Dortmund Royalty

Three hours later, the Cadillac purred to a stop outside Maximilian's, the five-star restaurant nestled in Dortmund's historic district. Klaus smoothly exited the driver's seat—Luka had relinquished driving duties for the evening, wanting to focus entirely on his companion.

"I've got this," Luka told Klaus as the security man moved to open Jenna's door. "We should be a couple hours. I'll text when we're ready."

Klaus nodded with professional discretion. "I'll remain nearby. Enjoy your evening."

Luka rounded the vehicle, feeling a strange confidence as he opened Jenna's door himself. She emerged with effortless grace, the evening lights catching in her dark hair. He'd changed into a blue button-down and dark jeans after returning to his apartment—still casual but more appropriate for Maximilian's.

"This place looks fancy," Jenna observed, taking in the elegant stone facade and subtle lighting. "I'm glad I didn't go with the hoodie option."

"It's pretty good," Luka said with deliberate understatement. "Mendes brought me here when he was first trying to sign me. Thought it would impress me."

"Did it?"

"Well, I signed with him, didn't I?" Luka grinned.

The moment they stepped inside, the maître d's eyes widened in recognition.

"Herr Zorić!" The man practically glided across the marble floor to greet them. "What an honor! We've been hoping you might return."

Before Luka could respond, the man continued in a hushed, reverent tone, "Your performance against PSG was... transcendent. My son has watched your highlights a hundred times."

"Thank you," Luka said, feeling that now-familiar mixture of pride and awkwardness. "I was hoping we might get a table? Something quiet, if possible."

The maître d' looked almost offended at the suggestion they might need a reservation. "Of course! We have the perfect spot."

Perfect meant the private balcony terrace overlooking the city, normally reserved for visiting dignitaries or the club's ownership. A bottle of sparkling water already waited in an ice bucket, alongside a selection of freshly baked bread.

"Your table, Herr Zorić," the maître d' announced with a flourish that made it sound as if Luka dined there weekly rather than having visited exactly once before.

When they were finally alone, Jenna raised an eyebrow. "Your usual table?"

"Dortmund royalty, apparently," Luka shrugged, unable to keep the slight flush from his cheeks. "Still not used to it."

"You're adorable when you're embarrassed," Jenna teased, picking up the menu. "So, what's good here besides the obvious desire to please you?"

As they ordered—Luka selecting grilled salmon with seasonal vegetables, mindful of his nutritionist's guidelines, while Jenna opted for the mushroom risotto—the conversation flowed with surprising ease. The initial nervousness that had plagued him at the horror event had dissolved, replaced by genuine comfort.

"So, that tour of around the training facility?" Jenna asked, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "I bet security loved that."

"The coaches weren't thrilled," Luka admitted, thinking back to the afternoon tour he'd given her before dinner. "But the social media team practically had a meltdown when they realized you were there. Pretty sure half the content team was trying to 'casually' film us the whole time."

"I noticed," Jenna laughed. "Very subtle, those guys with the professional cameras trying to hide behind water coolers."

Their appetizers arrived—a delicate carpaccio for him, burrata for her—and Jenna leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"So tell me about Wednesday," Luka prompted, genuinely interested in her career. "How's the new season coming along?"

Jenna's eyes lit up. "Tim Burton is incredible to work with. The way he sees things—it's like he has this whole universe in his head that the rest of us just get glimpses of." She spoke animatedly about the production, the cast, the challenges of bringing such an iconic character to life.

"The director lets me bring a lot of myself to the role, which isn't always the case. Some directors have every micro-expression planned out in advance."

"That sounds like football managers," Luka observed. "Some want to control every movement, others just give you a framework and let you create within it."

"Exactly!" Jenna pointed her fork at him. "Do you prefer the controlling ones or the free-flowing ones?"

"Depends on the day," Luka admitted. "Sometimes you want the structure, sometimes you need the freedom. But generally, I think the best managers balance both. They give you the system but allow moments of—what does Jude call it? 'Vibes-based football.'"

Their conversation drifted from work to their respective industries. Jenna was particularly fascinated by the economics of football.

