Poppy, laying a steadying hand on her elbow.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she sighs, shoving her hands into the pockets of her boyfriend jeans. She’s paired her jeans with a silky white tank top and posh-looking blazer, and her smooth hair is pinned up all posh and shit. But what really gets me today is the fierce look of determination in her brown eyes. Her mouth is painted red and ready to tell off any fuckers that try to mess with her.
God, I love it when she gets all ferocious.
“There they are,” Poppy observes, glancing down the hallway.
I follow her gaze to find Glover and O’Leary lingering under the florescent lights, waiting to intercept us. This oughta be good.
“Looks like someone’s got a case of the Mondays,” I grin at O’Leary. The chubby old bloke looks like he’s just taken a shot of vinegar.
“You must be very proud of yourself,” O’Leary snarls back, “Going over our heads to Tucker like that.”
“I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” I shrug, “I assume you’ve both been brought up to speed about how things are gonna go around here?”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Walcott,” says Glover, keeping his voice even, “Tucker may get the final say in this matter, but the second this little fling of yours interferes with either of your work, it’s over. I can’t get rid of you for carrying on with this relationship, but I can sure as hell fire you for not doing your jobs.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Poppy says coolly, lifting her chin in defiance.
“We’ll see about that,” O’Leary grumbles, brushing past us into his office.
“If we’re through with this little soap opera for the time being, I’ve got work to do,” Glover says, turning away from us as well. “And it looks like you two have a visitor.”
Before I can turn around to see who Glover is talking about, I feel a pudgy arm fall across my shoulders. The ruddy, beaming face of Dale Tucker has appeared by my side. Our team’s owner grins like a kid on Christmas morning as he hugs me and Poppy to his padded sides.
“If it isn’t my two new favorite people on the planet!” Tucker crows, nearly vibrating with excitement.
“Hello, Mr. Tucker,” Poppy says quizzically, shooting me a look that says, What the fuck is going on, here?
“Please, call me Dale,” our owner insists, as I duck out from his sweaty embrace. “We’re all friends here.”
Not exactly, I think to myself, but whatever keeps Glover and O’Leary off my back while I get Poppy on hers.
“I am so glad you trusted me enough to come to me with this, Maddox,” Tucker goes on, laying a hand over his heart. “There’s nothing more precious in the world than love!”
Poppy and I trade an alarmed glance.
“That’s not really—” she sputters.
“We’re not—” I cut in.
“Oh, now. Don’t go getting all bashful on me!” Tucker chuckles, “That won’t do for the cameras, will it?”
“Cameras?” I ask him. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your press conference, of course!” Tucker exclaims, clapping his fleshy hands together. “This kind of announcement deserves the full attention of the press.”
I feel my jaw tighten in rage as Dale Tucker blinks innocently up at me. The color drains entirely from Poppy’s face as she stands rooted in place like a startled deer.
“I never agreed to a press conference,” I say slowly, drawing myself up to my full height, “I told you that you could tell the press about us, and that we’d play along.”
“Well, exactly!” Tucker replies, “What better way to tell the press about you two than hosting a press conference devoted entirely to your exciting new relationship? You’re not reconsidering whether you’re comfortable playing along here, are you? Because that would be very… disappointing.”
God fucking dammit. Tucker has us twisted around his fat little finger, and he knows it. I should have known not to give him an inch. Now he’s going to stretch this story of Poppy and me out for miles to come.
“There’s not really any…formal relationship to discuss,” Poppy finally manages to tell Tucker. “So I don’t know what good a press conference would be.”
“Wait a minute,” Tucker says, looking at me with wide eyes, “I thought you said you two were together?”
“We are,” I shrug noncommittally, “But we’re just…seeing each other. We’re not fucking engaged or anything.”
“Not yet,” Tucker sighs, “But one can always hope.”
What the bloody hell is going on? How did I go from being fuck buddies with this woman to halfway-married to her in five minutes flat? This whole thing is spinning entirely out of control.
“We don’t have to get so specific about things when we talk to the press,” Tucker chuckles, laying a hand on each of our shoulders. “We’ll just say you’re…dating. How’s that?”
Poppy swings her gaze my way, at a loss for words. It occurs to me, in that moment, that the two of us haven’t actually ever been on a proper date before. We’ve been shagging like rabbits for the last month or so, sure, but as for actual dates? Not a one.
“I think we can live with dating,” Poppy tells Tucker, “Dating. Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“Super,” the owner grins, looking back and forth between us fondly. “We’ll have everything set up for the press conference in a couple of hours. If you want to head up to hair and makeup, they’re all ready for you!”
And with that, Tucker all but skips away down the hall, leaving me and Poppy staring after him in startled silence.
“Hair and makeup?!” she hisses, swinging her eyes my way, “What the fuck, Mad?!”
“I didn’t know he was going to lose his bloody marbles over this,” I reply, shoving a hand through my hair, “I just wanted to give us some protection against Glover and O’Leary.”
“By letting Tucker trot us out to the press like a couple of show ponies?” she shoots back, grabbing my wrist and all but dragging me into her office. She’s small, but that grip of hers is surprisingly strong.
