Michelle Betham - Striker

Ryan nodded, looking at Max. ‘This is all going to be alright, isn’t it, Max?’

Max shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground as he spoke. ‘We did the right thing, Ryan. Coming here.’ He looked up at his young client. ‘We did the right thing. You needed a new start.’

Ryan turned back around, staring down at the murky river below him. ‘It was my fault, though. Wasn’t it? I should have…’

‘It happened, Ryan. You weren’t the first and you certainly won’t be the last, but it’s over now, okay? It’s over, it’s sorted. The rest is up to you.’

Ryan smiled at his agent, a man who’d become more like a second dad to him. He knew for a fact that, without Max, his career would be all but over, so he had no intention of messing things up a second time.

‘Thanks, Max. I owe you.’

Max just gave him a look that spoke volumes and walked back inside the apartment, leaving Ryan in no doubt that Max was right. He had done the right thing in coming here. Now all he had to do was make sure he didn’t regret it.

‘No Ronnie today?’ Kevin asked, perching himself on the edge of Amber’s desk.

She looked up at him, leaning back in her chair. ‘We’re not joined at the hip, y’know. And he’s not here for a holiday. He’s got work to do. Especially with the transfer window closing tomorrow night, and then Red Star’s televised match on Saturday.’

‘I’m just making conversation,’ Kevin said, checking his phone as a text message pinged its arrival. ‘Anyway, I want you there on Saturday, too. At Tynebridge. It’s big news, what with Ryan Fisher’s debut and Jim Allen’s first match in charge, so I’m sending you to cover it.’

‘Yeah, okay. Fine,’ Amber replied, turning back to her laptop.

‘I know it’s okay. It’s your job,’ Kevin said, sliding down from her desk. ‘I wasn’t giving you a choice. You’re the Sports Editor, not to mention my best reporter, so obviously you’re going to cover the game. We’re looking for a big piece to put out on Monday’s show.’ He started to walk back towards his office before turning back around and looking at Amber, his hands in his pockets. ‘And anyway, you seem to have a way with Ryan Fisher that I can’t imagine any of the others would have.’

Amber swung round in her chair, fixing her producer with a look. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘He fancies the arse off you, Amber. That’s what that’s supposed to mean. He’s been talking a lot about you, apparently. And because of that he’s quite happy to talk to you.’

‘Not 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?’