Chapter Twelve

C hapter Twelve

A ndy

I t is a business dinner, I told myself as I glanced in the mirror one final time before leaving the house.

I'm purely meeting a contractual agreement , I internally reiterated as the lift doors opened and Graham greeted me with a nod.

It is easier to keep the same interviewer, even if she knows jack shit about me or football .

"Andrew, how are you on this fine evening?" The older man asked, walking alongside me as I headed outside where my driver would be waiting.

"Good thanks, mate. How are you?" I stopped a few metres from the door wanting to give him the time he deserved. Graham had worked here as long as I'd lived in the building which was almost three years now. I'd rented other places in the city, always close to work, but my parents wouldn't get off my back about making a good investment so when Cooper's dad – a realtor in the upper niche market – sent me this one, I didn't think twice. It turned out to be a great purchase and I still loved everything about the place. The doorman included. He valued the privacy of the tenants in addition to showing genuine care for our wellbeing, which meant he had my respect.

"Same as always. Eileen has me on some new health kick." He said glumly as he patted his stomach. "It means I'm no longer supposed to eat a croissant for afternoon tea." He guiltily looked back towards his station which very clearly held the remnants of a pastry.

Chuckling, I patted him on the back. "Secret is safe with me, Graham."

"Where are you off to tonight looking so dapper? A date perhaps? Maybe with that blonde lass who visited a few weeks back?"

Mentally slapping myself for forgetting he had the memory of an elephant; I shook my head. "Definitely not a date." Great , now I was convincing him and myself. "But yes, same woman. She's a journo and we're meeting again to continue with an interview. Part of the contract."

Graham nodded knowingly, smirking as he opened the door for me to exit. "She works Friday evenings. She must really enjoy her job . Have a good night, Andrew."

Ignoring his insinuations I raised my chin to thank him. "Cheers, Graham. Lay off the pastries, yeah?" I added cheekily.

Jumping into the black car idling outside, I greeted Sergio and confirmed he had the correct address for our destination. I generally utilised Serg when I ventured out for anything other than work as he was discreet and kept conversation to a minimum. Even though this wasn't a personal outing, I thought having him drive would be good in case anyone spotted me and decided to conduct an interview of their own or invaded my space as they seemed to enjoy doing.

The paparazzi were brutal and lacked any form of social or emotional intelligence. They cared only for the shot and held little shame in doing whatever was required to get the perfect one. Regardless of the legalities around their actions, I generally avoided being in public for that very reason, although even that didn't always stop them.

It was easy to forget Arna was one of them when thus far, she was the opposite of all I'd ever found them to be. She wasn't forceful nor did she try to fulfil an agenda and interestingly, when we spoke, she brought a notebook, but never wrote anything down. What was up with that?

Was I a fool to believe she was more interested in actually talking to me rather than greedily seeking answers to share with the world? More than once, I wondered if she was secretly recording me even though I asked her not to – something which was not beneath many of them.

It was after an hour or two at the clubhouse that I realised that whatever this ‘work' thing was – it was easy. There were no awkward questions on her end, no push to pry into things that so many before felt entitled to ask simply because of my job. Nor did I feel pressured to give the exact answers everyone wanted to hear.

It was only when she left that I realised I had actually enjoyed being with her.

Other than the team, my family and a few mates I met over the years, I didn't really seek companionship. I wasn't celibate, but I also didn't provide women with a pretence which suggested otherwise. If they attended events with me, they knew it was for the night only. Mum was always pressuring me to settle down and find someone to dance through the storms with , but she also respected that I spent ninety percent of my life focused on the Hearts. The less distractions circulating within my world the better.

But unexpectedly, this interviewer who wasn't even an interviewer had elegantly walked the halls of the club in her tight bloody business suit as if she belonged there, creeping right underneath my walls. Her confidence and casual demeanour along with her perspective on everything I said was invigorating – and her ability to psychoanalyse my entire existence after spending only a few hours in my company – was terrifying. Because her self-imposed summation was accurate in more ways than I cared to admit. This woman, who did not fall for my usual harsh deflections, who I invited to my home , and who had a unique intelligence along with that body , saw me.

Me.

Not the generic exterior I portrayed to society, nor the smug persona I kept in place as a barrier between myself and the world - but me . And when she so blatantly summed that up, with zero apology, I'd very nearly thrown her over my shoulder and taken her home. Being so effortlessly seen ignited an inherit longing to reciprocate and the thought of stripping her bare was appealing.