“You were all for this plan when I first told you about it,” I remind her.
“Yeah, back when I thought the extent of it would be some gossip columns about us,” she says, slamming the door behind me. “I didn’t expect a full-blown PR campaign about the fact that we’re sleeping together.”
“Neither did I,” I tell her, “But if that’s what it takes to keep our jobs and what we’ve got going on between us—”
“That’s easy for you to say,” she laughs sarcastically, “You’re a man. People will hear this story and want to buy you a beer. You don’t understand what this kind of publicity could do for my career. No one will be able to take me seriously after this.”
“That can’t be true,” I tell her.
“What the hell would you know it?” she shoots back, pacing around her office, “You don’t know what it’s like to be discriminated against just for being a woman. I have to be ten times as good, ten times as professional as my male colleagues just to get the same opportunities. God, what was I thinking jumping back into bed with you?
“You were thinking that you wanted me,” I remind her bluntly, laying my hands on her shoulders to stop her frantic pacing, “That’s not a crime, is it? People respect it when you go after what you want.”
“People will respect you for that, sure,” she replies, tears welling up in her eyes, “But they’ll ruin me for it.”
All at once, that protective instinct flares up inside me once again. The idea of anyone chatting shit about Poppy for this affair makes my blood boil. I wrap my arms around her, drawing her to my chest as she tries to hold back her angry tears.
“I won’t let anyone ruin you, Poppy,” I tell her, planting a kiss on the crown of her head.
“Aren’t you just a knight in shining armor?” she laughs softly, laying her cheek against my chest.
/> “More like a knight in navy in gold, I guess,” I joke, holding her against me. “But I mean it now, Poppy. I won’t leave you out in the cold on this. Whatever happens, we’re in this together. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” she says, gazing up at me with something that looks a lot like gratitude. “I just hope I can trust you as much as I want to.”
I hope so too, I think to myself. I have plenty of practice being a teammate, but exactly none with being someone’s partner. Hell, I’ve never even gone longer than a few weeks sleeping with one woman before moving on. I don’t know the first thing about being responsible, or accountable, or trustworthy. Not with a woman I’m seeing, anyway. I suppose I’ve been there for Rosie, as best I could. And the guys of The Firm, of course. But this? This is entirely new territory. Uncharted, to say the least.
Here’s hoping I don’t get too lost in the weeds.
“What do you say? Want to head up to hair and makeup?” Poppy says, smiling as gamely as she can.
“Fuck if they’re getting any makeup on my face,” I grumble, “But sure.”
“You better deliver some seriously excellent oral for getting us into this, Walcott,” she teases, sliding her hand into my back pocket as we make our way upstairs.
“I always deliver excellent oral,” I remind her, “But I take your point, Ms. Abrams.”
“None of that,” she whispers, looking around to make sure we’re alone in the hallway, “It’s bad enough that we’re in the spotlight now. The last thing we need is for everyone to find out about our little run-in when you were still a teenager.”
That shuts me up right quick. Poppy and I step into the elevator side-by-side, ready to face the music.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispers, taking my hand in hers.
I wish I could believe her. But something tells me this whole scheme is going to amount to a whole lot more than nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Poppy
I can barely blink my eyelashes are so caked with mascara. I feel like a beauty pageant contestant as I take my seat beside Maddox at our impromptu press conference. Looking out at the sea of photographers and reporters, I feel as though I’ve just stepped into someone else’s body. None of this has anything to do with the life I’ve built for myself over the years. I’ve been so careful every step of the way, always keeping to the straight and narrow. But now, all of a sudden, I find myself taking a walk on the wild side with no one but Maddox Walcott for company. Well, Maddox Walcott and possibly his unborn child. But there’s no way I can starting think about that right now.
“Hello, everyone!” Dale Tucker crows, leaning in way too close to his microphone, “So nice of you to join us on this special day.”
Tucker, Maddox, Glover and I are all seated at a long conference table that’s been set up beside the soccer pitch. A few dozen media types stare up at us, tape recorders poised and ready. The press conference is about to begin, and with it, a whole new chapter of my life. I try like hell to keep my face neutral, unwilling to betray the nerves and anger rippling just under the surface. I’m playing a part, now. Giving a good show to save my career from going down in flames.
No big deal or anything.
“Let’s kick things off, shall we?” Tucker smiles.
A flurry of flashbulbs goes off in my face as the conference commences. Every reporter in the crowd raises their hand at once, vying for Tucker’s attention. I glance over at Maddox, who’s looking incredibly collected despite the media circus unfolding around us. But then again, of course he does. He has years of media training, and the press absolutely loves him. What’s not to love? He’s delivered more juicy stories in his career than any footballer before him. And now, I’m one of those sweet bits of gossip. Lucky me.
“Why don’t we start with…you,” Tucker says gesturing to a platinum blonde woman in the front row.
“Tanya Robbins, from the Atlantic City Scoop,” the woman says, flashing her bright white teeth in a somewhat malicious smile, “Mr. Walcott, could you tell us a little bit about your relationship with Ms. Abrams?”