"That Puma deal is far more rewarding than your Dortmund contract." she said, her risotto momentarily forgotten.

"Yeah, different contracts entirely. It's really my United contract, but yeah, the club pays my football salary, Puma pays for the endorsement, and then there's image rights, appearance fees, performance bonuses..."

"How much do you make per Instagram post?" Jenna asked directly, taking a sip of her water. "Sorry if that's too forward, but I'm curious. The rates in our industries are probably different."

Luka hesitated, then shrugged. "Honestly? It varies. My agent wants me to do one sponsored post per week, but I've been... uncommitted. The last one they offered was about fifty thousand euros."

Jenna nearly choked on her water. "Fifty thousand? For one post?"

"Is that... low?" Luka asked, suddenly unsure.

"No! That's insane," Jenna laughed. "I mean, I do fine on endorsements, but you should definitely be doing more at those rates." She studied him for a moment. "Actually, why don't you post more in general? Your account looks like it's run by a PR team."

Luka pushed his salmon around his plate. "Because it is, mostly. I don't really go out much, and when I do..." He gestured down at his outfit. "Well, my wardrobe situation isn't exactly the best."

Jenna's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she set down her fork. "Hmm."

"What?" Luka asked, recognizing that calculating look.

"Let me style you." The words came out definitively, not a question.

"What? Like... hire you as my stylist?"

"No! Just for fun." Jenna leaned forward, suddenly animated. "Let me take you shopping. We'll get you some pieces that actually work for you, take some decent photos, maybe spike your Instagram engagement a bit."

"You want to take me shopping?" Luka echoed, surprised by the offer.

"Yes! Tomorrow, before I leave for Berlin. You're richer than me, so money shouldn't be a problem," she added with a teasing grin.

Luka laughed, though the statement gave him pause. "Wait, am I? Richer than you, I mean."

"I don't know, maybe? Probably not," Jenna shrugged. "But that's not the point. The point is, you're a fashion brand's flagship athlete, you should have way more fashion sense."

"I'm a bit lacking aren't I?" Luka supplied.

"Exactly! But we can fix that."

Jenna thought about it, then remembered something. "Actually, I saw that video you did. The Christmas giveaway with Beta Squad?"

Luka's eyes widened. "You watched that?"

"Yeah," Jenna admitted. "It was pretty cool, what you did with all those gifts."

"That was mostly Puma's marketing department," Luka said with a self-deprecating shrug. "But I did push to do it with Chunkz and Niko rather than just a regular corporate thing. I've been watching them forever."

"Same!" Jenna perked up. "Niko's Brexit videos? Classic."

This led them down a rabbit hole of shared YouTube favorites until the dessert menus arrived. As Jenna deliberated between chocolate soufflé and crème brûlée, she circled back to their earlier conversation.

"So, back to your finances," she said casually. "Just how rich are you now? Ballpark figure?"

Luka nearly choked on his water. "I don't know if that's something people usually discuss over dinner."

"I'm not people, I'm Jenna," she replied with a cheeky smile. "And I'm curious. This whole 'teenage football phenomenon' thing is fascinating to me."

Luka considered for a moment, then decided there was no harm in it. "Well, if I had to guess—without counting the brand, the cars, and the house..."

"What cars?" Jenna interrupted, immediately interested.

"The Cadillac, obviously. And I bought my dad a Ford F-150 Raptor and my mom a AMG E53, but those are back in England."

"And the house?"

"About two and a half million for the Manchester place. That was part of the Puma deal, actually."

Jenna whistled low. "Fancy. What about your brand I keep hearing about?"

"It's taking off more than expected," Luka admitted, still surprised by its success. "The boots sold out the other day, and the new supply is almost gone too. Mendes sent me some projections..." He thought for a moment. "All in all, I'm probably worth around nine million, give or take."

Jenna coughed, setting down her spoon. "Damn, you're definitely richer than me. And you've only been a professional footballer for what, six months?"

"Puma's been generous," Luka said, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "And Mendes is great with finances."

