Striker

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Max Mandell was one of the most respected and revered football agents in the business, with some of the biggest names in the game on his books. Renowned for always getting his clients the best deals possible, he was a straight-to-the-point, hard-nosed businessman who took no crap, which meant he had few friends, but one hell of a client list. Max Mandell was one of those men who didn’t care much about anyone else – unless they could earn him big money. ‘And for Christ’s sake, Ryan, behave yourself, will you? For five frigging minutes. Let’s show this club the professional player they’ve just signed over millions for, not some jumped-up playboy that might just make them regret shelling out all that cash.’ He looked at Ellen as she backed up against the wall, studying her clipboard with probably more interest than was necessary. ‘Is this going to get started soon, sweetheart? Only, we’ve got a shitload of stuff to be getting on with today.’

Ellen looked at him before quickly checking with the News North East cameraman, who gave her the nod that he was almost ready to go. ‘As soon as Ms. Sullivan arrives…’

Ryan looked up. ‘Ms. Sullivan?’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Max sighed, throwing his head back. He knew of Amber Sullivan. He knew her father, Freddie, because he’d been one hell of a player in his day. And Max knew that Freddie Sullivan’s daughter was one very beautiful young woman. But he also knew that she was good at her job. In fact, from what he’d heard, she could be as hard-nosed as him at times. She had a bit of a reputation for it, apparently. He’d often wondered why she’d never moved out of the North East to try for a job on national TV – she was just as good as any of the females who were gracing the world of sports broadcasting right now, and she’d always struck him as extremely ambitious, the few times he’d met her. Not to mention the fact her father was an ex-professional footballer. Surely she had the necessary contacts that could make all that happen for her? Maybe he should have a word with her, see where her thoughts for the future lay. He was sure he could broker some kind of deal to get her into the big wide world of football broadcasting. Max Mandell was never one to say no to a potential client, even if she wasn’t the kind of client he usually went for. ‘Just do the fucking interview and no shit, Ryan. Do you hear me?’

‘Alright, Max. Jesus… I’m not a frigging five-year-old.’

Max looked at Ryan, arching an eyebrow. Ryan Fisher was probably one of the most talented players in football right now but, like most other lads of his age, earning too much and becoming so famous so quickly had side effects that weren’t always pleasant. There were some, of course, who resisted the urge to have their heads turned, but there were others, just like Ryan, who chose to live that stereotypical footballer lifestyle to the hilt. And that wasn’t always an attractive trait. Still, he wasn’t there to keep an eye on their personalities. As long as they stayed fit and did their job, keeping the money rolling into both their pockets, and his, he didn’t really give a shit what they got up to. Not unless it started to affect him.

Ryan stood at the back of the room, his hands in his pockets, his head down, scuffing his trainers against the skirting board in an action that told everyone in the room he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t even lunchtime and already he was pissed off. There were days when he felt as if his life wasn’t his own, and this was fast turning into one of them. Sitting down on a comfortable black leather bucket chair, which quite obviously didn’t belong in that room on a permanent basis, he folded his arms in an almost defensive manner as the somewhat flustered club official finally caught up with them. He smiled at both Ryan and Max before taking his seat, checking a large red book he’d had tucked under his arm, all ready to make sure that only questions the club had authorised were asked. Max had decided to take his usual, rather more intimidating stance of leaning against the wall, also with folded arms, to keep an eye on things. Ryan was just bored. He hated interviews, and he couldn’t even remember agreeing to this one, but then, how many times had he found himself ‘agreeing’ to things just to humour some sponsor or to earn a few thousand extra pounds for a public appearance?

‘Ah, Ms. Sullivan. You’re here.’

Ryan looked up as he heard Ellen – maybe he could still corner her somewhere along the line and grab that date – welcome the reporter whose heavily vetted questions he was about to spend the next ten minutes answering. And, as his eyes met hers, all thoughts of that date with the beautiful but nervous Ellen flew right out of the window.

