Page 20

Jacob has hung his jacket on the hook under the table, next to Adriana’s denim jacket. Adriana can’t stop noticing how broad his chest is, how toned he looks under his simple white t-shirt.

‘I like your shirt,’ Adriana blurts out without thinking.

Jacob raises an eyebrow, laughter still in his eyes.

‘I like your dress,’ he says.

It’s just a simple compliment, and probably just a polite reply to her own, but it makes Adriana blush.

His voice is low and husky, and as he says it, his eyes cast down her body, just for a moment.

Of course, she had spent a long time deciding what to wear – she doesn’t have anything that says ‘business’ in her wardrobe, and wearing a buttoned shirt felt like sacrilege on a Sunday, so she’d tried to go for ‘smart casual’ in a pinstripe cotton dress, her legs bare underneath even though the weather wasn’t quite warm enough for it, and her favourite chunky platform sandals.

She hoped Jacob wouldn’t be someone who would notice that the bright red paint of her pedicure was now a little chipped and uneven.

Fortunately, Adriana’s lack of witty riposte is hidden by Emily’s return, carrying a wooden tray with their coffees and sweet treats.

‘On the house, of course.’

‘Oh, Emily, no, I insist–’

‘No, I insist. Just remember me as your caterer for your wedding cake, hmm?’ Emily winks, and hurries away, humming to herself.

Adriana watches as Jacob cuts his croissant neatly in half, separates them, and scrutinises the pastry layers. He nods like an appreciative connoisseur, and bites into one.

‘ Mmm .’

The moan is too much for Adriana. It reminds her too much of their night together. She should not find a man simply eating a delicious pastry this attractive.

‘Emily must be a witch,’ he says.

He sips his cortado, and Adriana sips her drink. It’s like a liquified bounty bar. Ambrosia.

‘Look, Adriana,’ says Jacob, a twinkle in his eye. ‘I think we may have misunderstood each other the other day. I want to make it clear that I’m not expecting you to give me any kind of information about your teammates–’

‘Oh, but I can!’ says Adriana excitedly. She pulls out a notebook from her tote bag.

She is very proud of this, and hopes it will impress Jacob too. She spent hours last night, when she was anticipating this meeting, listing out the best qualities of her teammates. And of course, Adriana has a lot to say on that subject.

She cracks the spine on the notebook.

‘Who would you like me to start with?’

‘You made a… list?’ He pauses.

‘Uh huh!’

‘Of all your teammates’ best and worst qualities?’

‘Well… kind of.’

She hadn’t written any of their worst qualities. In her mind, this was completely justified because she herself found it very easy to ignore these parts of them and it’s a great chance to sing their praises and get Jacob onside.

‘And that’s really why you wanted to meet me? To read out your judgement of your colleagues? That’s it?’

Adriana grins over at him, but Jacob’s face has changed. His arms are folded, and it’s far more now like a judge on Dragon’s Den than a relaxed man on a date. He’s stopped eating his croissant, its lovely pockets of buttery pastry forgotten on the plate between them.

Adriana’s resolve wobbles. But then she remembers Maeve, her face twisted with anxiety on her sofa, fearing losing the position she’d worked so hard for, and is truly such a good fit for.

Adriana decides not to start with Maeve, in case that makes it too obvious that she’s biased in favour of her own lifelong best friend. So she starts instead with someone she fears is on the axe list.

‘First up, I wanted to describe the skills of Milo George. They joined us a year ago and sadly towards the end of last season got a grade two sprain on their ankle. They had five weeks off, and then returned to pre-season training the same week that the club was bought by you. Considering their time off, their recovery has been truly impressive. So, even though they have been, umm, on paper lower down on the tables in our drills, and were on the bench during the friendlies, they have real potential.’

Jacob’s arms are still folded, and his face is unreadable. Adriana has a flash of her dream where the masks judge her, where she can’t persuade them to smile for her.

