Chapter 7: [7] "Kings Watch From Penthouses, Predators Hunt in the Rain"

The penthouse on top was very quiet, with a view of the Eiffel Tower.

Olivier Fontaine lay on a huge white leather sofa, a glass of old champagne on his knee. He wore only silk lounge pants, and his beautifully cut abs were on show. Chloé Martin, seated next to him, was idly scrolling through her social media feed.

The huge 80-inch screen was mounted on the wall and the Ligue Alpha weekend wrap up show was playing there.

"But the match week surprise comes from a team that was predicted to place at the bottom of the table," the television pundit said, his voice trembling with excitement. "In the final moments of the game, Stade Valois took three points from Olympique de Rive, and the goalscorer? An unrecognized 20-year-old American rookie marking his professional debut".

Olivier took a long sip of champagne, rolling his eyes. "Rive is pathetic. How do you have to lose to Valois?"

Chloé didn’t answer. Her eyes glued to the screen. She stopped scrolling.

The broadcast went back to the replay. It demonstrated the skinny kid, Hugo’s lowly driven, spectacular pass. It revealed the dark hair of Luc sticking to his face under the rain, as he broke through the defenders and exploded. It exhibited the cold, calculated nutmeg he employed to scire passed the keeper.

"Lucky," Olivier murmured contemptuously. "The keeper slipped."

However, it was not the goal and not the temperature that made the room cold. It was what happened next that was.

The camera zoomed in close to Luc jogging towards the touchline. His face was on the 80-inch screen. There was no joy. No celebration. Only two eyes that were lifeless and relentless, piercing through the glass.

He held his arm up and tapped his wrist. Tick-tock.

Olivier’s hand tightened around his champagne flute. The lofty, cocky attitude died out. Slowly he raised his head as the muscles in his jaw seemed to be ticking. He knew that it was a message for him.

"Arrogant little prick," Olivier snapped as he slammed his glass of wine onto the crystal-clear coffee table with a jarring sound. "He plays one tap-in past a heavy set of defenders and believes he’s a king? Bastard."

Chloé swallowed hard. She was lookin down at screen and saw the man who she betrayed just a few days back. When Luc found them in the hotel room, she was certain she knew he was going to break, but he didn’t. He was supposed to beg her. But the guy on the TV looked good, the type of men she liked. He resembled a predator which had just tasted blood.

A little seed of doubt found its way into the chamber of her stomach. Was she at fault for picking the wrong horse?

"He’s nothing," Chloé said quickly, placing her hand to Olivier’s arm, all too ready to assuage his pride. "It’s a fluke."

Olivier roughly removed her hand from his. "Bring me my cellphone," he snarled. "I got to call my agent, if this American needs media attention, I’ll let the media eat him alive."

---

Two hundred miles away, the SC Valois locker room was shaking.

They were playing music so loud that they were shaking the concrete walls. People were jumping on benches, spraying cheap water bottles in the air, yelling and screaming. Beating Olympique de Rive was a huge underdog move. It could potentially mean survival. It was an extra paycheck.

Luc was in the corner, his muddy boots off, evenly taping an ice pack to his left knee. He wasn’t jumping. He wasn’t screaming.

Then Hugo Blanc suddenly embraced Luc in his arms and almost tackled him off the bench. "We did it! We’ve done it, you magnificent bastard, my splendid grandson!"

"Huh, your grandson?"

A slight smile played on Luc’s lips as he patted the kid on the back. "Congratulations, Hugo, you made the pass, I just did the easy part."

"The easy part?" There was a celebration, but it was interrupted by Mateo’s voice.

But the music continued while the nearby area became silent. The captain, deeply tatted up, walked in amongst the crowd with his face covered in mud and sweat. He came to a halt before Luc, crossing his bulk arms.

For a long moment, the two men just stared at each other. The tension was so great that it could have been cut with a knife.

Then Mateo stretched out a big, clump of a hand.

"You speak a lot of shit, Yankee," Mateo grunted. "But it was backed up today, a hell of a finish that was."

Luc glanced at the hand then up at Mateo. He didn’t smile but he extended his hand and he got the captain’s hand in his. "Keep the backline solid, Mateo. Play me the ball and I’ll continue to score."

Mateo nodded slowly. "Deal."

[System Notification]

[You have earned Mateo’s respect]

[Reward +5 Skill points]

[Balance: 5 General points, 5 Skill points]

[Access the store to utilise points]

"I’ll have to check that out later."

---

The locker room door opened as the captain was walking away. Juliette came in carrying her medical clip board. She ignored the half-naked players and walked straight toward Luc. She halted in front of him with her green eyes flashing a combination of amusement and some darkness.

"Medical check," she called out, loud enough for the lads nearby to hear. "My office. Now."

Luc picked up his towel, put it over his shoulder and walked out into the dim hallway with her. Immediately the heavy metal door clattered shut, and Juliette grabbed the lapels of his coat and pushed him back against the concrete wall.

"You tapped your wrist? Olivier’s signature cele," she whispered in his ear, her face inches from his. "On national television."

Luc replied smoothly, "It wasn’t for him, I just wanted everyone to know I like to be punctual."

"You just began a war, she corrected, her breathing slightly rising. "Henri is enraged, the board is in fear, you just marked this club with a giant target on it."

"Are you complaining?" Luc leaned closer.

Juliette studied his lips, lifted her gaze and glared up at his eyes. "No. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened in this dead-end club in 10 years."

Before Luc could get all up in her face, there was a loud voice calling down the hall. 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

"Beaumont! There you are!"

The rain had soaked Henri’s cheap suit and he came jogging around the corner. He paused, his eyes narrowing a little at their closeness, Luc and Juliette.

"Am I disturbing a medical examination?" Henri asked dryly.

"Just rounding the examination up, coach," Juliette said calmly, stepping back and straightening up her clothes and her clipboard.

"His knee is fine."

"Good," Henri scoffed, shifting his attention entirely to Luc. He looked nervous. He kept wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. "Put a clean shirt on, Beaumont. Come with me immediately."

"A post-match press conference? Coach" Luc asked.

"No," Henri swallowed hard. "We are heading to the owner’s suite. Madame Laurent wants to speak with you."

Juliette’s eyes widened slightly at the name. She shot Luc a warning look before turning and quickly walking back toward the medical wing.