Amber diverted her eyes away from Ryan Fisher’s gaze to check with Alec, her cameraman, that he was ready to record this interview before looking down at her list of questions. About half a dozen of them had been edited by the over-exacting club official, with many not being deemed suitable to ask at all, although Amber had no idea why. It was hardly as if she was asking for his bank account details. But she’d done this enough times and knew enough about this game and the way it worked to know that even the smallest thing could be considered far too personal to ask. So, it was just a case of gritting her teeth and getting on with it. As usual.

‘Hey, good to meet you,’ Ryan grinned, standing up and holding out his hand, not waiting for anyone else to introduce him. Not that he needed any introductions. Even if you weren’t overly familiar with the world of football, most people knew who Ryan Fisher was. He’d been on the cover of enough glossy gossip magazines or the front pages of the tabloid newspapers, for a variety of reasons. But reasons that usually involved some would-be model, actress or even the odd reality TV star.

Amber looked at him. Was that smile intended to impress her? Sweep her off her feet? Or have her falling at his? He was going to have a long wait, then. ‘Are we all ready to go?’ Amber asked, directing her question at the club official, knowing only too well how tight a schedule these events were run on.

Ryan was even more pissed off now. Was she blanking him? Jesus! She might look hot, but she was one cold bitch. Mind you, that was actually a bit of a turn-on. Ryan had never been one to shirk a challenge, although, to be honest, he’d never really been challenged all that often. In fact, he’d be hard-pressed to think of a time when a woman had blanked him like this.

‘Okay. Mr. Fisher…’

‘My name’s Ryan, sweetheart. Can we lose the “Mr. Fisher” crap? I’m a footballer, not some fucking businessman in a board meeting.’

Amber’s eyes bored into his. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? She was all too aware of this man’s reputation – both on and off the pitch – but she was more than ready for him. Fixing him with her best smile, she crossed her legs and sat back in her chair, glancing over at her cameraman again. He gave her the nod – he was ready to go, so she might as well get this show on the road. ‘Okay then… Ryan. Shall we get started?’

Ryan smiled, too, although he was finding it hard to make that smile reach his eyes. She was one hard-faced cow. It was just a pity she was so attractive because, despite the fact she was quite obviously not in the least bit impressed by who he was, he still found himself drawn to her. Not that he had any intention of acting on it. Why put himself in a situation that would only succeed in denting his delicate ego when there were women out there who would quite happily massage it – and other parts of him – with just the click of his fingers? He’d get this over and done with then go see if he could find Ellen. She was a dead cert, whereas this one wasn’t even going to get off the starting blocks.

‘Fire away,’ Ryan sighed, sitting back and clasping his hands over his stomach.

Amber looked down at her notebook, mainly because she had no real desire to look at this man in front of her, although, as a professional, she knew she’d have to, sooner or later. Even if she couldn’t really care less what he had to say. He may well be on his way to becoming a footballing legend, and even she had to admit that she’d been more than impressed with his performances on the pitch. But as a person, she could, quite frankly, take him or leave him. And preferably the latter. He was doing nothing to eliminate the sometimes misguided stereotype of the modern-day professional footballer with his arrogant behaviour, but it wasn’t like he was the first sportsman she’d come across who acted like this. She knew how to deal with them.

‘So… how does it feel to be back home, then – Ryan?’

Ryan waited until she lifted her head, his eyes immediately locking onto hers in a stare he wasn’t in any hurry to break. ‘How does it feel to be back home?’ A smile spread slowly across his handsome face as he continued to stare at Amber. ‘It feels fucking fantastic!’

‘He’s an arrogant prick,’ Amber said, watching from the dugout as her father’s team played an evening match. The miserable weather from earlier in the day had given way to a beautiful, clear August night – conditions that were perfect for both playing the game, and watching it. The reason why, Amber suspected, the club’s modest, lower-league ground was almost full to capacity which, in terms of her father’s club, was a few thousand, compared to the fifty-four thousand that his old club, Newcastle Red Star, could now command in their new, purpose-built stadium.

Freddie Sullivan looked at his headstrong daughter. ‘You’ve let him get to you, kiddo. That’s not like you.’