"Well, it's definitely time for you to up your sponsorship game," Jenna declared. "And your social media presence. Those numbers could double with the right strategy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about businesses outside of football," Luka admitted, glad to shift away from his net worth.

"Like what?"

"Well, one is a clothing brand—separate from the Puma LZ line. Something more artistic, more personal." He hesitated, then added, "And I've been looking into either cars or racehorses."

Jenna's eyes widened. "Ooh, cars could work! You're in Germany—that's like, the motherland of automotive excellence."

"That's what I thought! There's this guy on Twitter who's been pitching me ideas too—"

"A random guy on Twitter?" Jenna looked skeptical.

"He's surprisingly knowledgeable," Luka defended. "He's actually setting up a cryptocurrency for me."

"For real?" Now she looked impressed. "That's smart, actually. Just be careful with it."

"Oh, definitely. There's a lot of risk, so I'm not using my name to promote it until it's established and gaining traction organically."

They spent the next hour discussing their families, childhoods, holiday traditions. Jenna told him about growing up with five siblings, how she'd fallen into acting almost by accident, and her dreams of eventually directing.

"What about you?" she asked. "If football hadn't worked out, what would you be doing?"

That wasn't a question he had to think about. When his United contract had been defaulted, an 18 year old English kid found himself attending university in Croatia all whilst working part time at the side. But what he would have aimed to do…

"Honestly? Probably still trying to make football work out," Luka admitted. "It's all I've ever wanted."

As their dinner wound down, Jenna leaned forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, could I ask a favor?"

"Sure."

"If you score against PSG in the return leg... would you do a special celebration for me?"

Luka raised an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"

Jenna demonstrated—a peculiar L' hand gesture followed by a subtle swerving side to side dance move that Luka recognized from a certain g.

"That's the 'take the L' from Fortnite, no?" he asked.

"You've seen it!" She looked delighted.

"Of course. Everyone plays Fortnite."

"So you'll do it? The celebration?"

Luka considered the request, imagining the reaction from his teammates, the media speculation that would inevitably follow.

They did mock Haaland…

"Sure," he agreed with a smile. "If I score."

"When you score," she corrected him.

As they finished their desserts—Jenna had opted for both the soufflé and the crème brûlée—Luka asked about the most famous person she'd ever met.

"Probably Spielberg," she replied without hesitation. "You?"

"Outside of football? LeBron James, I guess. And Diddy, though I didn't know who he was at the time." He laughed at the memory. "Oh, and Tom Holland and Olivia Rodrigo."

Something flickered across Jenna's face. "Hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, though her tone suggested otherwise. "Just... I'd steer clear of that side of Hollywood if I were you."

"What do you mean?"

Jenna chose her words carefully. "Some of those music industry people can be a little... off. Not Olivia," she clarified quickly, "but that whole scene. I tend to keep my distance, and I'd recommend you do the same."

"Mendes actually told me something similar," Luka admitted.

"Your agent is smart," Jenna nodded approvingly. "What's crazy is that you're probably more famous than almost any basketball player now."

Luka shook his head. "No way. Not LeBron or Curry—"

"Maybe not them," Jenna conceded, "but I'd say you're definitely more famous than James Harden, especially in Europe. There are NBA players who come to Europe specifically because nobody recognizes them here."

"That's wild," Luka said, trying to wrap his head around the concept. "Everyone would know me now."

"Exactly. Welcome to the fishbowl." She raised her water glass in a mock toast. "To fame and its discontents."

They clinked glasses, and as they did, Jenna's eyes lit up with sudden inspiration.

"I've decided," she announced, setting down her glass with finality.

"Decided what?"

"Tomorrow morning. Nine AM. I'm taking you shopping." Her tone brooked no argument. "I'm going to completely overhaul your wardrobe."

"And you're sure you can remodel me?" Luka asked, both amused and intrigued by her determination.

"Dead serious." Jenna leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "Luka Zorić, by the time I'm done with you tomorrow, your Instagram followers are going to triple, and GQ is going to be begging for a cover shoot."

The absolute conviction in her voice made him laugh. "That's quite a promise."

"I don't make promises I can't keep," she replied with a confident smile. "So, are you in?"

"I'm in."