Sergio came to a stop outside a block of apartments on the other side of the city. Glancing out the window I was pleased to note it was now dark, meaning it would be harder for people to actively recognise me. Most people in Sydney knew of the Hearts and being the captain came with plenty of publicity, which meant I was unfortunately quite noticeable. Maybe it was a look which lingered a little longer than normal, with a question in their eyes until their brain caught up with why my face seemed familiar. Other times it was a shy apology coupled with a request for a photograph from a fan who stood a little too close, before scampering away with their photo. If this didn't then result in ten other bystanders wanting one of their own, it was on the harmless side.

It was when those who lacked social etiquette interrupted a meal with my family or friends when I really lost my cool. Or when they demonstrated a blatant disregard for my space or those I was with as they felt recognising me qualified them to information on my life. When it got to this point it often resulted in me not leaving my apartment for months on end, other than to visit my folks or the clubhouse. Ultimately, having the job of my dreams was not always as glorified as it seemed.

Faded posters advertising a grunge rock band lined the poles on either side of the entrance leading to a single door. Arna asked me to let her know when I arrived and she would meet me at the car, but despite this being a business meeting I wasn't a complete pig. I was determined to show some basic manners, if for no other reason than Vicky Gloss had raised me right . Her words not mine.

The door swung open to a bloke wearing a gaming headset, an AC/DC shirt and a pair of jocks.

What the fuck .

He stared at me with the same puzzled look I was accustomed to receiving for approximately three seconds before recognition laced his features.

"Holy shit!" He whispered. "S'up man. You play for the Talons, yeah?" After scratching and then readjusting his dick, he extended his hand out to greet me. There was no chance that I was shaking said hand after where it had just been, instead turning my fist towards him to knock knuckles.

Christ. Now I was someone who gave knuckles greetings .

"That's me." I said, ignoring the fact he got the team wrong. "I'm here to see Arna."

Stepping aside, he took the headphones off his head. If he was shocked to see me standing at his door on a Friday night, the mention of Arna was evidently more baffling to him as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

"Oh, uhhh, sure. Yeah, let me get her. Come in, come in. Sorry, I haven't really cleaned up." He said, grabbing empty pizza boxes and discarded bottles from the lounge.

"Babe, you have a visitor." He called as he took the rubbish into the kitchen.

Babe?

Surely not . If this guy was her boyfriend it was going to be the biggest how did he in the history of all relationships. She was out of his league.

Turning, he smiled, gesturing for me to sit on the now clear lounge while he moved to sit on the leather backed chair at what was very clearly his gaming area. Two computer screens sat on top of an old dining table and judging by the significant amount of open energy drinks and bowls of who knows what, he spent a lot of time here.

"I'm Paul, Arna's, umm, boyfriend ." I was careful not to show any visible reaction to his words other than to simply nod. I remained on my feet, wondering if she would be long as I looked up the hall in the direction he called for her before. "She probably didn't hear me. Let me get her." He offered, walking towards a door and saying a little louder. "Babe, you have a visitor."

The door swung open and I heard her voice – clipped and authoritative. "I'm not your babe, Paul."

Stepping out, her eyes immediately met mine, widening when she realised I was standing in her living room.

"I told you to message me and I would come out." She choked as her cheeks flamed red. There was uncertainty in her voice as she quickly pulled her door closed, making sure it was locked before turning back to face me.

"Sorry. I was a little early so I thought I would come and grab you so you didn't feel the need to rush."

Paul was still standing near her door, his headphones strung around his neck. His eyes moved between us, watching as if he couldn't quite believe what he was witnessing.

"Give the man a break, babe, it's not every day we have a Talons' player in our home." He sauntered towards her but she held up her hand to stop him and narrowed her eyes. I almost laughed at the indignant look on her face and was glad not to be on the receiving end of that as she admonished him.

"Firstly, he plays for the Hearts. Secondly, if I wanted your opinion I would have asked and thirdly, if you call me that again I will shove your headset down your throat."

Pressing my lips together to prevent my laugh escaping I turned and headed towards the door so neither of them could see my smile.

"It's been a pleasure, Paul." I said over my shoulder, waiting for Arna to leave before following her out.

Hints of sweet butterscotch and citrus drifted over me as she moved past and I couldn't stop my eyes from moving down her body to that gorgeous arse of hers. She wasn't wearing her usual business attire tonight, instead donning a pair of light denim jeans which highlighted the gorgeous shape of those hips, a tight white t-shirt and black heels. Fuck. She was sexier every time I saw her and with her hair pulled back from her face so those piercing eyes were front and centre – she was a sight. She did not fit in with this apartment at all and given Paul was clearly not her boyfriend as he implied, I had to wonder why she was living here.

So many unanswered questions I was desperate for her to answer. But I had to remember this woman was none of my business and I had no right to know anything about her life. This was a business meeting, and that had to be at the forefront of my thoughts – not how fine she looked in those skintight jeans or the things I could do to someone as unique and beautiful as her – none of which were remotely work related.