𝗙&𝗠𝗨 - 𝗖. 𝗣𝘂𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗰 | ✔︎

𝟭. ➪ 𝗣𝗿𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗴𝘂𝗲: 𝗙𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗗𝗮𝘆

Beginning of February 2020, 10 months before the actually story begins.

"Solana Williams." I inform the receptionist as I put away the sun glasses I wore. Even though it's February, I always wear sun glasses, no matter the situation or the weather. It somehow makes me feel comfortable in unfamiliar places, even though I still don't know why. I look the woman behind the desk in the eye, giving her a warm smile.

"You can take a seat in the waiting room, mrs. Williams." The brunette woman replies after looking into her computers for some seconds, giving me a warm smile in return. After giving her a nod and mouthing a soft "thank you" I make my way to one of the seats in the waiting room, not sitting comfortable whatsoever.

"Mrs. Williams?" A man with a little bit of a accent announces. I couldn't really notice where he came from, but he certainly wasn't English. I stand up from my seat and make my way to the door that stood open in the hallway. As I enter I see a man with a little bit of facial hair and blue eyes behind his desk, paperwork all over it.

"Hello, mrs. Williams." He greets as he sees me enter his office, standing up from his seat to shake my hand.

"I'm Thomas Tuchel, but you can call me Thomas."

"Well hello, Thomas. I'm, like you said, mrs. Williams, but you can call me Solana or Sol."

"Alright Sol, take a seat." Also he gives me a warm smile as I take the seat across him. He puts the paperwork away that he was occupied with some seconds ago and pulls out a resume form out.

"So, Solana. I've been informed about your services on, but mostly off the pitch. You're somebody who works with people with mental problems and someone who can have sessions with players about their feelings and mental health. You diagnose patients with a certain physical problem and help to treat their diagnose on the basis of a treatment plan." He speaks as he reads my resume, his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he looks at the paper sheet, looking up after. My palms are beginning to feel sweaty and nerves grow bigger within a few seconds.

"That's right, mr. Tuchel." I reply, a lump forming in my throat. As I look around the room my head gets a little lighter, but I manage to maintain my attention to the conversation I was having at the moment, not wanting to fuck up already.

"Please, call me Thomas."

"I'm sorry, Thomas."

"It's alright. Listen Solana." He puts away my resume and reaches across the table with his hands, mines intertwining with them as a natural reflection. I grin a little onto his, hoping it would make me feel a little more comfortable. The guy had been friendly so far and I think he already saw how nervous I was when I entered the room.

"We really need you here. From what I've just read you haven't worked at a football club yet, but I'm sure you're one of the best, if not the best, in your job at this age. We at Chelsea would like to welcome you with open arms, as soon as possible. You're truly needed here." He looks me in the eye, me meeting his blue ones. My heart rate slows down a little and I take up a new, more relaxed position in my chair. He gives me a comfortable smile, making me feel welcome for the first time I entered this building.

"I'd love to begin as soon as possible." I reassure Thomas, a smile forming on his lips as he, again, reaches for some paperwork, a contract this time.

"So basically I've already prepared a contract for you. I've been thinking about our meeting for quiet some time seeing your job will be important here. Mental manners are important ones and I wanted to make sure to get the best psychologist there is out there. In the contract you'll find everything there is to know, from work days and hours to a salary. Just know that you can talk about everything that's in there and we can settle for something more or less if that's what you request." He shoves the contract he held across the table so I could read it, my hands getting sweaty again. I read the contract, seeing that he really wanted to bring me in. Even though I'll be making a lot of long days, I couldn't complain about anything else really.