Right Man, Right Time
: Chapter 7

To: Ollie Owens

From: Alan Roberts

Subject: Internship

Miss Owens,

I’m writing to advise that I’ve chosen to extend your internship through the end of the college year. I assume you’ll be able to handle the workload. I’ve already been in touch with your adviser. I suggest you accept.

Roberts

I stare blankly at my computer, confused, elated, worried . . .

It’s rare for an internship to get extended. I know it happens, but only to a few choice candidates. And when they’re extended, you’ll most likely be offered a job at the end of the year.

A job straight out of college would be everything I ever wanted.

It’s what I’ve been working toward. To prove to everyone, especially my dad, that I don’t need their help and can make it on my own.

Yeah, I might not have been entirely truthful with Silas last night. I don’t want to go back home because I don’t want to hear it from my dad, who has told me time and again that a job in journalism will get me nowhere. That I was wasting his money and my time by going to school up here. He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business when I graduated from high school.

The family business is a small print shop in Oregon where he prints menus, brochures, and any other miscellaneous things he can get his hands on. The business was passed down from his dad, and he was hoping to do the same, but I have zero interest in it. Last Christmas, we got into a huge fight about it. He told me I was wasting his money by going to school for something that would never pay the bills. I told him his business was a dying trade, and then we parted ways.

So this is a huge opportunity . . .

“I see you got my email,” Roberts says behind me, startling me right out of my thoughts.

“Oh Jesus,” I mutter and catch my breath. “I didn’t see you there.”

“You are one of two who got the email. Don’t take it for granted.”

One of two . . . I can only imagine who the other person is. *Mentally grinds teeth together* Seems like I’ll be spending more time with Candace since there’s no way she didn’t get it.

“I won’t,” I say. “I’m very grateful. Thank you.”

He nods. “We have a fundraiser tonight at the Walton. I suggest you bring your boyfriend to it. I’ll be expecting him.”

“Oh, uh . . . sure.” I swallow hard.

“Connect with Candace, and she’ll give you the details.”

Great.

“Wonderful. Thanks.” I wave awkwardly, and he turns on his heel and walks away as I slump into my chair.

A fundraiser? Roberts attends many events during the year, and I’ve never been invited to one. But now that Silas is in the picture, I’m invited. I don’t like how this feels, not even a little.

Yet . . . I’ll also do anything to move forward in my career, so it looks like I need to get in touch with my fake, doting boyfriend.

Phone in hand, I head down the hall toward Candace’s cubicle, where she’s typing away on her computer. Tacking on a smile, I knock on the side of her cubicle and brace myself.

When she turns, she says, “Oh, Ollie, didn’t expect to see you.”

“Roberts came by my desk. Told me he wanted me at the fundraiser tonight and said to get the info from you.”

“Ah, I see,” she says as she turns back toward her desk and grabs a Post-it Note. She scribbles something on the paper and hands it over to me. “Here you go. It’s black tie. Do you have something to wear?”

No.

“Of course,” I say as I glance down at the information. “Uh, do I have to come with an invite or anything?”

She shakes her head. “Just say you’re with Roberts, and you’ll be let in.”

“Are you sure?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, would I tell you the wrong information?”

Yes, yes, you would.

“I suppose not.”

“Will you be bringing your boyfriend?”

“Roberts requested me to, so yes,” I say, hoping Silas isn’t doing anything tonight. They’re still in preseason training—that’s what he told me last night—so unless he has another engagement, he should be free.

“Great,” Candace says with a smile. “Then I’ll see you two there.”

“Yup, see you there,” I say. “Thanks for this,” I add because she seems to be acting nice, so I’ll return the favor.

Moving away from her desk, I bypass the kitchen and head into one of the private conference rooms. I lock the door, then pull out my phone and click on Silas’s name. I have no idea what he’s doing, but at least I can leave a message.

The phone rings a few times, and then he picks up.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “Everything okay?”

“Umm, sort of,” I reply. “Are you busy?”

“I have a second.”

“Okay, well, long story short, my boss invited me to a fundraiser tonight and kind of made it a requirement that I attend . . . with you. And I’m sure you’re busy or whatever, but—”

“I’ll be there. When and where?”

“Seriously?” I ask, my breath escaping me all at once.

“Yes, we agreed to help each other out, so I’ll be there. I can’t promise I’ll be as flexible when the season starts, but I can do this.”

“Wow, okay. Thank you. This means a lot to me.”

“Of course,” he says softly. And for the rough and tough exterior he exudes, he really is a softy at heart.

“I’ll text you the details. It’s black tie, though. Is that going to be a problem?”

“You fail to realize the number of events I’ve gone to just like this. I have everything I need.”

“Okay, awesome.”

“Want me to pick you up?”

“Hmm, we should probably show up together, huh?”

“Might look best.”

“Okay, sure. That would be great.”

“Just send me the details. Gotta go.”

“Okay, thank you, Silas.”

“Any time,” he says before hanging up.

Instead of returning to my cubicle, I sit in the silence of the conference room for a moment, gathering myself. In the matter of a week, my life has drastically changed. Before all of this, I was gearing up to finish up my final assignment, happy I was able to intern with Alan Roberts. Now I feel like I’m living in this tangled web that’s becoming increasingly complicated with no escape.

The only lifeline I have is the man who I felt helped me get tangled in the first place.

No, let’s be honest. I brought this on myself.

I was the one who wanted to show up Yonny.

I’m the one who kissed Silas.

I’m the one who agreed to Silas’s fake relationship terms.

If anyone is to blame, it’s 100 percent me.

If only I didn’t need to keep Silas on the hook to impress Alan Roberts.

And I just wish I didn’t care so much about proving my father wrong. If I didn’t care, then keeping my hockey-legend fake boyfriend wouldn’t be a necessity.

With a heavy sigh, I head straight to Ross’s desk from the conference room. If anyone can get me black tie ready, it’s him.

OLLIE: I’m going to have a nip slip. I know it.

Ross: You’re not.

Ollie: How do you know that? This dress wasn’t made for a girl like me. My boobs are big. This was made for someone with a flat chest.

Ross: You’ll be fine.

Ollie: But what if I go to shake someone’s hand, and then out of nowhere, my boob decides to have a mind of its own, slip out of my dress, and then wink at the person in front of me?

Ross: Boobs can’t wink.

Ollie: You don’t know that. You are not the one with the boobs. You prefer a penis.

Ross: I’ve been around enough models, even busty models, and I know for a fact the double-sided tape we used will hold up.

Ollie: This dress isn’t classy. Candace said black tie, and this is more like . . . hooker behind the dumpster in the back alleyway where watches are traded for dime bags.

Ross: Are you really questioning my taste in fashion?

Ollie: I’m questioning my life decisions.

Ross: I think you’re just nervous.

Ollie: Of course I’m nervous! I’ve never been to a fundraiser before or any sort of black tie anything. Nor do I take dates to functions this fancy. And the only reason Roberts invited me was because he found out I’m (fake) dating Silas. How am I supposed to handle this?

Ross: With a shred of dignity. Pull yourself together. You’re wearing a beautiful plum dress that will grab the attention of every person in the room but also doesn’t pull too much attention. You’ve worked hard on your networking this summer, and you have a very popular man at your side. You’ll be fine.

Ollie: What if I say something stupid?

Ross: Sneeze.

Ollie: What?

Ross: Pretend to sneeze and blame it on that.

Ollie: That has got to be the worst advice I’ve ever read.

Ross: Be happy I found you a dress on such short notice. Now stop bothering me. I’m trying to watch The Crown.

I’m about to text him back when another text comes through.

Silas: Out front.

I told him not to bother coming up to get me. Since this isn’t a real date, I don’t need the fanfare of him knocking on my door and all that crap. Plus, from what I could tell from the last time he came here, he didn’t want to be recognized. No need to put the pressure on him when he’s doing me a favor.

After texting him back so he knows I’m on my way, I grab my clutch and glance at myself one more time in the mirror. The plum dress Ross chose for me has a strapless, structured top that splits at the cleavage. It has boning sewn into it, so it holds to my torso nicely, but the split of the dress to offer cleavage makes me nervous. It’s why I used the tape, just in case. When the dress hits my hips, it flows in a gauzy-like material and appears to almost be Grecian. It’s beautiful, but not something I’ve ever worn before.

Knowing I can’t go back now, I leave my dorm and take the elevator down to the first floor. I pass a few people who eye me in my dress, but I move past them and right out the front door where a black Tesla Model X waits for me. I peek into the window and spot Silas, so I wave awkwardly, and when I go to open the door, it pops open for me.

“Oh . . .” I chuckle. “Uh, hi.”

“Hey,” he replies, his voice gruff.

I slip into the warm vehicle and smile over at him. “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea how grateful I am.”

“Not a problem.” I catch his Adam’s apple bob as he turns away from me.

“Is, uh . . . is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, pulling on the back of his neck before he glances at me again. “That’s a really nice dress, Ollie.”

I glance down at it as if I haven’t been staring at myself in the damn thing for the past half hour. “Thank you. Ross helped me find it. I didn’t have anything that was black tie appropriate.”

“You should have told me. I could have helped.”

“Why would you help? I’m the one who asked you for a favor.”

“I still could have helped.”

“Well, it’s fine. Everything worked out.”

He nods and grips the steering wheel a touch tighter. Confused about his stiff attitude, I ask, “Are you sure everything’s okay? If you don’t want to do this, I totally get it. I just—”

“No, I don’t mind,” he says and then sighs. “Christ, I just wasn’t expecting you to look so hot. That’s all.”

“Oh.” My cheeks blush. “Well . . . I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Sorry, that was a shit way to say it.” He turns toward me, and with a genuine look in his eyes, he says, “Ollie, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” I reply, feeling shy and awkward and good God, why is this so hard? “You look very nice yourself, so if we can move on from this because I feel really weird, that would be great.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. “Still trying to figure all of this out. How to approach things. I feel like you should know you look good, but that’s also something a real boyfriend would say, so . . . fuck . . . I don’t know how to handle this.”

“Ah, yes, I get it,” I say. “How about we just treat this like a business transaction? Like would you tell your colleague that he looked good in a suit?”

“Hornsby demands I pay attention to his outfits . . . but I get what you’re trying to say.”

“I wish I knew which one of your teammates you were talking about. I know I met them, but it was brief. I retained nothing.”

Silas pulls away from the curb and says, “Eli Hornsby. Look up a picture of him on your phone. He’s the pretty boy of the group. Somehow, in all the years he’s played hockey, he’s never managed to get his face bashed in, giving him that perfect movie star look. Earlier this year, he got Pacey’s sister pregnant.”

“Really?” I ask. “Who’s Pacey again?”

“Our goalie.”

I type away on my phone to pull up a picture of him. “How did he handle the news?”

“Not well. Things were rocky within the group for a bit, but luckily, we helped them work it out.”

“Does Pacey have a girlfriend? He’s pretty cute.”

Silas side-eyes me. “He’s just as old as I am, so stop knocking on the doors of grandads.” I laugh out loud. “And he’s attached. He and Winnie are engaged. She actually got lost in the woods right outside of my house in Banff and wound up needing help in the middle of the rainstorm. We thought she was a murderer, and she accused us of being murderers. But in the end, Hornsby was the one who suggested she was good, and Pacey just so happened to hit it off with her. And smitten . . . the boy was all over her on day one.”

“Really?” I ask. “Has he ever had that reaction to a girl before?”

Silas shakes his head. “No. It was an interesting thing to experience. He was never the doting boyfriend, but Winnie came along, and he was like a goddamn grizzly bear. He didn’t want anyone going near her.”

“That’s hot,” I say. “Too bad he’s taken.”

Silas shakes his head. “And then there’s Levi Posey. He will eat anything you put in front of him, truly loves food, but not refined food. He likes things like bologna and Swedish Fish.”

“There is nothing wrong with Swedish Fish.”

“He eats the Swedish Fish on his bologna sandwich.”

“Oh.” I wince. “Ew, that’s gross.”

“Exactly. And he seems like this loveable guy who is nice to everyone, which is true, but the boy gets around.”

“Like sleeps with a lot of women?”

“Yes, but he’s never mean about it. He never hurts women’s feelings. They know what they’re getting into. And people always assume it’s Hornsby who is the biggest player, but really . . . it’s Posey.”

“Where do you fall in line on that scale?” I ask as he makes a right.

“I met Sarah back in high school. I was never with anyone else. It was me and her up until we broke up. I’ve fucked around a bit since, but nothing like Posey or Hornsby before he met Penny.”

“Interesting. So you’ve had sex with other women besides Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“Who was the lucky girl after your breakup? And how did it feel?”

“Some girl I picked up at a hotel bar. It was really fucking weird at first. I was drunk. She was drunk. I fumbled a lot, so it probably wasn’t her best experience.”

“Aw, poor Silas. Did you find your stride after that?”

“Yeah.” His hand falls to his thigh. “Sex for me is way different now. I don’t feel like I have to stay in a box. If I want to talk dirty, I won’t get chastised for it. If I want to spank a woman’s ass, I don’t feel bad about it. If I want my cock sucked, I’m going to ask and won’t have any regrets.”

I fan myself. “Ooo, tell me more.”

He chuckles. “When you’re with someone for so long, you get in a groove and forget that you can explore other options. I’ve explored. I know what I want now.”

“I know what I want, just haven’t had the chance to ask for it,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Haven’t found a guy worthy of my time,” I answer.

“At least you have standards.”

“I do.” I clear my throat. “So there is one more guy in your group. What was his name again? Uh, it began with an H.”

“Halsey Holmes,” