Manchester United Revival

The charity auction concluded shortly before midnight. The string quartet resumed playing soft music in the corner of the grand ballroom. The guests moved freely around the tables, mingling and discussing the items they won. Waiters cleared the empty champagne glasses.

Marcus Vale sat quietly at his table near the back wall. He placed paddle number seventy-seven flat on the white silk tablecloth. He did not engage in conversation with the wealthy businessmen seated nearby.

Across the room, near the front stage, Milly Alcock stood with her fellow cast members. Matt Smith leaned against the table, laughing and pointing toward the back of the room. Olivia Cooke patted Milly on the shoulder, clearly teasing her about the massive fifty-thousand-pound bid.

Milly shook her head. She smiled, but she looked slightly overwhelmed. She excused herself from the group. She turned away from the stage and began to make her way through the crowded room. She walked with purpose, looking directly toward table seventy-seven.

Marcus saw her moving through the crowd. He watched her navigate past the waiters and the standing guests. He knew she was walking toward him.

He did not wait for her to reach his table. He stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket with one hand. He turned around and walked toward the heavy glass door at the back of the ballroom. He stepped outside onto the large, cool balcony where they first met earlier in the evening.

Milly saw him move. She changed her direction slightly, following him toward the exit. She opened the glass door and stepped out into the night air.

The balcony was empty. The noise from the ballroom faded immediately as the heavy door swung shut behind her. The London skyline stretched out before them, glowing against the dark sky.

Marcus stood by the metal railing, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked out at the city lights.

Milly walked over and stood next to him. She rested her arms on the cold railing. She looked at him and smiled. The initial shock of the auction had worn off.

"Thanks for bidding for the date for me," Milly said. Her tone was light, but genuine. "Even though I am not a very popular actress."

Marcus turned his head slightly. He looked at her through his usual lazy, half-closed eyes.

"Yet," Marcus corrected her smoothly.

Milly raised an eyebrow. "Yet?"

"You are not a popular actress yet," Marcus continued. His voice remained perfectly flat. "You will be after House of the Dragon releases. One way or the other."

Milly tilted her head. She looked slightly confused by the phrasing. "What do you mean, one way or the other? Do you think the show will flop?"

"No," Marcus said. He turned his body slightly to face her. "I think the show will be a massive financial success. The marketing budget guarantees that. What I am saying is the audience will remember you for your great performance, or they will remember you for your worst performance."

He paused, letting the statement hang in the air.

"Like Sofia Coppola in The Godfather Part III," Marcus added bluntly. "The movie was a hit. It made money. But everyone remembers her acting more than they remember the plot. They remember it for the wrong reasons."

Milly stood up straight. Her casual posture vanished. She looked defensive. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Hey," Milly said, her voice sharp. "I am not that bad of an actor."

Marcus smiled lazily. "The jury is out. We will have to wait and see."

Milly stared at him. She searched his face for any sign of malice, but she found none. He was just being honest. He did not care about Hollywood etiquette or fake praise.

She let out a short breath. She uncrossed her arms and shook her head with a smile. She could not stay angry at his bluntness.

"You are unbelievable," Milly said. She leaned back against the railing. "So. The date."

"A very expensive date," Marcus noted dryly.

Milly shook her head again. She looked genuinely confused by the bidding war. "Why didn't you just increase the bid to twenty-six thousand? The other guy bid twenty-five. You could have won it for twenty-six. Why did you have to jump all the way to fifty thousand?"

Marcus pulled his right hand out of his pocket. He flexed his fingers slightly.

"My hand was getting tired," Marcus said simply.

Milly blinked. "Your hand was getting tired?"

"Yes," Marcus replied. "From lifting the paddle so many times. The bidding was moving too slowly. So, I went for the kill. It ended the auction immediately. Plus, it is for a children's charity. It is a good cause. The money goes to the hospitals, not to you."

Milly laughed softly. She looked down at the stone floor of the balcony, then back up at him.

"You know," Milly said, "my cast members say you are eccentric."

Marcus tilted his head. "And what do you think?"

Milly looked at him closely. She looked at his untied collar, his relaxed posture, and his completely unbothered expression.

"I think eccentric is a mild word," she concluded.

