ANNA’S ANXIETY GREW, burrowing deep inside, gnawing at her gut, whispering spiteful words, pouring poison in her ears. A bomb was ticking under her life and she was running out of time.
They drove back to London the following day, Boxing Day, and there was nothing in the newspapers or online.
Nick’s confidence returned quickly, certain that Molly was all talk and wouldn’t do anything.
But for the next few days, Anna scoured the tabloids and online news site each morning, her stomach churning with apprehension.
All it would take was a single phone call to the news desk at one of those papers, a few questions, a photograph of Nick coming out of her apartment and it would all be over. So far, there hadn’t been a breath of intrigue, but Anna couldn’t relax. She’d hadn’t eaten for the last three days and had gone from slender to skinny, her collarbone protruding through its thin case of skin.
She couldn’t talk to Nick about it because he was so laidback he just assumed the problem would go away; she couldn’t talk to her parents since they’d disapproved of the relationship from the beginning; and her friends were far away and she wasn’t sure they’d understand.
Belinda might have helped, but she was immersed in the joys of a new grandchild and was busy celebrating the festive season.
Instead, it was Brendan who noticed the change in her.
“What’s crawled up your shiny new suit, Miss Positivity?” he asked sarcastically, clearly ticked off that she’d been miserable and bad tempered since they’d returned to work.
“I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
Brendan gave her a sassy look and put a hand on his hip.
“You’re not fobbing me off with that, Annie Get-Your-Gun-and-shoot-yourself. Tell Auntie Brendan what’s wrong. And don’t even think of saying ‘nothing’.”
“I . . .”
“I mean it!”
She took a deep breath, desperate to share with another human being.
“I’ve been seeing someone . . . a man . . .”
“Nick Renshaw, yes, I know. Very studly.”
Anna blinked, her mouth popping open with surprise.
“You . . . you know?”
Brendan rolled his eyes.
“You didn’t hire me just for my outrageous good looks, you know!”
“But . . .”
“Honey, your eyes light up like Piccadilly Circus when someone even mentions his name. Totes emosh when you’re in the same room together, even I feel like jumping your bones—which I’m seeing a lot more of these days, by the way.”
Anna’s head was spinning. If Brendan had figured it out, who else might know?
He seemed to read her mind.
“Don’t worry, your little in-lust secret is safe with me. Not everyone is gifted with my incredible insight. I’m a personal assistant, Miss Smartypants. I am all-seeing, all-knowing.”
“Oh,” she said weakly.
“So you’ve been practising the beast with two backs on Mr. Downright-Sinfully-Dark-and-Deliciously-Dangerous and you’re obviously worried someone will find out.” He fanned his face. “Soooo obvious.”
Anna lowered her eyes.
“Someone has found out.”
“Not from me!” Brendan said sharply.
She glanced up, touching his arm briefly.
“No, Bren, not from you. It was at Christmas. I . . . we . . . were staying with Nick’s parents and ran into his ex-fiancée. She wasn’t happy, to put it mildly.”
“The bimbo who cheated on him.”
“The very one.”
“Ah.”
“Yep.”
Brendan tapped a pen against his newly whitened teeth.
“Just out of interest, when did this whole love-malarkey start?”
Anna sighed.
“The night before I interviewed you, as it happens.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, one time, that’s all.”
“Hmm, one night of unbridled passion with a man who has buns of steel. Lucky you. No wonder you were in such a good mood for my interview.”
Anna gave a weak smile.
“And then we met again when he started playing for the Phoenixes. The . . . attraction was still there.”
“Understatement,” Brendan coughed, rolling his eyes so hard he nearly sprained his eyelids.
He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his legs.
“Pre-emptive strike.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to go to Sim Andrews. He likes you, worships the ground your Manolos walk on since the Phoenixes are doing so well. And he rates your boy-toy. Throw yourself on his mercy. Fess up. It’ll go much better than seeing it as front page news in The Daily Sleaze.”
“But . . .”
“Please!” he sighed, flapping a hand in her face. “I’ve confessed to more sins than the average Playboy Bunny. I know how this works. Besides, you’re both too valuable to lose. Trust me. It’ll be fine,” and he yawned. “And better than hiding away and pretending blind indifference to each other.”
