Striker. Michelle Betham
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sexist in the least, huh, Kevin?’
‘I couldn’t give a fuck, Amber. Just get used to hanging around him, okay?’
‘Yeah, thanks for that,’ Amber muttered, turning back around to face her laptop, her train of thought now completely lost. She didn’t know whether that comment from Kevin had angered or flattered her. The idea that somebody more than ten years younger than her fancied the arse off her, as Kevin had so eloquently put it, of course it was going to be a bit of an ego-boost. But Ryan Fisher was a footballer, and Amber didn’t do footballers. Especially those so much younger than she was, which accounted for a fair chunk of them. So why was he still on her mind? It was ridiculous. It was just an ego-trip, nothing else. He’d shown some interest in her last night, flirted with her, even, and she couldn’t help but be flattered by that. After all, she was within spitting distance of turning forty, so who wouldn’t be flattered by the attentions of a younger man? Especially one as good-looking as Ryan Fisher.
Aware that she could quite possibly have some kind of uncharacteristically ridiculous expression on her face, Amber grabbed a pile of papers that needed to be taken down to the main reception and took the opportunity to escape the confines of the Sports Desk for a while.
‘Hey, Amber.’ Tracy, News North East’s receptionist, smiled at her as she arrived at her desk in the main lobby of the building. ‘You taking a break? Do you want a coffee?’
‘The answer to both those questions is yes, thank you, Tracy. And these are for you.’
‘Oh, thanks. I was just about to send someone up to get those.’
‘Saved you a trip, then,’ Amber smiled, leaning against the reception desk as Tracy disappeared into a back room to get her coffee. ‘Anything or anyone interesting pass through those doors today?’
‘Not really,’ Tracy replied, reappearing with a steaming mug of coffee for Amber. ‘Ooh, except Ryan Fisher, that is.’
‘Ryan Fisher?’ Amber frowned, taking the coffee Tracy held out and blowing on it to cool it down. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Tracy shrugged, sitting herself back down behind the huge oval reception desk. ‘He didn’t say. Just gave me that gorgeous smile of his and said he was popping up to the Sports Desk. I’m surprised you didn’t pass him on your way down. He only arrived a few seconds before you came down here.’
Amber said nothing, just blew on her coffee again, more as a distraction than anything else. ‘No. I didn’t see him.’ For some reason she just couldn’t explain – or maybe she could, but she was too scared to admit it – she began to feel a touch unsettled. Her mind wandered back to yesterday; what Ronnie had said to her at the training ground, seeing Ryan in the bar last night. Ever since Ryan Fisher had arrived on the scene she’d felt slightly preoccupied, and it would be a lie if she tried to tell herself that she had no idea why. She had every idea why. She just didn’t want to admit it. Or tell Ronnie he was right. Well, sort of right, anyway.
‘Are you okay?’ Tracy asked, breaking into Amber’s thoughts.
Amber looked up, immediately shaking herself back to reality. ‘Yeah, sorry. I’m fine. I’ve just remembered, there’s something I need to do, that’s all. I’d better get back up to the Sports Desk. Thanks for the coffee.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Tracy smiled, but Amber was already at the lift, half running half walking as she tried to get back to her desk before – before, what? Before Ryan Fisher left? Was she really thinking that way? When had she turned from sensible, grown-up sports reporter to simpering fan-girl? But she really needed to see him, if only to get something straight in her own mind. Which was why she picked up the pace once the lift reached the Sports Desk on the third floor, although she was doing her best to look calm and not bothered in the slightest that one of the country’s most famous and fanciable footballers was in the building. Why should she care, anyway?
Walking purposefully towards her desk in the corner of the room, Amber couldn’t stop her heart from beating hard against her ribs as she noticed somebody sitting in her chair, leaning back with his feet up on her desk. Feet that were covered by trainers that he’d doubtless not paid a penny for but had been given gratis purely because the publicity he could generate just from wearing them was priceless.
‘Someone to see you, Amber,’ Kevin said as he walked past, flinging his jacket over his shoulder. ‘And be nice, okay? He’s come here especially to see you. I think he’s taken a bit of a shine to you, kiddo, so you might want to try a bit of flirting, y’know, see if you can get something out of him that nobody else is getting.’
‘Can we please stop going down the overtly sexist route, Kevin? It’s so offensive it’s making me feel quite queasy. And what do you mean, he’s taken a bit of a shine to me? You make me sound like a second-hand car.’
‘I couldn’t give a flying fuck what I’m making you sound like, Amber. All I’m saying is, if you get close to Ryan Fisher then we – as the North East’s leading local news programme – could have access to breaking news on the football front before anyone else. Do you see what I mean?’
‘Have you always been this prehistoric in your views on women reporters and I’ve just had blinkers on for the past heaven knows how many years?’ Amber couldn’t help throwing a glance over towards the corner of the room, where Ryan was still sitting in her chair, his feet still on her desk as he concentrated on his mobile phone. She was almost shocked at her own reaction; the way her heart missed that stupid and clichéd beat, her stomach flipping over, and that was just from looking at the back of his head. She had a real fear of her knees giving way the second he turned around. Was this really happening to her? Thirty-seven-years-old and acting like a teenager. Two days ago she would have thought this behaviour hilarious, and something she would never have indulged in. But then, two days ago, Ryan Fisher hadn’t been on the scene. ‘What’s he want to see me for, anyway?’ Amber asked, trying not to sound bothered.
Kevin shrugged, looking at his watch. ‘No idea.’ He looked straight at her, smiling a wide smile and throwing her a wink. ‘Just be nice to him. Alright?’
Amber sighed as she tried not to smile back at her pain-in-the-arse producer. ‘Like I’d be anything else.’
‘You’re a true professional, Amber. Right, I’m off to meet Ronnie for a drink, seeing as you hijacked him last night.’
‘Jealous?’ Amber smirked, now itching to get away and see what Ryan wanted.
Kevin just pulled a face and walked off in the direction of the lift.
Amber waited a few seconds, just so she could compose herself, really. Something else she wasn’t used to doing – composing herself. Amber Sullivan was usually ready for anything. But not this.
Taking a deep breath, she quickly ran a hand through her long, dark red hair and strode over to her desk by the window, kicking the seat of her swivel chair so it spun round to face her, knocking his feet off her desk in the process.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, that hard exterior making a comeback, belying everything she was really feeling inside. Because, inside, she was feeling all mushy and mixed-up like some star-struck wannabe WAG, but she didn’t want him to see that. She wanted him to be on the receiving end of the full-on, couldn’t-care-less attitude.
Ryan grinned at her. Yeah, he was right. Last night she might have been that sexy sports reporter that wet dreams were made of, but today she was right back to her uptight self. ‘Where’d you get off to last night, then?’ he asked, still leaning back in her chair like he owned the place. And he could probably afford to.
‘Not altogether sure that’s any of your business,’ Amber replied, his arrogant attitude still one she couldn’t quite get her head around. But, oh God, he looked so hot sitting there with that sexy, messed-up hair, his tattooed arms hard and toned in a white t-shirt that showed off his tanned skin to perfection. Shit!