She doesn’t know what she was expecting, exactly. Maybe for Jacob to write things down too? To nod encouragingly? To pat her on the back and say she’d successfully persuaded him not to let go of anyone on the team after all?

She coughs and flicks the pages of her notebook. Maybe trying to start with the players in danger of being on the transfer list was the wrong tactic.

‘Well, okay, how about, actually, we start with the players who are in contention for the captaincy? I think it’s useful for me to say what, as a player, I think are the most vital qualities for a club captain?’

Jacob just raises an eyebrow.

‘Well, definitely the strongest contender is current club captain, Maeve Murphy.’

‘Murphy? With the blonde ponytail?’

‘That’s her,’ says Adriana proudly.

‘Isn’t she your Maeve? Your “best friend in the whole wide world”? Your “ride or die, platonic love of your life, soul sister from another mister”?’

Adriana flushes. She doesn’t know what is causing her embarrassment more – that Jacob is implying she’s biased, or that he is quoting, word for word, what she said on their first date as she’d happily told him all about her.

She hadn’t thought he would remember anything she said.

She hadn’t realised he listened so well to her, even when they were flirting and drinking.

‘I– that may be the case,’ she says, trying to recover, ‘but she is a rock-solid centre-back, consistent and respected by all on and off the pitch for her conscientiousness. She is never emotional or ruffled, just a dependable leader.’

Jacob takes a final sip of his cortado.

‘Isn’t Maeve Murphy the one who was sent off the training pitch for losing her cool with Kira Choksi?’

Adriana flinches. Shit, maybe Maeve’s fears had been founded after all.

‘Coach wanted to see more aggression from Maeve. So it shows she’s excellent at following her instructions. And she’s now doing extra training with Kira.’

‘I’m aware of the coach’s training regime, Adriana. I don’t know why you seem to think I need you to tell me.’

‘I– I just thought…’

Adriana looks down at her only partially nibbled brownie.

She can’t bring herself to answer. It had seemed to all make so much sense to her, only a few minutes ago.

But now, she just feels her heart pounding in her chest, feeling hot under Jacob’s piercing gaze and realises what a bad idea this was.

‘Did you really invite me here just to say all that? To convince me to make Maeve Murphy the captain?’

Adriana looks at his face and can barely think straight. Could it be that she had just wanted to… have an excuse to see him?

‘No, of course not,’ she swallows. ‘I have pages on everyone else too!’

She turns her notebook to another page, and without looking back at Jacob, launches into her rehearsed speech.

‘Nat Basevi. The definition of a super sub. Just because she’s often on the bench, doesn’t make her any less necessary than players that get more game time. We need that burst of fresh energy in the second half, or if a player goes off with injury or–’

There’s a scraping of a chair and rustling of fabric. Jacob has stood abruptly.

‘What? Are you–’

‘I’ve heard everything I need to hear. I was a fool.’

‘But– but–’ Adriana gapes.

He throws down a twenty pound note on their table. Adriana stands too, confused and disorientated, trying to hand it back to him, mainly to try to get him to stay.

‘But I don’t– Jacob, it’s on the house, and–’

‘If you wanted this to just be a business meeting, then shouldn’t the boss pay?’ he says icily.

He swings his jacket over his broad arms.

‘I really thought you asked me here to… I thought you were struggling with our agreement to stay professional. I thought you had changed your mind about your feelings towards me, and that this was… a real date.’ He shakes his head, tutting to himself. ‘My mistake. I apologise.’

He abruptly strides to the exit.

‘Jacob? Jacob!’

He holds a hand up to her, stopping her in her tracks to follow him. She sits back down and watches him leave. Adriana holds back tears. She can’t believe she doesn’t even have the appetite to finish her brownie.

‘Oh, honey-bun.’ Emily bustles over and puts a protective hand on her shoulder, and eyeing up their half-finished pastries. ‘Lover’s tiff?’

Adriana swallows, shakes her head and sniffs, but knows that it simply looks like she’s in denial. The worst thing is – maybe she is.