against a sinking feeling in her stomach.
“You’re right,” she said, despite every nerve in her body begging her to disagree. “We should keep things professional, at least until the end of the season.”
Because by then she’d be hundreds of miles away from Charlotte in New York City, and he’d be—well, he could be anywhere.
Kepler’s jaw tightened and his posture hardened, but he nodded. “If that’s what you want, I have to respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“But I still hate the idea of this PR campaign,” he insisted. “Like this restaurant launch tomorrow. Why should anyone care where I go out to dinner? Being able to accurately handle a ball has nothing to do with my taste in food, or clothes, or anything. The truth is I try to avoid fancy restaurants like that one. I was looking at the options they emailed over. One of those dishes said it came with a special foam. Why would I want foam on my plate? The notion that people are turning up to that place, spending their hard-earned money on pretentious food because they think they might spot me there—it makes me feel so guilty.”
“It also means more people are turning up to watch you play,” Holly countered. “Like it or not, some people buy tickets because they want to see someone they think is famous, not because they love the sport. The more people sitting in the stands, the more money Discovery has to spend on players, training and everything else that keeps the game alive. But you’ve been a professional athlete for long enough that you don’t need me to explain this to you, do you?”
Kepler stared fixedly at the floor, and she continued, “You don’t like the well-behaved yet sexy striker idea I’ve come up with, and you insist the picture painted by the British media of bad-boy Killer de Klerk is wrong as well. So tell me, who do you want to be?”
“I want to be myself,” he said with such quick defensiveness that she knew he hadn’t given his answer any real thought.
“And what is he like?” But she could feel him shutting down. These few, precious moments of honest interaction were coming to an end.
“Look, I’ll try to make more of an effort with this PR stuff, but I can’t make any promises. I suppose this breakfast is a washout, huh?”
Holly checked the clock. “If you throw on a suit, you could make the last half hour.”
Kepler’s eyes met hers, and it took every shred of her willpower not to close the distance between them and wrap comforting arms around his broad shoulders while she brushed reassuring kisses over his forehead. Every trace of arrogant swagger had been wiped from his face. He looked dejected, drained and lonely beyond belief.
But he was lost to her now, and she to him. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
“Give me five minutes.” He hauled himself from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom.
Chapter Eight
“He’s falling apart,” Alan muttered. Discovery’s chairman turned his back on the action on the field with a shake of his head. “He’s going to kill himself if he keeps pushing like this.”
Holly peered nervously through the glass front of the corporate box. Rick was at her side, but she didn’t really need him anymore. She’d not only developed an increasingly complex understanding of the game, she had a burgeoning passion for it as well. She knew enough to understand that Discovery’s 2-1 lead over Cleveland Thunder had been hard to win and even harder to defend, and that with twenty-five minutes still to play Kepler was so exhausted that he was staggering more than running.
“Sven always keeps him on the pitch too long,” she snapped. “He’s got no support out there and he runs himself ragged.”
“But when he plays, he scores,” Rick countered. “He’s single-handedly tripled Discovery’s goals this season. At the end of the day, Sven wants to win.”
At that moment there was a collective gasp from the stadium crowd as Kepler took a hard
“You’re right,” she said, despite every nerve in her body begging her to disagree. “We should keep things professional, at least until the end of the season.”
Because by then she’d be hundreds of miles away from Charlotte in New York City, and he’d be—well, he could be anywhere.
Kepler’s jaw tightened and his posture hardened, but he nodded. “If that’s what you want, I have to respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“But I still hate the idea of this PR campaign,” he insisted. “Like this restaurant launch tomorrow. Why should anyone care where I go out to dinner? Being able to accurately handle a ball has nothing to do with my taste in food, or clothes, or anything. The truth is I try to avoid fancy restaurants like that one. I was looking at the options they emailed over. One of those dishes said it came with a special foam. Why would I want foam on my plate? The notion that people are turning up to that place, spending their hard-earned money on pretentious food because they think they might spot me there—it makes me feel so guilty.”
“It also means more people are turning up to watch you play,” Holly countered. “Like it or not, some people buy tickets because they want to see someone they think is famous, not because they love the sport. The more people sitting in the stands, the more money Discovery has to spend on players, training and everything else that keeps the game alive. But you’ve been a professional athlete for long enough that you don’t need me to explain this to you, do you?”
Kepler stared fixedly at the floor, and she continued, “You don’t like the well-behaved yet sexy striker idea I’ve come up with, and you insist the picture painted by the British media of bad-boy Killer de Klerk is wrong as well. So tell me, who do you want to be?”
“I want to be myself,” he said with such quick defensiveness that she knew he hadn’t given his answer any real thought.
“And what is he like?” But she could feel him shutting down. These few, precious moments of honest interaction were coming to an end.
“Look, I’ll try to make more of an effort with this PR stuff, but I can’t make any promises. I suppose this breakfast is a washout, huh?”
Holly checked the clock. “If you throw on a suit, you could make the last half hour.”
Kepler’s eyes met hers, and it took every shred of her willpower not to close the distance between them and wrap comforting arms around his broad shoulders while she brushed reassuring kisses over his forehead. Every trace of arrogant swagger had been wiped from his face. He looked dejected, drained and lonely beyond belief.
But he was lost to her now, and she to him. She folded her hands in her lap and waited.
“Give me five minutes.” He hauled himself from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom.
Chapter Eight
“He’s falling apart,” Alan muttered. Discovery’s chairman turned his back on the action on the field with a shake of his head. “He’s going to kill himself if he keeps pushing like this.”
Holly peered nervously through the glass front of the corporate box. Rick was at her side, but she didn’t really need him anymore. She’d not only developed an increasingly complex understanding of the game, she had a burgeoning passion for it as well. She knew enough to understand that Discovery’s 2-1 lead over Cleveland Thunder had been hard to win and even harder to defend, and that with twenty-five minutes still to play Kepler was so exhausted that he was staggering more than running.
“Sven always keeps him on the pitch too long,” she snapped. “He’s got no support out there and he runs himself ragged.”
“But when he plays, he scores,” Rick countered. “He’s single-handedly tripled Discovery’s goals this season. At the end of the day, Sven wants to win.”
At that moment there was a collective gasp from the stadium crowd as Kepler took a hard
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