The Man Everyone's Watching (6)
BN Agency's headquarters featured not just employee offices but a range of welfare facilities. With roots as an entertainment agency, it boasted a music studio, dance practice room, acting studio, and even a room decked out like a mini theater.
Niela gave me a tour of the building like an excited kid. Not that I was dying to see it, but it wasn't half bad once we were wandering around.
"There's even a café inside like this. Merry! I'm here!"
A part-timer named Merry peeked out from behind the coffee machine. I couldn't help but do a double take.
...What? A trainee or something? She was way too stunning for just a barista gig.
"Merry's my friend. Merry, this is Theo. My bro's new client—the soccer player."
"Ah! Nice to meet you."
"Yeah, you too. Nice to meet you."
We ended up exchanging greetings.
"What do you want to drink?"
I nearly said anything, but clamped my mouth shut just in time. Of all the people I've met in life, the ones who say "anything" when asked for their order are the absolute worst. They always nitpick and reject whatever you pick for them. Seniors were especially guilty of that.
...Just thinking about it pisses me off again.
"I'll have the same as you."
I'd had black tea earlier, so I figured a plain Americano this time. But then I remembered we were in Spain. Spaniards don't really do Americanos. They go for hot, strong espresso— that's the coffee culture here.
I wasn't a huge espresso fan, but... once in a while wouldn't kill me.
Niela nodded and turned to Merry.
"I'll take a café mocha with a ton of chocolate syrup. My promo's over, but Theo's still in season, so ice Americano for him. No syrup. Cool?"
"You got it. Of course."
"Make it happen."
"On it."
I shot her a surprised look, and Niela grinned, leading me to a table.
"How was my order?"
"Grateful for the consideration."
"I've been to Asia, hit up America too—everyone loves Americanos. But in Spain? Good luck finding a place that serves 'em."
"Yeah, noticed that."
"You don't hate 'em, right?"
"Nah. No syrup was spot on."
Niela beamed. I sat across from her, taking a moment to really look at her face.
She was undeniably beautiful. No denying it. Different vibe from Elena—Niela's had this approachable warmth.
"Niela!"
Merry called out right on cue, and Niela hopped up.
"I'll grab it."
"Nah, sit. You're the guest."
Then what's that make you, the owner? I bit back the retort. Half-sister or not... technically, she wasn't wrong.
I glanced at the counter and caught Merry and Niela exchanging looks. Some silent message passed between them—I had a pretty good idea what it was. Not my first rodeo with this kind of thing.
Niela returned with my iced Americano in a disposable cup. She plopped down, slurped her café mocha—whipped cream piled high with chocolate syrup—and her face lit up with bliss.
"Your new single's promo done?"
I asked casually, and she pulled the paper straw from her lips, nodding.
"Yeah. Ah! You hear it yet?"
...Crap.
"Guess not."
Her disappointed look hit me with a weird wave of guilt.
"It's cool. You were prepping for the season anyway."
"I'll check it out for sure."
She flashed a mischievous glint, propped her chin on her hand.
"Wanna hear it now?"
"Now?"
I glanced around the café. No other customers—we were it. Being inside the agency building, folks probably just grabbed takeout for their desks. Soft music played in the background.
Niela looked ready to hijack the speakers.
"Follow me."
...Nope.
She grinned, grabbed my sleeve, and tugged. I followed like I was being dragged along.
She led me to the private studio she'd shown off earlier. Inside, a guy with a glowing headset was frowning hard, lost in thought. He hadn't even noticed us come in.
He wasn't there last time.
"What? When'd you get here, Rubo?"
The guy named Rubo finally turned. He blinked at me, then Niela, eyes going wide.
Us together must've been a shock.
"Huh?"
Rubo knew me. He jumped up, offered a handshake. We exchanged quick greetings, then he turned to Niela with the unexpected bomb.
"You finally met? Get your autograph?"
Finally?
"Ah, Niela's your biggest fan. I was shocked at first. A soccer player? But then it was you. Made sense after seeing your play. Even converted me."
Though he added he was a die-hard Los Blancos fan.
"If it was just casual, but Niela even during promo..."
"Ru-Rubo! No need to explain more."
"Huh?"
Rubo tilted his head innocently, then blinked at her flushed face. He seemed to catch on.
"Uh... um... Ah, Theo. Hope you join Real Madrid someday. Wanna talk more soccer, but it's lunchtime..."
Lunchtime was over.
"Catch you later."
Rubo bolted. That's when I got why he'd freaked seeing us together.