“Sure thing,” Mad smiles, disarming as ever as he lays his elbows on the conference table next to me, “Me and Poppy here met on the job, training for the Empire’s opening season. We’ve been…dating for a couple of weeks now.”
“And why the secrecy up until this point?” Tanya Robbins presses.
“Workplace relationships. Always a bit sticky, am I right?” Mad shrugs, setting off a ripple of laughter in the crowd, “Guess we just wanted to be certain before we got the fans all in a tizzy.”
“Certain of what, Mr. Walcott?” Robbins says, nearly drooling over the juicy story.
Maddox turns to me, his gorgeous face lit up with admiration, “Certain in what we felt for each other,” he says, taking my hand in his, “That we cared for each other.”
I stare back at him, forcing my lips into a faint smile. Is he being honest right now, or just playing it up for the cameras? He’s such a good actor that even I can’t tell what his deal is. And that makes me very, very nervous.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Maddox
Just as I expected, the press goes bonkers for me and Poppy as a pair. From that first press conference, the media shit storm only picks up steam. There are blog posts, tabloid articles, news segments, and all manner of photo spreads featuring me and the lovely Ms. Abrams. Honestly, I think the press likes Poppy just as much as they like me—and that’s saying something. I’ve always been the reigning bad boy of football, a great story in and of myself. But now that I’ve taken up with my sexy, non-celebrity trainer? This is media gold.
For her part, Poppy handles the first week of being in the spotlight pretty well. Sure, she’s a little quieter at the end of the day than usual, but who wouldn’t be? We’re both working double duty now—in our proper roles for the Empire and as Tucker’s not-so-secret publicity weapons. Hell, I’m pretty sick of elbowing paparazzi out of the way every time I step outdoors, but I suppose I’m used to it. Poppy? Not so much.
Thankfully, we have a nice mid-week break from practice, meaning I actually get a proper day off. I assumed Poppy and I would be spending the day together, naked under the sheets preferably. But when I ask her what her plans are for the next couple of days, she kind of blows me off.
“I just really need some peace and quiet,” she tells me over the phone, “You understand, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Sure,” I’d tell her, though of course I never understand what the hell is going on in that mind of hers.
“Unless,” she continues as I grabbed a beer from my hotel room fridge, “You had something…special in mind?”
Ah, fuck. What does that mean? Am I meant to cook up some romantic gesture, now that we’re playing lovebirds for the press? One of the best things about this arrangement with Poppy is that she’s never seemed interested in all the bullshit. Until now, that is.
“Right. Tell you what,” I improvise, swallowing a long swig of beer, “Why don’t you come spend the day at the Tangier? They’ve got a great spa here. You could have a day to yourself getting all pampered up. I’ll just put it on my card.”
“Wow…Are you serious?” Poppy asks, sounding surprised by my offer.
“Sure,” I tell her, “Only the best for my co-conspirator.”
“Is that my official title?” she laughs dryly.
“If you like,” I reply, “So, what do you say? Come over tomorrow and have a fancy spa day on me?”
“Sounds…great, Mad,” she says, “I’ll just plan on seeing you after, I guess.”
“Bye then,” I tell her, hanging up the call and settling onto the sofa for a nice, long chill session. There’s a Premier League game on the telly, a six pack in the beer, and 48 hours of peace ahead of me.
Or at least, that’s what I thought until the moment the door to my sister’s suite swings open into mine.
“Who was that you were just chatting to?” Rosie asks, t
raipsing into my room like she owns the place. “Your ‘secret lover’?”
“Yeah, as a matter of fact,” I tell her, scowling as she helps herself to a couple tiny bottles of vodka from my mini-fridge.
“I can’t believe you kept her a secret from even me,” Rosie pouts, pouring her vodka over ice. “I could have been having such lovely girl time with her this whole time!”
“Actually, Poppy has this thing called a job,” I inform my sister, “It takes up most of her time. Not that you would know what that’s like.”
My sister lifts her eyes to mine, looking genuinely hurt by my comment. Aw, shit. I’ve never been able to stand hurting her. Even if it is true that she hasn’t worked a day since I started making enough money for the both of us.
“What are your plans with Poppy for the next couple days?” Rosie asks, changing the subject, “Got any big romantic gesture planned?”
“Not really,” I shrug, “I’m sending her to the spa.”
“You’re not even gonna take her out for a date?” Rosie presses, sitting down next to me.
“Poppy and I don’t really…date, Rosie,” I explain to her.
“What’re you talkin’ about?” she replies, “In all the articles and stuff it says—”
“Let’s just say that our actual relationship is less romantic and more…you know. Casual,” I tell my sister.
“Casual,” Rosie replies, raising a thin eyebrow, “As in casual sex?”
“Pretty much,” I tell her, taking a sip of beer.
“But you’ve taken her out on a date at least?” Rosie presses, looking alarmed.
“Not really,” I reply.
“Jesus Christ, Mad,” she groans, slapping a hand to her forehead, “You are so fuckin’ dense it hurts sometimes.”
“What? What am I being dense about?” I shoot back, flipping on the TV.
Rosie grabs the remote out of my hand and turns it right back off.
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