Page 34 of Dream On, Liar

“These are good,” Faroq’s voice snapped my attention to him. His gaze was fixed on my tablet as he continued reading my notes. “Do you mind if I add a few comments?”

I shook my head. “Go for it.”

“Thanks,” He nodded, clearly still focused on the thought that was building behind his eyes. “I think it’ll take a while for the guys to warm up to you…considering everything. They’re a bit overprotective of each other in the team, so I’m gonna add a few things that will help you make your life easier.”

Gratitude filled me as he immediately tapped at the screen. The moment I’d sat down, my heart had dipped at the sight of the team doctor, who looked thoroughly displeased by my presence. But a few minutes later, Faroq, the senior physiotherapist on the team, had taken the seat beside me and greeted me with an easy smile and a warm welcome. It had been the first thing that made me feel as though this job might not turn into a completely miserable experience.

My gaze retrained back to my father, and truthfully, the lack of emotion from him was more bothersome than Rihaan’s tardiness itself, and a part of me couldn’t help but wonder why in the world I’d considered this to be a step up from my previous role.

Maybe, so, your father can finally notice you.

Before I could do a deep dive into that theory, the conference room door finally opened, and a blanket of silence fell over the room.

Rihaan walked in wearing sunglasses despite the fact we were indoors—never you mind the fact that it had been still pouring on and off outside—carrying an iced coffee and speaking quietly to the person beside him like arriving nearly half an hour late to a mandatory meeting was an entirely normal social activity.

He didn’t even glance at me as he made his way down to where my father sat. The same man who’d given a seven year old me a forty five minute lecture on punctuality looked barely bothered. As a matter of fact, the small frown settled on his brows was more for the woman walking alongside Rihaan.

Forcing my attention on her, I searched through the bundle of information I had gathered in the past week. The moment I’d signed the contract for this role, I’d spent every spare second researching the squad. Partly because I was curious. Partly because sulking productively still counted as productivity.

So between the this-job-was-a-terrible-idea thoughts, the I-need-to-give-up-tequila-because-nothing-good-ever-comes-from-it revelations as I wished for a time machine so I could go back and unsent the email to my personal tutor, and the occasional at-least-I’d-get-to-spend-more-time-with-my-father rationalisation, I’d buried myself in stats, interviews, team members, injury histories, press disasters, family backgrounds, team dynamics, former coaches, sponsorships. If one of had once posted a cryptic social media story in 2021, chances were I’d seen it.

And yet the woman entering this private team meeting beside Rihaan was completely unfamiliar.

She looked around my age, maybe a little older, with a visitor pass hanging around her neck.

My father got up immediately, confusion flashing across his face for the first time all morning as Rihaan said something quietly to him.

His expression shifted, displeasure coursing through his features before he schooled them and gave Rihaan a single nod.

And just like that, I knew whoever it was, she’d be staying in this private meeting.

I frowned slightly, turning toward the one man who’d been kind to me so far.

“Who’s that?” I asked quietly.

Faroq looked over, brow furrowing for a moment before he shrugged. “No idea.”

A part of me wished I could say the knowledge that she, too, had been a stranger to everyone else in the room had comforted me, but a slow, sinking instinct settled heavily in my chest and informed me, with remarkable certainty, that whatever this was, I probably wasn’t going to like it.

And for the next hour, I sat through tactical discussions and player management structures while internally losing my mind every time my attention drifted back towards Rihaan, who still hadn’t spared me a single glance.

I wasn’t entirely sure why it got under my skin so badly.

Maybe because I could tell from the slight tension in his posture that he knew exactly when I looked at him. Every time my focus shifted his way, something in his shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly, like awareness passing silently between us without ever becoming acknowledgement.

And still, he refused to look at me.

Not even when my father finally introduced me to the room.

Every head around the table had turned in my direction except the two I’d spent the entire morning worrying about.

My father and Rihaan.

I wished that it didn’t matter enough to deter me, but by the time individual assessments started, I felt more off-balance than I would’ve liked.

The treatment room smelled sharply of disinfectant and muscle cream, the dark clouds visible through the windows further dampening the mood as Oliver stepped inside.

And suddenly a part of me was thankful we’d started out with him because Oliver King was painfully easy to work with.