Mateo Casalles pausing at the foot of the table.
“Hi!” I say and smile, perhaps a little too enthusiastically, and get to my feet to shake his hand.
“Nice to meet finally meet you, Mr. Casalles,” I tell him, trying to give the firmest grip I can muster without trying to wring his hand. It’s amazing how many first impressions in this business are based on a handshake.
“Por favor, please, it’s Mateo,” he says, slipping from Spanish to English with ease.
“Then it’s just Thalia to you,” I tell him lightly, sitting back down.
He pulls out the chair across from me and immediately sits back in it, striking a relaxed pose, as if he’s known me for a long time. “Beautiful day, is it not? Every time I’ve come here, it’s been pissing, as the locals say. With rain, of course. Not actual piss.”
His English is fluent but his accent and delivery is charming. Then again, he’s a charming man. He’s in his mid-forties with thick black hair that’s greying at the sides and tanned skin that stands out against a light grey suit. He has an easy smile. He’s wearing aviator glasses, but I know his eyes underneath are kind and dark.
Except when he’s on the field, of course. Real Madrid has played Manchester United enough times to see the real Mateo come out, especially when they’re losing or there have been some unfair calls. He becomes hot-tempered and explosive, much like Stewart does in the same situation. Only difference is, Mateo seems to recover. Stewart never really did.
“Yes, it’s normally pissing,” I tell him. “We don’t quite get the summers up here like you do in Spain.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he says as the waitress comes by to bring me my latte and scone as well as his coffee, which he starts to pour sugar packet after sugar packet into. I stare as he stirs it methodically with a spoon. “You were in born in Seattle, yes?”
I nod. “I should be used to the rain but when I got the chance to move to LA to work with the Galaxy, I was more than happy to leave the Pacific Northwest.”
“So I’m guessing you’ll be more than happy to leave this weather behind,” he says idly, raising the cup to his mouth and having a sip. He frowns at his drink and then shrugs. “The coffee, it’s not quite like it is at home, but it will do.” He smiles at me. “Forgive me, I can’t remember if we discussed this over the phone or not, but you’ve been to Spain, yes?”
“Many times, but only briefly. Barcelona, Seville, and Madrid for the matches. I didn’t see any of the cities. The real Spain.”
“That’s a shame. But I understand. This is perhaps the most of Manchester I’ve seen.” He pauses and I want to tell him he’s not missing much. “So without knowing the city, you have no problems uprooting your life here and moving there?”
I give him a tepid smile. “You know I don’t.”
In this industry, nothing is a secret. Even if Stewart’s affairs hadn’t been splashed all over the tabloids, news travels fast. When it comes to the leagues, everyone knows everything about each other’s business. Call it strategy, call it gossip, call it what you will.
He shrugs with one shoulder. “Some people are sentimental.”
“Not me.”
Not anymore.
He nods at that with an agreeable sound and then finishes the rest of his coffee in one go. “You know I’ve already made up my mind about you.”
“In what way?”
“Well, if you’re going to get the job, of course.”
I still. This surprises me.
“When?”
“Just now,” he says with a bit of a smirk. “Of course I already had a good idea or I would have not come all this way.”
Oh jeez. Am I going to have to pry it out of him?
“It’s not up to Jose?” I ask.
“Jose gave me the final word.”
“I got the impression he didn’t like me.”
“To be fair, he doesn’t like anyone. Including me. And yet he still gave me the final word, which means he at least trusts me. Would you like to hear it?”
I breathe in deeply through my nose and then flutter my fingers along the table. “Lay it on me.”
“Lay it on you?” he repeats, frowning.
Right. I forget English isn’t his first language.
“I want to hear it,” I clarify.
He smiles. “Of course you have the job.”
My heart thuds against my ribs. “Are you serious?”
“Almost always,” he says. “Though perhaps I should be more professional about it. Jose is always,