CHAPTER 2 — THE COLD PROFESSIONAL

The morning briefing started at eight o'clock sharp.

Evelyn had barely slept. She had spent the night in her new flat, a sleek apartment three miles from the training ground that her father had arranged without asking her. The fridge was stocked. The furniture was neutral. It felt like a hotel room someone else had paid for. Which was exactly what it was.

She arrived at the media department before anyone else. The screens were still dark. The desks were empty. She stood in the silence for a moment, coffee in hand, staring at the content calendar on the wall. Match days. Press conferences. Player birthdays. A hundred pieces of content waiting to be created.

You can do this, she told herself. This is what you're good at.

By eight fifteen, the room was alive. Sarah stood at the front, tablet in hand, walking the team through the week's priorities. Evelyn sat near the back, taking notes, trying to ignore the fact that every screen in the room was cycling through images of the players. His face kept appearing. Mid-sprint. Celebrating a goal. Staring down a defender with those dark, unreadable eyes.

"Evelyn will be handling the player social media content going forward," Sarah announced. "That means coordinating with the squad for promotional shoots, managing their public profiles, and working closely with the captain on any branded content."

The captain.

Evelyn's pen stopped moving.

"Luca's schedule is tight," Sarah continued, completely unaware of the grenade she had just dropped. "But he's usually cooperative. You'll need to meet with him weekly to align on content strategy. He has final approval on anything involving his image."

"Final approval?"

"Contractual. He negotiated it two years ago. The man knows his worth." Sarah shrugged. "Don't worry. He's professional. Cold, but professional."

Cold. But professional.

Evelyn forced a nod. "Understood."

---

Her first assignment came faster than she expected.

The club was filming promotional content for the upcoming season. Player interviews. Training montages. The kind of glossy, high-energy footage that would live on every social platform for the next six months. Sarah had put Evelyn in charge of coordinating the shoot.

"It's a test," Sarah said, not unkindly. "The team wants to see how you handle the players. Some of them can be... difficult."

"Which ones?"

"Mostly the captain. But you'll figure him out."

Evelyn seriously doubted that.

The film crew had set up in the media room adjacent to the training ground. Cameras. Lights. A green screen that looked like it had seen better days. The first few players cycled through without issue. Kovac, the giant goalkeeper, cracked jokes the entire time and made the lighting technician laugh so hard he had to retake the shot. A young midfielder from the academy was so nervous he forgot his own name twice. Evelyn guided them through their shots, adjusting angles, suggesting lines. The work felt natural. Familiar. This was what she was good at.

Then Luca walked in.

The energy in the room shifted immediately. The film crew straightened. The chatting stopped. Even the lighting technician, a man who had probably worked with A-list celebrities, seemed to hold his breath.

Luca didn't acknowledge anyone. He walked to the center of the room, hands in his pockets, his training kit still damp from the morning session. His eyes found Evelyn's for a fraction of a second. Then they slid away.

"Captain Moretti." She hated how formal her voice sounded. "Thank you for coming. We're filming the season preview package. Just a few lines to camera."

"Tell me what to say."

No greeting. No small talk. Just a wall of cold professionalism.

She handed him the script. He scanned it once. "Fine."

"Stand on the mark, please."

He stood.

"Look toward the camera when you're ready."

"Like this?"

"Yes. That's good."

"Anything else, Miss Ashford?"

Miss Ashford. The words landed like small stones. Each one deliberate. Each one measured to remind her of exactly how much distance now stood between them.

"We need one more take. The lighting was slightly off on the last one."

"The first three were fine."

"They were. But the creative team wants options."

"Then they can use one of the first three."

Evelyn tightened her grip on the tablet. "Captain, I understand your schedule is tight, but this is part of the club's contractual obligations. I need one more take."

Luca turned his head slowly. His dark eyes met hers for the first time since he entered the room. There was nothing warm in them. Nothing familiar. Just a cold, unblinking stillness that made her feel like a stranger who had asked one question too many.

"My contract says I don't take direction from the social media team."

"Your contract also says you represent this club. That includes promotional content."

The room went very quiet.

Behind the camera, Kovac elbowed the young midfielder. "Told you," he murmured. "Captain's never this quiet."

"Shut up, Kovac."

"Just saying."

Luca ignored them both. He held Evelyn's gaze for a long moment. Then he turned back to the camera.

"One more take."

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Just tell me when to start."

She did. He delivered the lines flawlessly. When it was over, he walked out without a backward glance.

The silence he left behind was thick enough to choke on.

---

The film crew dispersed quickly after that. No one wanted to linger in a room that still felt charged with whatever had just happened. Evelyn stayed behind, packing up the equipment, her hands moving on autopilot while her mind replayed every word of their exchange.

My contract says I don't take direction from the social media team.

He had found the one way to hurt her without raising his voice. Professional distance. Contractual boundaries. The language of people who meant nothing to each other.

Kovac appeared in the doorway. He was still in his training kit, a towel draped over his shoulder, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and genuine curiosity.

"You're still here," Evelyn said.

"I wanted to see if the captain would come back and apologize."

"Does he usually apologize?"

"Never." Kovac grinned. "But he also never argues with staff. He usually just ignores them. With you, he engaged. That's new."

"It wasn't an argument. It was a disagreement about takes."

"Sure. A disagreement." He didn't sound convinced. "The last social media manager quit after three months. Said the captain was impossible to work with. Cold. Uncooperative. Made her cry in a meeting once."

"I'm not going to cry."

"I didn't think you would." He tilted his head. "That's what makes you interesting."

Before she could respond, another voice cut through the room. A young winger she recognized from the morning shoot. Diaz, she thought his name was. He was leaning against the doorframe beside Kovac, scrolling through his phone.

"Captain hates media days," Diaz said without looking up.

"Captain hates everyone," Kovac replied.

"No. Captain hates her." Diaz glanced at Evelyn with something that wasn't quite hostility but wasn't friendly either. "What did you do to him?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Moretti ignores people he doesn't care about. You? He notices. That's worse."

Kovac shoved Diaz's shoulder. "Stop being dramatic. You sound like a tabloid."

"I'm just saying." Diaz shrugged and pushed off the doorframe. "Welcome to Blackridge, Miss Ashford. Try not to make any more enemies on your first week."

He walked away. Kovac sighed.

"Don't mind him. He's young. Thinks he's clever." He paused. "But he's not wrong. The captain definitely has a problem with you. And everyone's going to notice."

---

She was packing up the last of the equipment when the door opened again.

This time it wasn't a player.

A man in a dark suit stepped inside. He was older, fifties, with silver hair and a face that had been trained to reveal nothing. Evelyn recognized him immediately. He had worked for her father since before she was born.

"Miss Ashford." His voice was smooth. Polished. "The chairman wants to see you."

"Is something wrong?" Sarah asked quietly. She had appeared at Evelyn's side, her tablet clutched to her chest.

"No." Evelyn set her own tablet on the table. Her hands were steady. Her stomach was not. "Everything's fine."

It was a lie.

The man in the dark suit was already holding the door open. Waiting. Her father never asked. He summoned.

And Damien Ashford did not like to be kept waiting.