I couldn’t believe what I was going to say, but I needed to escalate this. And unfortunately, that meant talking to my ex. “Pass him the phone. I want to speak to him.”
There was some rustling. Then Kelly said, “Sorry, but we already have an office paper supplier.” What? “We also are against deforestation. In fact, you should be ashamed of yourself. Paperless offices are the future, sir.”
“I know David is there.”
“I’ll be right with you, David, yes!” she exclaimed, her voice piercing my ear. Then she added in a hushed voice, “I need to run, boss. Remember to stay strong.”
Stay strong? “What do you—”
“Bye!”
And the call ended.
Stay strong. What did that even mean? And why had Kelly pretended to talk to somebody else? Something was amiss. And usually, that kicked me into action.
With a renewed sense of purpose, I unlocked my phone and started snapping pictures of this horrible, tiny, grisly shed-turned-cabin that had been decorated by a psychopath. I needed proof that this place wasn’t… habitable.
Once done with that, I rolled my suitcase to the narrow and slightly crooked coffee table that sat between the alleged fireplace and a one-person settee I had no intention of ever gracing with any of my body parts.
I started working the zipper, side-eyeing the settee, the four-poster bed, and… everything, when his words smacked right back into me.
I don’t think you’ll make it a single night there.
With a huff, I pulled my suitcase open and located my makeup bag. I couldn’t forget that I was on assignment here. I still needed to drive into town and find the Green Warriors. Who knew, maybe I’d misjudged the whole situation. Maybe this was just how rentals worked in the area. No hotels or motels, just… this. Cabin fever was a thing. In fact—
A noise outside caught my attention.
I stiffened, turned around slowly, walked to the window on my tiptoes, and shoved the flimsy curtain aside with a finger.
A tall figure was crossing the space between the cabins with long, determined strides.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Look at you,” I murmured under my breath. “Strutting out of your fancy lodging like you own the place.”
Which, technically, he kind of did. He rented the place. Or half of it, at least. The good, fancy half.
Now that I’d had a few minutes to myself, I couldn’t ignore how bothered I was. It irked me that he’d been right and I’d been in the wrong. I wasn’t used to being put in that position and when he’d pointed at Sweet Heaven Cottage, I’d felt… stupid. Dumb. And his quick judgment of my character, even if probably deserved, had made me feel even worse. He had hurt my pride, my intelligence, my sense of direction, and my ability to read. Perhaps, if this had happened at another time, I wouldn’t have cared. But it had happened today, and I wasn’t used to repeatedly embarrassing myself.
I could still see past my pride to know I should have apologized, though. At least for accidentally hitting him with the car. I felt horrible about that. And yet… as he walked the gravel path crisscrossing the property, I couldn’t shake the way he’d looked me up and down, skeptical and knowing, as if he could see how everything about me was inappropriate and unsuitable. Out of place.
I was out of place.
But so was he.
What was Cameron Caldani—two-time winner of IFFHS World’s Best Goalkeeper, former Premier League starter and, as of the last five years, MLS star—doing in Green Oak, North Carolina? The news about his retirement from the L.A. Stars had been sudden and relatively recent. I didn’t keep tabs on every player in the country, especially if they played in the Western Conference, but it was my job to stay informed. I couldn’t recall any particulars about his retirement being said. Just that he’d surprised everyone by announcing he’d hung up the gloves.
Cameron stopped at the curve closest to the edge of trees surrounding the property. I moved a little closer to the glass. The man was tall, which wasn’t uncommon for a goalkeeper, but he seemed larger and wider in person. Our paths had never crossed, which wasn’t strange, considering the L.A. Stars usually made it to the playoffs while the Flames never did. But I knew what he looked like. Cameron Caldani was a man hard to miss or overlook. It was the beard that had thrown me off. Probably the hit to the head. The setting, too.
One simply didn’t expect to find Cameron Caldani in the middle of the woods.
Matthew—who was the biggest soccer nerd I’d ever met—was going to lose his mind when he learned that Cameron Caldani was in Green Oak. He’d probably make a shrine to the bumper of my car because it had grazed Cameron’s body.
Which was exactly why Matthew could never know.
The man on the other side of the window knelt and picked something off the ground with those strong and slightly crooked fingers I’d seen up close and inspected. After a moment, I watched him search the vegetation in front of him.
His baritone voice rang out. Something that sounded like Cruiser or Booster. A pet’s name? I waited with him, expecting something to dash out of the woods. A dog? What kind of pet did someone like Cameron Caldani have? I was so immersed, so intrigued, that when he turned around to face the window I was standing in, it caught me unprepared.
Green eyes landed right on me.
And I… I dove.
Straight onto the not exactly smooth or clean floor of Sweet Heaven Cottage. I didn’t even know why I did that. It wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong. I was being absurd considering I had faced meeting rooms and press conferences more intimidating than that man’s gaze.
With a shake of my head, I counted to three, lifted my chin, got up with as much class as I could possibly muster, and peeked out the window again.
There wasn’t a trace of Cameron Caldani.
He was gone, and in his wake he’d left behind what had to be… feathers.
“Oh God.” I groaned, a new rush of guilt washing over me.
Cameron’s pet. The one he’d been calling for just now. Cruiser or… Booster.
Could it be the chicken I’d hit with my car?
My eyelids fluttered shut. No wonder he’d been enraged.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cameron
Close to a dozen sets of eyes blinked slowly at me, as if I was speaking a language they didn’t understand.
I frowned, wondering how in the bloody hell had I gotten myself into yet another bizarre situation today. Only this time, I knew the answer. I’d agreed to be here. Even if reluctantly.
The intensity of the fluttering increased, reminding me of one of those silly cartoons I used to watch on the telly when I was a boy.
“What is all that eyelash flapping about?”
“Pretty pleaaaaaaaase?” eight out of the nine girls in front of me chanted in unison.
“I said no,” I told them, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Now, whose turn is it to fetch the cones and balls? I’ll get the practice goals later on.”
The one with the asymmetrical pigtails stepped closer. “It will be just the one video, Mr. Coach,” María—one of the oldest girls in the group at the age of nine—said. “You don’t need to do anything but stand in front of the camera with us, and we won’t even post it anywhere. I promise.” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Pretty pleaaaase?” she repeated, stretching the word again. “Mr. Coach?”
Not the Mr. Coach bullshit again. “Just Cam.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it, Mr. Cam?”
I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. “No. Now—”
“But your name is literally cam.” She stepped forward, the whole group moving with her. “And what’s a camera for? Videos!”
I stared blankly at the kid. Jesus, I really needed that extra shot of caffeine I’d missed today. “That’s not where Cam comes from.”
“Where does it come from then?”