“You really think so?”
Brendan stared at her seriously.
“You’re the best boss I’ve ever had, Annie. I don’t want you to fuck this up for either of us.”
He picked up the office phone from the desk, dialled a number, and turned to leave.
“Speak to him now. Start the New Year with a clear conscience. Well, that’s what other people do. I like to start the New Year in the arms of a nice piece of rough trade—bikers, sailors, Ethan from the tattoo parlour. But that’s just me.”
The phone rang four times, then Anna heard Sim’s curt voice.
“This is Sim Andrews. Leave a message.”
She took a deep breath and was about to speak when her cell phone dinged with an incoming alert, and the words she’d dreaded flashed in her face.
She slammed down the landline phone, her heart hammering wildly.
“Brendan!”
He came hurrying in.
“Did you call Sim already?”
“No. Look!”
And she handed him her cell phone with shaking hands.
NAUGHTY NICK PLAYS DOCTORS AND NURSES!
And there was a photograph of them kissing and, oh God! It must have been taken from outside!
Anna stumbled to the window and whipped the drapes together, while Brendan watched her with compassion in his eyes.
“What does it say?” she whispered. “I can’t bear to look.”
“Uh, well, not too bad, really. Just that, um, Nick is, um, involved with the club’s doctor—they got that part wrong—and that you’re a hot totty from America.”
Anna blinked.
“I’m a hot what?”
Brendan waved a hand.
“Don’t worry about that—they caught your best side. You do look hot, and I must say, that’s a steamy clinch I wouldn’t mind sharing with your Nick.”
“Brendan!”
“Sorry.”
“Is it just that one news site?”
Brendan scrolled through her phone.
“Ah, no, there are mentions on others, but they’ve only got stock images, nothing else like . . . well, nothing else.”
Anna’s heart was skipping and she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Oh, fuck! Come and sit down, Annie! You look like you’re about to pass out! Where are the smelling salts?”
He lowered her into a chair and ran to the office, returning with a bottle of brandy and two glasses.
“Take a sip, it’s good for shock.”
Anna did as she was told, even though the tiny part of her brain that was still rational knew that hot tea with sugar was better for shock than alcohol.
She sipped the brandy and coughed.
“I need to tell Nick.”
“Where is he?”
“At the Club, probably in the gym.”
“You’d better call him before the shit hits the fan.”
“I know. Oh God, I know!”
It took her three attempts to find his name in her contacts and press the right button. The phone rang once and went to voicemail.
“Nick, it’s me. They know. It’s all over the online news sites about us. Call me when you get this.”
“Are you going to phone Sim Andrews?”
Anna bit her lip.
“I want to talk to Nick first.”
The office phone rang, and Anna jumped.
Brendan grabbed it and answered in his most officious voice.
“Scott’s Sports Psychology, Brendan speaking . . .”
He listened for a moment then gently replaced the phone in the cradle.
“Who was it?”
He pressed his lips together.
“The Daily Express, looking for a quote.”
The phone rang again and Brendan picked it up, listened for a second, then slammed it down. Without speaking, he unplugged it from the socket in the wall.
“I think you should phone Sim again right now. If they’re calling you, they’ll be calling him.”
Anna gulped and nodded slowly.
Sim’s office line was engaged repeatedly, and Anna could only guess why. In the end, she used his private cell phone number.
He answered immediately, his voice curt.
“Anna.”
“Sim, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s true then?”
“Yes and no.”
“You’d better explain that, Anna, because the Board is busting my balls about having brought you to the Club in the first place!”
“I’m so, so sorry, Sim.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it!”
“I know,” Anna whispered brokenly. “The truth is, Nick and I were completely professional at the Minotaurs. Nothing happened there, I swear it. I spoke at his court case, as you know. Later, he sent an email to thank me for speaking, and we started chatting online. By then he was no longer employed by the Minotaurs and I was setting up my London office. The night before I interviewed my assistant, Brendan, Nick and I . . . we spent the night together. That was the first and last time until . . .”
“Until?” Sim’s voice was a low growl.
“Until I walked into the meeting at the Phoenixes and saw him there with you. I knew he’d be there from your briefing notes. He was hurt and upset, so we talked.”
