Page 6 of The Striker (Gods of the Game 1)
I stepped inside with the caution of someone approaching an aggravated rattlesnake.
Lavinia’s office was as neat and polished as the woman herself. Giant windows overlooked the academy grounds, and an artfully arranged gallery of photos dominated the wall opposite the door. They captured the famous former prima ballerina in every stage of her career, from blossoming ingenue to international star to retired legend.
Lavinia herself sat behind her desk, her hair pulled back into a bun, her glasses perched on her elegant nose as she flipped through some papers.
“Please, sit.” She gestured at the chair opposite her.
I obliged, trying to tame my rampage of nerves and failing miserably.
“We’re both busy, so I’ll cut to the chase.” Lavinia was never one for beating around the bush. “We’ve partnered with the Blackcastle football club on a special training program this summer. I want you to run point on it.”
My mouth parted. Out of everything I’d imagined she’d say, a football cross-training program ranked in the bottom five.
Granted, I’d run similar programs in the past, but they were usually for League One or Two teams, not for the freaking Premier League.
“By run point, you mean…”
“You’ll be training them. You’re one of my best instructors, and you’re familiar with football,” Lavinia said. “I trust you’ll do a good job.”
I bit back a knee-jerk rejection. I knew exactly what she meant when she said I was “familiar with football.” After all, my brother was the captain of Blackcastle.
However, as much as I loved him and the club, I didnotwant to train him or his teammates. Most footballers were arrogant, insufferable, and selfish.
I should know—I used to date one.
Vincent was the only exception to my anti-footballer sentiments, and that was because he was family.
“I’m honored,” I said carefully. “But I have a full schedule this summer, and I think there are instructors who would be better suited for the role. Less conflict of interest.”
Lavinia’s brows rose a fraction of an inch. “Are you saying you can’t put aside personal feelings for the sake of professionalism?”
Dammit. I’d walked straight into a trap I should’ve seen coming.
“No, of course not. I’m simply preempting problems based on other people’s potential perception.” I gave the first excuse I could think of. “I don’t want to be accused of favoritism.”
“I’ll deal with any problems that might arise.” Lavinia looked unimpressed by my explanation. “If it makes you feel better, you’ll only be training two players, not the entire club.”
I blinked, blindsided twice in the space of five minutes. That had to be a record.
I’d thought it was strange Blackcastle would require its players to stay in London for the offseason, but given their performance yesterday, I’d figured it was some sort of special exception.
The two-player development was both a relief and a concern.
“I assume my brother is one of the two players,” I said. Otherwise, Lavinia would’ve denied the conflict-of-interest issue. “Who’s the other?”
There was a short pause before she answered. “Asher Donovan.”
My stomach dropped. “Asher Donovan?” I couldn’t have contained my outburst if I’d tried. “You want me to train Vincent and Asher in private lessons for an entire summer? They’ll kill each other!”
I’d lost count of the number of times I’d had to listen to Vincent rant about Asher, and the internet was constantly debating who was the better player. I thought the comparisons were unfair considering they played different positions, but people loved to pit the two against each other.
It started years ago when an innocent onlineMatchpoll asked people to choose the best up-and-coming footballer. Asher won by one point over Vincent, which had my brother fuming. Since then, their rivalry had escalated to encompass who got paid more (Asher), who had the most brand sponsorships (Vincent), and who won the most Ballon d’Ors (Asher, though they’d received an equal number of nominations). It came to a head at the last World Cup, when Asher’s red card turned their feud into something even more bitter.
“Part of your job is to ensure theydon’tkill each other.” Lavinia’s face softened a smidge. “I realize it’s unfair of me to spring this on you with so little notice, but when Frank reached out to me, we agreed to keep the arrangement under wraps for as long as possible in order to prevent leaks.” Frankwas Blackcastle’s manager. “He also hadn’t committed to his decision until after yesterday’s match.”
I understood the reasoning, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. In fact, the more I thought about it, the worse my gut churned.
It was easy to figure out why Frank Armstrong was singling out my brother and Asher. Their animosity had led to plenty of issues and resulted in Blackcastle losing this year’s league. Things between them were bitter on a good day, and Frank obviously wanted them to patch things up by forcing them to train together.