CHAPTER 1 - The Man Everybody Loved

The first time Isabella Reed saw Alexander Hayes, he was stood beneath a wall of cameras, smiling as if the world belonged to him.

She hated him instantly.

Not for the fact that he was ridiculously good looking (although that wasn't helpful) and not even for the way his dark hair spilled across his forehead or the way his beautiful blue eyes could charm an entire room into silence.

She hated the way everyone else treated him as if he was untouchable.

"Alexander! Over here!"

"Captain, one more picture!"

"Alex, how does it feel to be the face of Westbridge FC?"

They all shouted questions from their various perches and he answered them with the practiced ease of someone who had no problems throwing their lives away for the sport.

"It's an honour," he said, flashing another practiced smile. "But football is a team game. None of this would happen without the lads."

The reporters laughed appreciatively.

Isabella adjusted the strap of her bag, glancing at the time on her phone.

Nine seventeen.

She had waited outside Westbridge FC's complex for nearly forty minutes and the man who held her morning's worth of energy was entertaining a group of journalists.

Her editor had warned her that this assignment would be challenging.

He hadn't warned her that it would involve watching a grown man smile for photographs while she slowly lost her soul.

"Unbelievable," Isabella muttered.

"Something wrong?"

She turned to see her best friend, Chloe Bennett, standing next to her with two takeaway coffees in her hands.

"Everything," Isabella replied, taking the proffered drink. "Do you know what time our interview was supposed to start?"

"Nine."

"And what time is it?"

"Nine seventeen."

"And what's Captain Wonderful doing?"

Chloe looked up at the cameras.

"Being wonderful apparently."

"I'm going to write that in my report."

"Please don't. I like having a job."

Isabella took a long drink from her coffee.

She was twenty-four, had been working for the London Chronicle for almost three years and had spent the majority of that time fighting hard to be given a permanent position on the paper's investigative team.

She had gone out in the pouring rain to cover local league football matches, interviewed angry managers after disastrous matches and spent six hours waiting outside a hotel for a politician to answer three questions.

She knew what patience was.

She did not, however, know what patience for people who thought their time was more important than everyone else's.

At last Alexander broke away from the throng of reporters.

The smile vanished from his face instantly as he spoke briefly to a man in a navy suit before turning towards the training building.

His expression altered as he walked and Isabella noted the way the warmth had vanished from his features, so quickly that she was left wondering whether she had imagined it in the first place.

"That's interesting," she murmured.

"What is?"

"He looks completely different when nobody is watching."

Chloe followed her gaze.

"Maybe he's tired."

"Or maybe the charming football captain routine is an act."

"You've known him for approximately thirty seconds."

"And he has already given me a reason to dislike him."

Chloe sighed.

"Just remember that you need this interview. Your editor was very clear."

Isabella knew.

Her editor, Margaret Ellis, had sent for her the day before and had handed her a folder brimming with three months' worth of financial records, anonymous complaints and newspaper clippings.

Westbridge FC was under investigation.

Rumours of irregular payments, suspicious transfers and possible misconduct within the club's management had been circulating for weeks. Nothing had been proven concrete but the allegations were serious enough to cause the league's governing authorities to take notice.

The club had refused to comment other than to issue a carefully worded statement denying wrongdoing.

The Chronicle wanted answers.

And Isabella had been told she was the one to get them.

"Your job is to investigate the allegations," Margaret had told her. "Not to manufacture a scandal."

"I know how to do my job."

"Then prove it. We need evidence, not gossip. If you publish something we cannot substantiate, you'll be the one answering questions."

Isabella had left the office with the folder pressed against her chest and a familiar resolve settling inside her.

She would find the truth.

Whatever it was.

"Come on," she told Chloe now. "Let's meet our favourite footballer."

They entered the complex and were directed towards a small press room with a view over the practice pitches.

Alexander was already there.

He sat at the end of a long table flipping through his phone while a club representative poured out bottles of water in front of several empty chairs.

Up close he was even more maddeningly attractive.

His training shirt stretched over broad shoulders and a small scar marred the skin above his right eyebrow. He looked older when his expression was serious, though it vanished instantly whenever he smiled.

He looked up as Isabella approached.

His gaze flicked over her face before settling on the notebook clutched in her hands.

"Journalists," he said.

"Footballers," she replied.

One dark eyebrow arched.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?"

