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Page 114 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)

Nope. He won’t even tell me which part of London it’s in

BROOKLYN

Maybe it’s not London

BROOKLYN

Maybe he’s taking you on a weekend trip to the Cotswolds or something

Hmmm…I don’t think we’re traveling anywhere, or he would’ve told me to pack

CARINA

Babe, he’s a multimillionaire. You don’t have to pack. He can buy whatever you need once you get there

BROOKLYN

Exactly!

You guys, please. I really don’t think it’s travel.

I don’t want to go anywhere right now anyway. I’d prefer something more low-key

BROOKLYN

Booooo

CARINA

No souvenirs for us :(

Spoiler: He did not take me to the Cotswolds. Instead, he took me to…someone’s house?

“Is this a private residence?” I craned my head to take in all four stories of the redbrick behemoth before us. It was large enough to double as a hotel.

“Most days, yes. Today, it’s…something else,” Asher said.

“That’s not vague at all.”

“Sometimes, life is more fun when there’s a little mystery.” He laughed at my pout. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll explain everything soon enough.”

He knocked on the door. It opened two seconds later, revealing a tall, reedy man with silver hair and a perfectly pressed black suit. He looked like a butler straight out of central casting.

“Mr. Donovan, Ms. DuBois. Welcome.” He greeted us with a small bow. “I’m Mr. Harris, the head butler. Please, follow me.”

Head butler? Was there more than one?

The house's mystery deepened the further we walked. Asher said it was a private residence most days, but I didn’t see any personal effects. There were only miles of gleaming marble and original oil paintings hanging in gilded frames.

Our footsteps echoed in the massive halls. Otherwise, it was silent as a mausoleum. If it weren’t for Asher’s reassuring presence, I would’ve been thoroughly creeped out.

I thought Mr. Harris might lead us to the gardens or an indoor cinema, but we stopped at the kitchen instead.

“Enjoy.” He gave us another bow. “If you need anything, anything at all, please feel free to give me a ring on the intercom.”

With that, he retreated, leaving us in what might have been the biggest kitchen I’d ever seen. I wasn’t a culinary enthusiast, but even I was impressed by the setup. A massive kitchen island, professional-grade cookware,threestainless steel Sub-Zero fridges and acres of storage space…it was every chef’s dream.

An inordinately handsome man with dark brown hair and hazel eyes stood in the middle of the room. He wore black pants and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and he oozed enough natural charm to make most women fall at his feet.




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