Sue had seen it all—panic attacks before penalty shootouts, perfectionism masked behind ego, the crushing pressure of billion-dollar endorsements. As a rising star in sport psychology, she’d been flown into Madrid on short notice to work with Atlas FC’s newest signing: Leo Varela, a generational talent… and a total headcase under pressure.

What she didn’t expect was him.

Alistair Reed, the private chef. Sharp jaw, sharper wit. A British accent so smooth it sounded like it had been aged in oak. He wasn’t just there to cook for the team’s golden boy—he was Leo’s shadow, his confidant, and for some reason, fiercely protective. Sue first noticed him when she tried to cut Leo’s pre-training espresso.

“He won’t listen to you,” Alistair said, not even looking up as he flipped something golden in a pan. “And if you mess with his caffeine, he’ll crash by four and blame you for the loss.”

It wasn’t the words—it was the tone. Unbothered. Certain. Like he knew exactly how the day would play out, down to the complaint she’d get in her inbox by evening.