Amber sat up straight and looked at her dad. ‘Huh? I have not let him get to me…’

‘I’m just saying, pet. Look, come on. Everyone knows what Ryan Fisher’s like. He’s one hell of a player, both on and off the pitch. You should know that by now.’

‘He’s reinforcing every stereotype there is, Dad. And it isn’t like he’s stupid, either. He’s probably one of the most intelligent players I’ve ever met.’

‘And he knows how to work reporters like you, kiddo.’

Amber looked at her dad again. ‘Like me? What? Women, you mean?’

Freddie laughed, sitting back and stretching out his legs – legs that had once been insured for quite a bit of cash back in the 1970s and 80s. ‘I didn’t say that, Amber. You did.’

Amber stuck her hands in her pockets and sat back too, directing her eyes at the action on the pitch. The interview with Ryan had gone okay, considering. He’d answered most of the questions she’d put to him in a professional and articulate way, which had really frustrated her. More than she’d thought it would. He was an incredibly intelligent young man, yet he chose to act, at times, as though he was nothing more than an empty-headed poster-boy, full of crap and arrogance. She’d almost hoped, as she’d made her way to Tynebridge that morning, that all the rumours she’d heard about him from those who’d met him weren’t true, but it seemed they were. More’s the pity.

‘It was a good interview, though, don’t you think?’ Freddie commented, quickly jumping up from the bench to yell an instruction at one of his floundering defenders.

Amber waited for him to sit back down, still staring at the action on the pitch. ‘The edited version looked fine, yeah. But he’s still an arrogant prick. And that came across in all the bits you didn’t see on TV tonight.’

Freddie looked at his daughter again. ‘You’ve been in this business a long time, Amber. And I’ve never seen you react to any player like this before, and let’s face it, you’ve interviewed some of the biggest idiots this game has ever had the pleasure of spawning. Why’s Ryan Fisher got you so rattled?’

‘He hasn’t got me rattled, Dad. It’s just… it’s been a long day, and I’m tired.’

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have come to the match tonight. You should have gone straight home, had a bath, watched some TV.’

‘I wanted to come to the match. I didn’t want to go home and sit on my own watching soap operas and drinking wine… Actually, I quite like the drinking wine bit.’

‘Join us in the bar after the match, then. I’ll buy you a pint.’

Amber laughed, finally starting to feel relaxed for the first time since the interview with Ryan Fisher. ‘Yeah. You always did know how to make a girl feel special, Dad.’

Freddie Sullivan leaned over and ruffled his daughter’s hair, pulling her in for a quick hug before jumping back up to yell yet more instructions at that same wayward defender, using language that turned the air bluer than the late-August evening sky.

Amber smiled, leaning back in her seat for the final few seconds of the first half, a little part of her suddenly warming to the idea of soap operas and a bottle of anything cold and white. She wouldn’t miss anything here. Freddie’s team was wiping the floor with the opposition, and anyway, he’d fill her in on everything when she popped round to see him tomorrow. No, despite feelings to the contrary just a few seconds earlier, now she really fancied just sinking into a hot, bubble-filled bath with the radio on low and a glass of ice-cold wine by her side. Because, no matter how much she tried to deny it, Ryan Fisher had got to her. For a reason she couldn’t yet work out.

Ryan rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, his breathing heavy and shallow. She may well have been shy and quiet at the club earlier, but Ellen certainly knew how to shake off those inhibitions once she’d set foot in the bedroom. Talk about wild! To look at her you wouldn’t think she’d know how to do half the things Ryan had asked her to do, but she’d done them all, willingly. It was over now, though. The sex was done, and he really wasn’t in the mood for conversation and cuddles, which is what so many of them wanted these days. They seemed to think that just because you took them home, gave them champagne, told them how beautiful they were and then let them do anything they wanted to you that it constituted a pre-cursor to a full-blown relationship. It didn’t. And it probably never would. Ryan had no doubt he’d settle down one day, but that day was still far away in the future. He had a lot of living to do, and he had no immediate intention of doing it with the same girl. Not yet, anyway.

‘You’re really not as bad as everyone says you are,’ Ellen smiled, turning onto her side and resting up on one elbow.

Ryan looked at her. She really was pretty. Very pretty. Would it hurt to keep her on the scene for another couple of days? After all, he was still settling in here, wasn’t he? He could do with a bit of company until he found his feet.

‘And what does everyone say about me?’ Ryan smirked, feeling just a touch uncomfortable as she snuggled in against him. He usually didn’t encourage this from any of the women he slept with in case it led to those mixed signals he was so wary of. But he didn’t really have the heart to push her away. Especially as he was still considering keeping her around for a little while longer.

‘They say you’re an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard,’ Ellen went on, her arms circling his waist, her head now on his chest. Ryan resisted the urge to put his arm around her shoulders. The signals were already mixed enough, and he figured the only way he was possibly going to be able to end this when he wanted to was by being as distant as he could. He’d done it before, it wasn’t exactly hard. ‘But an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard with talent.’

Ryan couldn’t help but smile a wry smile, putting both hands behind his head as he stared at the ceiling again. ‘You’ve heard that a lot, then?’

Ellen shrugged. ‘Quite a few times today.’

Ryan laughed. Yeah, that’d be right. He was all too aware of what people thought about him, but what did their opinions matter, anyway? He did the business on the pitch, didn’t he? And that was all they really cared about. In the long run. As long as you didn’t push them too far, clubs would usually turn a blind eye to anything you got up to off the pitch, within reason, of course. But it didn’t stop them voicing their opinions to anyone who’d listen.

‘Oh, I’m sorry…’ Ellen said, letting go of him and sitting up, covering her pretty, pert breasts with the thin bed sheet. ‘I haven’t offended you, have I?’

Ryan sat up, too. He was fast reaching the point where he wanted her to leave. Being alone seemed like such a great idea right now. He’d had his fun; he didn’t need the company anymore. ‘Sweetheart, you couldn’t offend me if you tried. Listen, if I took notice of everything everybody said about me I doubt I’d have got very far in this game. And anyway, maybe they’re right. Maybe I am an arrogant, self-centred, selfish bastard.’

Ellen looked at him for a second, frowning slightly, until she realised he was speaking with his tongue very firmly in his cheek.

‘Look, Ellen, this has been fun, but… I’ve got training in the morning, y’know? New club and everything. I don’t want to turn up late on my first morning, or even worse, worn out. You know how it is.’

‘Oh… Oh, yes, of course. I’m… I’m sorry. I should go.’ She leaned over the side of the bed and quickly retrieved her discarded underwear, hurriedly slipping it back on as though she didn’t want him to see her naked anymore. Which was pointless. He’d seen it all, and so much more, so trying to hide it now was a waste of time. ‘I’ve got things to do, too.’

She looked at him with an expression that seemed as though she was dying for him to ask just what those things were exactly, to show some kind of interest in her life, but why would he? He’d known her all of five minutes and, in all honesty, he’d probably wake up tomorrow morning unable to even remember her name. Maybe he should write it down somewhere, get her to leave him her number, because he did want to see her again. But only because he hadn’t had enough time to check out what else was on offer yet.

‘Listen, sweetheart, scribble down your number, okay? Leave it there on the bedside table.’ Ryan indicated to a scrap of paper lying beside the empty condom packet before sliding out of bed and walking naked to the en-suite. Why the hell should he be shy? If you had it, flaunt it. And Ryan Fisher certainly had it. In spades. ‘You can see yourself out, can’t you?’ In Ryan’s eyes the fun was over, and in his world he called the shots.

Chapter Two (#uaf1d58cd-6deb-57a0-bc2a-5e27f52ff15a)

‘Have you done something to your hair?’ Kevin asked, cocking his head as he stood at the side of Amber’s desk.

‘I’ve dyed it,’ she replied, without looking away from her computer screen.

‘I thought it looked different. It suits you.’