I eased onto the studio sofa—the same kind from Borja Navas's office.
"You've been watching my games, huh?"
Niela nodded.
"Of course! I'm a fan!"
"Makes me feel kinda bad."
"No, no."
She waved it off frantically, hesitated, then rummaged in a drawer. Pulled out an AD Alcorcon home jersey—number 9 on the back—and a pen.
"Prepared for the autograph."
"Ah... gotta do it. Hand it over."
I grabbed the pen, signed with flair. She took it, grinning ear to ear.
I sipped my iced Americano, lost in thought.
Crystal clear: Niela had a thing for me. Not full-on love, but real interest.
Did I do something to spark it?
...Nope.
Simple answer: looks.
...An Asian guy as her type? That's fresh. K-pop influence, maybe.
"First time getting a direct autograph from a player? Got a few signed jerseys, but Borja hooked me up."
"Ooh. Honored."
Lame reaction, but she didn't mind.
"Ah! Came to play the song, right."
She headed to the computer, clicked around expertly. Soon, an upbeat rhythm blasted from the massive woofers on either side.
As she said, summer-targeted—fun, vibrant. Less Latin pop than expected.
I swayed lightly to the beat, and she asked,
"Song any good?"
"Yeah. Wait—think I've heard it."
"For real?"
"Yeah, teammates played it in the locker room. They've got fans."
Her eyes sparkled. She killed the track quick, closed in.
"Can I ask a favor?"
"Favor?"
"Yeah. I showed you around the agency—return the favor, show me Alcorcon's stadium."
For someone like Niela, the club would roll out the red carpet.
"Sure... no problem, but..."
That look in front of reporters? They'd sniff it out.
Hm. Borja got my back?
"Yay! Gotta tell Borja, set it up. If the club wants, I can perform."
Her pro confidence shone—aggressive side I'd missed.
I managed a complicated smile. No clue how to play this.
Brushing her off cold? Easy—experience.
Dating Niela? Not bad, but... no fireworks.
If not for Borja, maybe I'd test the waters.
But soccer first. She'd end up disappointed, and it wouldn't last.
Senior once said: pros juggle work and love.
Me? Still semi-pro. No confidence there.
Dun dun dun dun♪
The bass thrummed again. Intense woofer vibes. Second verse highlight—instrumental, built for dance spotlight.
Nailed it.
"Watch close."
Niela grinned fierce, launched into the routine.
The playful track turned serious; her eyes sharpened—pure pro.
Smooth lines, seductive moves. Wave rippled as her hand trailed down.
Her body hit me then—full, Elena-level curves. Dancer's waist-to-hip line? Art.
My mind went dirty: grip that waist, slam into those ripe hips, pound away...
Whoosh!
Shook my head hard. Calm down.
She's Borja's sister. Half or not, he adores her.
Bad thoughts gotta go.
Sex ain't worth screwing my agent— even if he swore no business bleed-over.
But.
"Ah..."
Instinct stirred.
...Not my heart. The heavy beast below.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"Theo. What're you thinking so hard about?"
"...Huh?"
Miguel Amaro's voice snapped me out.
...Damn. That scene again.
Speakers blared the song from days ago—in Niela's studio.
I flashed back to her hypnotic dance, that body.
After that performance? No clue what we talked about. Not even how I got home.
All energy went suppressing those filthy urges. Memory wiped.
If it'd been heart-pounding, fine.
...Fucking dick and balls throbbed instead.
If this kept up, who knows what I'd do. Unease gnawed.
"Sorry, Miguel. Kill the song?"
"The song? Why? It's Niela's..."
"I know. Just wanna focus on the match."
He cut it without question. Teammates tilted heads; he shushed 'em.
"Shh! Theo needs to concentrate."
"Ah!"
"Got it."
"Yeah, it's loud anyway."
Accidental power move. They didn't mind, though.
"Miguel. Song's fine now."
"Nah. Focus up, Theo. Gotta win today."
"Heading to the pitch first."
"Aight!"
Her song resumed. Before instinct kicked, I bolted for the tunnel, out to the grass.
"Wait up, Theo."
Miguel caught up. I steadied my breath, stepped onto the pitch.
Stadium felt empty. Plenty of time till kickoff; no warm-ups yet.
On the field, stray thoughts vanished.
Opponent's logo came into view.
"Hat-trick today, Theo?"
Miguel teased. I nodded like it was obvious.
Relegated from La Liga last season, Barcelona's local rivals.
RCD Espanyol.
Our round 3 foes.