Marcus chuckled. "I will take that as a compliment."

"You should," Milly agreed. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ear. She looked back out at the city skyline. The silence returned to the balcony, but it felt comfortable. They stood side by side for a moment.

"So, date it is," Milly finally said, breaking the silence.

"Date it is," Marcus confirmed.

Milly turned to face him fully. She reached into her small evening purse and pulled out her phone. The screen illuminated her face in the dark.

"I need your number," she said. "To figure out the logistics. My publicist will probably want to coordinate it so the paparazzi get a few photos for the charity."

"No publicists," Marcus said instantly. His tone lost its lazy edge. It became absolute. "I do not do photo ops. I do not do staged events. We go to a restaurant. We eat food. We leave. If your publicist tries to arrange a photoshoot, I will not show up."

Milly paused. She looked at his serious expression. She realized he was not joking. He clearly despised the media circus that came with it.

"Okay," Milly agreed quickly. "No publicists. Just us. Give me your number."

She unlocked her phone and opened the keypad.

Marcus recited his private mobile number.

Milly typed the numbers onto her screen. She pressed the call button.

"I am ringing it now," she said. "Just so you have my number."

Marcus reached into his inner suit jacket pocket.

Suddenly, a loud, highly synthesized pop beat erupted from his pocket. The volume was incredibly high.

"I'm a Barbie girl, in the Barbie world..." The high-pitched, plastic vocals of the 1997 Aqua hit song blasted across the quiet balcony.

"Life in plastic, it's fantastic..."

Total silence descended on the balcony, save for the song.

Milly froze. She looked down at her phone, ensuring she dialed the right number. She looked up at Marcus.

Marcus slowly pulled the phone out of his pocket. His face remained entirely blank. He looked at the screen, confirming the incoming call, and pressed the red button to decline it.

The loud music stopped instantly. The quiet night air returned.

Milly stared at him. She pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hold it back. She failed.

She burst into uncontrollable laughter. She doubled over, placing one hand on her stomach and the other on the metal railing for support. The sound of her laughter echoed off the glass doors.

Marcus stood perfectly still. He put the phone back into his inner pocket. He waited patiently for her to finish.

It took Milly nearly thirty seconds to calm down. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, but she let out another short giggle when she looked at his deadpan expression.

"What was that?" Milly asked, her voice cracking slightly.

"My ringtone," Marcus said flatly.

"I know it was your ringtone," Milly said, still smiling widely. "I meant, why that? You are the manager of Manchester United. You drop fifty thousand pounds on a date without blinking. And your phone rings to Aqua?"

Marcus sighed. It was a long, heavy sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck with his right hand.

"I made a stupid bet," Marcus admitted quietly.

"With who?" Milly asked, leaning closer, eager for the story.

"With my sister," Marcus explained. "We made a bet regarding her marks. She won. This was the prize she demanded. She set the ringtone."

Milly laughed again. "So change it back."

"I cannot," Marcus said, his voice completely serious. "A bet is a bet. I gave my word. The ringtone stays exactly like that until she says I can change it."

Milly looked at him. She realized he was entirely serious about honoring the terms of a childish bet.

"When will she say you can change it?" Milly asked.

"Knowing my sister?" Marcus said lazily. "Never. It will stay like that forever."

Milly shook her head. She looked at him with a mix of amusement and genuine intrigue. He was a complete contradiction. He was a tactical genius, a ruthless negotiator, and a man who refused to change a humiliating ringtone because he lost a bet to his sister.

She put her phone back into her purse and clicked it shut.

"Well," Milly said, taking a step toward the glass door. "It was really nice meeting you, Marcus Vale."

"Likewise, Milly Alcock," Marcus replied.

"I will wait for your text," she said. She placed her hand on the heavy doorknob.

"I will come to pick you up for our date," Marcus promised. He kept his hands in his pockets.

Milly smiled one last time. She pulled the door open, stepped back into the loud, crowded ballroom, and disappeared into the sea of wealthy guests.

Marcus remained on the balcony. He looked out at the London skyline. He pulled his phone from his pocket, opened his messaging app, and saved her number. He put the phone away, turned around, and walked back inside to leave the hotel.