This time Amber looked at her producer, frowning slightly. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Of course I’m alright. Why the hell wouldn’t I be alright?’

‘Since when have you cared about the state of anyone’s hair? Come to think of it, I’ve had God knows how many changes of hair colour, and styles, since I’ve worked here and you’ve never noticed any of them. What’s the matter with you?’

Kevin shrugged, throwing a press pass down on her desk. ‘It’s pretty hard to miss that hair colour to be honest.’

Amber ran a hand through her newly-coloured, dark red hair, smiling at her producer. For some reason she’d felt like a change – of what, she hadn’t been entirely sure, but dyeing her hair had seemed like the easiest option. And she liked it. A lot. So much, in fact, that she was considering keeping it that colour. ‘You said it suits me,’ she smiled, chewing on the end of her pen, a habit she’d never been able to break in all of her years working on News North East.

‘It does. It matches your frigging temper. You’re off-site again today, kiddo.’

Amber groaned, throwing her head back, her pen still stuck in her mouth. ‘I’ve got so much stuff to catch up on, Kevin. I could have done with a day at my desk.’

‘Tough. You’re off to Red Star’s training ground. We’re covering Ryan Fisher’s first day with his new club. Oh, and let’s not forget the double whammy Red Star have just thrown up by signing Jim Allen as their new manager. That’s being made official today. You could maybe try grabbing a word with him, too, while you’re at it. If he’s there, that is.’

Amber sat up straight, taking the pen out of her mouth. ‘That’s definite, then?’

‘What’s definite?’ Kevin asked, looking through a pile of newspapers he was holding.

‘Jim Allen, coming back to Red Star as manager.’ She’d heard the rumours concerning ex-Newcastle Red Star player Jim Allen joining the club as their new manager, but she hadn’t thought anything would come of it. He’d been in charge of a huge and extremely successful London club for some time now, and as far as she’d been aware they were trying to hold onto him with some eye-watering new contract negotiations, so determined were they to keep him where he was. So she hadn’t thought coming back to the North East was an option for him, despite Red Star desperately wanting a successful, big name manager to help them with their league-winning efforts this season. And who better than a man who’d been one of their most popular players back in the day?

Jim Allen was also a good friend of her dad’s. He’d joined Newcastle Red Star just as her father was ending his professional playing days, but Freddie Sullivan had taken Jim under his wing, become his mentor almost. They’d stayed close ever since. So she’d have thought Freddie would’ve said something to her about this if he’d known what was going on. She wasn’t sure how often they talked these days, but it really would have been nice, if he did know something, to have let her know. For a number of reasons. None of which he would actually have been aware of.

Kevin looked at her through slightly narrowed eyes. ‘Remind me, what job do you do again? Jesus Christ, Amber, come on. Isn’t Jim Allen a family friend or something? Surely you of all people should be keeping up with all of this. He signed the contract this morning. They’re holding a press conference at Tynebridge later today, so it’s possible he won’t be at the training ground when you’re there, but if he is… Anyway, I’m sending Phil to the press conference, if you don’t mind. I’d rather you concentrated on Ryan Fisher, for now.’

Amber stuck the end of her pen back in her mouth, looking briefly out of the window. ‘That’s fine with me.’ Another meeting with the charming Mr. Fisher. She couldn’t wait. ‘Anything in particular we’re looking for here?’

‘Not really,’ Kevin said, flicking through a copy of one the local newspapers. ‘I suspect the place’ll be swarming with press and TV, so we’ll just be one of many trying to get a glimpse of the returning hero in action.’

‘He’s hardly a hero,’ Amber muttered, throwing her phone and press pass into her bag. She suddenly had a headache forming right behind her eyes.

Kevin arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, whatever he is – and I’ve heard him called plenty – keep an eye on him, and just try and get a word with him after training, okay? See how his first session’s gone, find out how he’s feeling about making his debut for the club on Saturday, what he thinks of Jim Allen as a manager; you know the kind of thing. You don’t need me to tell you.’

‘Gonna be difficult to get a one-to-one if everyone else is going to be there. And didn’t we cover most of that in yesterday’s interview?’

‘You know how this works, Amber; you’ve done it enough times. And you shouldn’t have any trouble getting his attention, anyway. Not with that hair colour.’

Amber contemplated wearing a hat, because she wasn’t all that keen on attracting the attention of Ryan Fisher. She hadn’t liked him on sight yesterday, and she didn’t think she was going to feel any different today. But this was her job, so she was just going to have to suck it up and get on with it.

‘Okay,’ she sighed, throwing Kevin a look that told him she wasn’t happy but she’d do it anyway. ‘I’m on my way.’

‘You’re such a trooper, Amber,’ Kevin said with his usual dose of dry wit. ‘I’ve already sent Alec over to the ground to do camera and sound, so, when you’re ready you might like to get over there and join him.’ He made a point of looking at his watch before walking back towards his office. ‘Any time in the next five minutes would be ideal,’ he shouted over his shoulder. ‘Come and…’

‘… see you when I get back, I know.’ She sighed again, shutting down her computer.

‘Whoa! What’s happened to your hair?’

‘Ronnie!’ Amber squealed, jumping out of her chair and throwing herself into her best friend’s arms.

She’d known Ronnie White for almost ten years now. An ex-professional, North-East-born footballer – and a pretty famous one at that – he was now a popular TV football pundit and commentator after his career had been ended due to injury five years ago, at the age of thirty. He now split his time between his home in Northumberland, and London, but Amber never saw enough of him. He was the only footballer who’d caused her to break her ‘no relationships of any kind with any footballers’ rule, and she loved him. Like a brother. Despite that very brief and very physical relationship during his time as a top-flight player. But that was all over now. She was just glad their friendship had survived the post-sex period. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I thought I’d come and surprise you,’ Ronnie grinned, swinging her round before putting her back down, holding her out at arm’s length. ‘I’m back up north to cover Ryan Fisher’s first game with Newcastle Red Star at the weekend.’

‘I didn’t know that match was being televised,’ Amber said, ridiculously excited to see him. It’d been a while, and she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed him, until now.

‘You know how they change these things. With the arrival of both Jim Allen and Fisher at Red Star, suddenly this game looks like the more exciting option. And it gives me the perfect excuse to come home for a few days. You did know about Jim Allen signing as Red Star’s new manager, didn’t you?’

‘Yeah. Of course I knew,’ Amber said, pushing a hand through her newly-dyed hair before giving Ronnie another big hug.

‘Put him down, Amber, and get your arse out of here and over to Red Star’s training ground,’ Kevin said, reappearing beside her desk again. ‘Hello, Ronnie.’

‘Kevin… Look, I’m at a bit of a loose end right now, so why don’t I go with Amber this morning? I’m dying to get a look at Fisher in action.’

‘I don’t need your help, Ronnie,’ Amber said, leaning back against her desk and folding her arms, that headache showing no signs of dissipating.

‘Hey, Miss Defensive. That’s not the reason I want to go with you, alright?’

‘Yeah, but having him around might help you get closer to Fisher,’ Kevin pointed out.

‘What? Because he’s famous, too?’ Amber asked.

‘Err, yeah,’ Kevin replied, looking at Amber as though she’d just made a really stupid comment. ‘He might feel more inclined to come over and speak to somebody he used to share a dressing room with.’

‘To be fair, Kevin,’ Ronnie started, ‘… me and Ryan Fisher only played for the same club for about three months. And we were never what you’d call the best of friends. He was just a kid… Anyway, I don’t want to go with Amber to help her get an interview. She’s more than capable of doing that all by herself.’

‘Thank you,’ Amber smiled, sticking her tongue out at Kevin, who responded by giving her a rather rude finger gesture.

‘I want to go with her because she’s my best mate, and I haven’t seen her for far too long. I just want to spend some time with her.’

‘Aaah, isn’t he lovely?’ Amber said, still smiling, squeezing Ronnie’s arm and poking her tongue out at Kevin again.