" Not yet."

Chloe made a strangled noise beside her.

Alexander leaned back in his chair, studying her with sudden interest.

"And you are?“Isabella Reed. London Chronicle.”Ah."

The one word held enough suspicion to fill the room.

"You've heard of us?"

"I read the papers."

"Then you know we occasionally ask difficult questions."

"I've noticed."

The club representative cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should begin."

Isabella sat opposite Alexander, opening her notebook and switching on her recorder.

The first ten minutes of the interview were easy.

He responded well to questions concerning the championship, the pressure of captaincy and the club's chances of qualifying for the final. He spoke of teamwork, of discipline and of the responsibility of representing thousands of supporters.

Isabella almost began to understand why people were so fond of him.

Until she reached for the folder in her bag.

"Several anonymous sources have alleged that Westbridge FC made payments to a company associated with one of its senior executives. Can you confirm whether the players were aware of these transactions?"

The atmosphere in the room changed.

Alexander's expression became unreadable.

"That sounds like a question for the club's management."

"I intend to ask them. I'm asking you whether you knew anything about it."

"No."

"Are you certain?"

His gaze sharpened.

"Would you prefer me to invent an answer?"

"I would prefer an honest one."

"And you assume I'm lying?"

"I haven't made that decision yet."

The club representative interjected.

"We won't be discussing unverified allegations."

Isabella kept her eyes on Alexander.

"Do you believe the allegations are false?"

"I believe people should be careful about accusing others without proof."

"That's not what I asked."

"And I think we've reached the end of this conversation."

He stood.

Isabella felt irritation flare through her.

"Running away doesn't make the questions disappear, Captain."

He paused by the door.

They looked at each other for a moment before he turned slowly.

"Neither does asking them loudly."

His voice was calm but something in his expression warned her that he had finally managed to get beneath her skin.

"Perhaps if you answered them properly, I wouldn't need to ask twice."

Alexander's jaw tightened.

"Perhaps if you understood the difference between journalism and gossip, you'd know when a question deserves an answer."

Chloe touched Isabella's arm beneath the table.

A warning.

Isabella ignored it.

"My job is to investigate the truth. If that makes you uncomfortable, perhaps you should ask yourself why."

Silence fell over the room.

Alexander stared at her for a few seconds.

Then he gave a short, humourless laugh.

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Then enlighten me."

He opened the door.

"Goodbye, Miss Reed."

And just like that, he was gone.

The club representative followed him, muttering something about scheduling another interview through the communications department.

Chloe waited until the door closed before turning to Isabella.

"Tell me you didn't just destroy our access to the entire club.“I asked a question.”You challenged the captain in front of his publicist."

"Should I have curtsied first?"

"Isabella."

"What?"

Chloe pressed her fingers to her forehead.

"You are going to be the death of me."

Isabella switched off her recorder, tidying up her things.

She should have been annoyed.

Instead, she was thinking about the way Alexander's expression had changed when she mentioned the payments. It had been brief, almost imperceptible.

But she had seen it.

He hadn't looked confused.

He had looked...afraid.

Outside the rain had started to fall, glazing the pavement in silver under the grey London skies.

Isabella stepped beneath the entrance canopy, tightening her coat.

Her phone vibrated.

A message from Margaret appeared on the screen.

How did it go?

Isabella typed a reply.

He refused to answer questions about the allegations.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Then find someone who will.

Isabella slipped the phone into her pocket.

Across the car park, Alexander stood by a black Range Rover talking to the man in the navy suit she had seen earlier.

The man's expression was tense.

Alexander glanced towards the building, their eyes meeting through the rain.

Nothing showed on his face.

Then he turned away.

Isabella watched him climb into the car, disappearing through the gates.

She had come to Westbridge expecting an arrogant footballer who would protect his club's reputation.

She hadn't expected a man who looked as if he was carrying something heavy enough to crush him.

And she certainly hadn't expected to become curious about him.

Her phone vibrated again.

This time, the message came from an unknown number.

Stop asking questions about Westbridge FC.

Isabella read it twice.

Another message appeared.

You have no idea what happened the last time someone tried to expose them.

She looked up at the empty road.

The rain continued to fall.

For the first time that morning, Isabella forgot all about Alexander Hayes.

Someone knew what she was investigating.

And someone was frightened enough to threaten her before she had even begun.