“I think you did a lot more than talking, Dr. Scott.”
Anna’s face flushed.
“It’s not just . . . we’re in a relationship. We love each other.”
She heard Sim’s long-suffering sigh.
“I take it you were both aware of the Club’s no-fraternization policy?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Anna. You’ve been good for the team, but I can’t let this go. You’ll be informed of the Board’s decision, but it’s looking pretty cut and dried.”
“I know. I’m sorry . . . that I let you down, Sim.”
“You let yourself down, Anna.”
The call ended and Anna put her head in her hands. But there was still one more unpleasant call to make.
Telling her parents was the hardest thing she’d ever done. It hadn’t hit the newspapers in the US yet, but it was all over the internet. She also knew that with her father’s fame, it would get a lot more airtime than would otherwise have been the case.
Even though it was only just noon, they already knew. ‘Friends’ had been eager to tell them.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” she whispered.
“Is it true what they’re saying?”
“Some of it,” she said tiredly. “Only that we’re in a relationship. The rest is lies. Can I talk to Dad?”
There was a long pause and muffled voices in the background. Finally, her mother returned to the line.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, sweetheart. Dad’s not feeling great. You know how he gets these days. We’ll talk to you this evening. You know we’re supporting you.”
Anna ended the call feeling even worse. For five minutes, she sat unseeing, unhearing, wondering again how she’d managed to fuck up her life so thoroughly. Stupidity. It was the dictionary definition: making the same mistake twice and expecting a different result.
Her own father wouldn’t talk to her. She didn’t think she could sink any lower.
When she listened to the messages on her phone, she was assaulted with over thirty texts and voicemails. Most seemed to be from newspapers and journalists, but others were from unknown numbers and were just plain nasty.
She texted Nick once to say that she was okay but insisted that he stay away. Her heart fractured at the thought of not seeing him, not having him there to hold her.
Brendan saw the look on her face then leaned down and hugged her. It was the only comfort she’d receive.
Nick had just finished a punishing workout and was being massaged by one of the Club’s physios when Jason walked in with his phone in his hand.
“’Sup, Jason?”
Jason glanced at Ben, the physiotherapist.
“Could you give us a minute, mate?”
“Sure. I was just finishing up here anyway.”
The physiotherapist gave them a curious look as he slung a towel over his shoulders and closed the door behind him.
“You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
Jason passed his phone to Nick.
As he scrolled through the news page, his face tightened.
“Shit! I have to call Anna.”
Jason sighed and pushed his hands through his hair.
“This is why you wouldn’t tell us who you’ve been dating. Is this who you’ve been seeing all this time?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hope it’s serious, buddy, because the shit is about to hit the fan. You’ll be fined and benched for a couple of games, and Anna . . .”
“Fuck! I know! I have to call her!”
He stormed out and the locker room fell silent.
Giovanni walked across and slung an arm around his shoulders.
“Tough break, amico mio.”
Nick shrugged off the arm and picked up his phone to call Anna. He groaned when he saw that she’d already tried to call him several times, but there were also a lot of numbers that he didn’t recognise. He was appalled when he read some of the texts from journalists, and wondered how they’d all found his number so quickly. It was a fucking nightmare! He read through Anna’s texts, upset and angry that she was telling him to stay away. What difference could it make now? He tried to call her back, but all he got was her voicemail.
“I’ve just heard. I’m on my way home. Call me when you get this.”
He yanked on his clothes, dressing hurriedly, and was still zipping up his jeans when his phone rang again.
“Anna, thank God! I’m so sorry!”
Her voice was faint and distant.
“I don’t think you should come here tonight.”
“What? Of course I’m coming over. We need to . . .”
“Nick, no! There are journalists outside now. I can’t risk more pictures of us together being in the newspapers.”
“But . . . they already know!”
“I can’t give them more ammunition. I’ve spoken to Sim,” she took a deep breath and Nick’s heart somersaulted. “I’m going to lose the contract. He’s said as much.”
“Anna . . .”
“Right now I have a chance of keeping my other contracts, but I need this story to drop out of the papers as soon as possible. I can’t see you. I can’t be seen with you.”
Nick’s mouth went dry.
“Okay. Okay, I get it. For how long?”
“I don’t know. A while.”
“Jesus. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“I’m going to turn my phone off. Journalists have gotten the number . . .”
“Me, too.”
“So I might not answer. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” She gave a hollow laugh. “I’ve been through it all before.”
“Anna, don’t.”
“I’ll be fine, Nick.”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I love y—”
But she’d already hung up.
Giovanni came and sat next to him.
“Are you coming back to the house tonight?”
“Looks like it,” Nick sighed.
“Good. I’m making pasta con pomodoro e basilico—pasta with tomatoes and basil to you.”
“Thanks, Gio.”
They bumped fists and stood up to leave.
“Renshaw! My office now!”
Sim Andrews was purple in the face and roaring like a bull.
“I think I will see you later, amico mio,” Giovanni said quietly.
“If I live that long,” Nick muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
Nick plodded behind Sim and dropped into a chair opposite the cluttered desk.
“You fucked up, Nick. You could have your contract terminated for this.”
Nick gritted his teeth, waiting for the axe to fall.
“I took a chance on you: injured, in the division below us. But I’ve followed your career for a long time and I like that you were loyal to Rotherham for so long. But this! This makes me look bad to the Board, and I don’t like looking bad. What have you got to say for yourself?”
“I love her.”
Sim blinked, not having expected that answer. Then his gaze hardened again.
“And how long has this been going on?”
Nick cleared his throat.
“Since August, Coach.”
Sim squinted at him. “Not before?”
“Not really.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’d been dropped by the Minotaurs and Anna was moving to London. The night before she moved down here full time, we . . . um, got together. But it wasn’t until I was in London, as well . . .”
“Did any of your teammates know?”
“No, Coach.”
“Hmm.”
Sim stared at Nick, his eyes dark and angry. Finally, he spoke.
“Consider yourself benched for the next two games. The Board will determine your fine—that’s out of my hands. You’d better keep your nose clean from now on or you’re out, no matter how well you play. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Eddie Jones doesn’t have something to say about this. You’ve been a fucking idiot, costing me a damn good sports psychologist and brought the Club into disrepute.”
“It’s not fair that Anna . . .”
Sim stood up and roared, the veins in his forehead popping ominously.
“I’m talking! You don’t talk when I talk! When I finish talking, that’s when you talk!” His face turned purple. “She’s finished here. Out of my hands. Now get out of my sight!”
Nick swallowed but knew that arguing further wouldn’t help.
“Yes, Coach.”
The Phoenixes’ game the next day was torture for Nick. He’d never been benched when he was fit before, never had to sit and watch his team lose when he knew that if he’d been out there it could have been a different story.
So he sat and fumed, enduring the harsh looks and harsher words from the fans who all said something along lines of, “Shoulda kept yer cock in yer pocket not hers, Naughty Nick!”
Worse still, Anna wouldn’t return his calls or reply to his emails. He’d had a short conversation with her P.A. Brendan, but other than that, no contact.
Brendan said Anna was “coping”. It didn’t sound very encouraging, and Brendan, who was normally so upbeat and snarky, had been short-tempered and edgy.
He’d also had to endure the tabloids’ photographs of Molly looking sad and demure, presenting herself as a slighted woman, manipulating the truth and managing to make herself appear as the injured party.
Nick lay alone in his bed at the team house, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the house and the orchestral snores of Bernard, Fetuao and Giovanni.
For the next two days, the stories continued until finally it seemed like interest was dying away, but then one of the newspapers picked up the thread that if Anna and Nick had been together at the time of his court case, Anna would have committed perjury by denying that they were in a relationship.
Nick smelled the sulphurous machinations of Molly in that story. It was all so ridiculous, but it kept the story in the newspapers and on the gossip sites, and as they approached the New Year, it showed no signs of slowing down.
NICK ON THE NAUGHTY BENCH!
ANNA RAISES NAUGHTY NICK’S PULSE!
DID THEY LIE?
NAUGHTY NICK’S FIANCÉE TELLS ALL [PICTURES ON PAGES 2, 5, 6 AND 7]
Eddie Jones, the England Coach, had called Nick to yell for a few minutes, then calmly said it wouldn’t affect his place on the England team, so that was something.
And right now, Nick would grab at any straw he could.