Sure Thing • Gavi

Chapter 75: A New Friend

🎶 Where Do Broken Hearts Go — One Direction 🎶

"But this is great news!" Martina exclaimed as we were having lunch the next day and I filled her in about my new job.
"How? I'll have to report on Barca most of the time as it's the team most of our readers follow and that inevitably means reporting on my ex, who apparently played me and is together with Ana. Have you looked into that?" I asked her.
"I have... His PR told me... they're in touch" she replied quietly.
"Asshole." I said angrily.

"Listen, you blew up after your interview. There have been thousands of requests for interviews, photo shoots, collaborations, ads. And La Vanguardia wants you to write a book. You're on the road to be Spain's new it girl - you have it all, the charisma, the looks, the story and... what makes you stand out even more - your pedigree" she blabbered and I just looked at her with a confused look.
"You're young, you're pretty, you're successful. Get out into the world and show everyone what Gavi let slip out of his hands." she continued.
"I don't know... I don't want to be an influencer" I mumbled and stuck my fork into the pasta.
"Oh no, no, we're not going down that road. You're exclusive, no weird ads on Instagram. You just have fun, go to parties, live your best life, go out with your friends, be pictured with a smile on your face..." she said and to be honest, it didn't sound too bad.
"Ok. Fine, do whatever you think is best. Sell the tabloids the best version of myself. I've got to go now, I'll see you tonight at the New Year's party" I said and we both stood up to get back to work. Tonight was Vanguardia's annual New Year's party and all the reporters as well as Catalonia's high society was invited.

When I got back to the office I found an e-mail from the head of the sports department with the details for my travels to the Supercopa - I groaned when I saw that I would be flying with the Barcelona squad. They always booked a charter flight for the players, staff, the families and some journalists - this year, that would include me. It was unlikely that Pablo would travel with them because of his injury, but still. I would have to face his teammates, their partners and families and enough other people I knew because of him.

At 5pm, I shut down my computer and went home to start getting ready for tonight. Our publisher, Mr Gordó had announced that it was a party also for me, to celebrate my return to Spain and the paper, so I wanted to look my best. I pulled out a very shimmery, but conservative silver dress (it was still an office party and I couldn't really show up all sexed up) and brushed my hair back into a sleek bun before facing my shoe closet. I debated on what Martina had told me today - go out and live my best life. I pulled out some strappy sandals and slipped into them. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked good - I hadn't worn heels in ages, due to Pablo being the same height as me. But now I was at least 1,80 due to the heels and that was making me feel confident. I grabbed my purse and ordered myself a taxi.

When I got to the party I was swarmed by all sorts of people greeting me and wanting to engage in small talk with me, asking me about my time in the Middle East and as a prisoner. I tried to weasel myself through to the bar and immediately ordered two shots, to make the evening more bearable. I downed them and ordered a mojito before stuffing some hors d'oeuvres into me that waiters were carrying out of the kitchen - I didn't need to get drunk on an empty stomach. Doing that, I probably looked like a pig who hadn't eaten or drunk in ages, but I didn't give a fuck.

"Same as the lady here" I heard a male voice that just arrived at the counter and stood a few feet away from me now, say.
"Victoria Hernandez. The girl who returned" he now said to me and I turned around to see who this guy was. I was surprised to find out that I actually knew him.
"Luis Laporta" I said and smiled.
Yes, he was the FC Barcelona President's nephew. He was four years older than me and we had attended the same school. Laporta's brother had married a loaded only daughter of a Duke and they had... him. Not only was he rich as fuck because of his mother, but she was also a designer, which meant her son was always perfectly and impeccably dressed in tailored clothes and that had made him our school's girl crush, even though for me, he had always been too old at the time. He had a very poignant nose, some made fun of him because of that, but it was a part of him and he was a very handsome guy all in all. He had broken every girl's heart when he announced going to Harvard for uni and leaving Spain behind for good. He went on to become one of the biggest youngsters on Wall Street and was engaged to some model, at least that's what I knew from the papers.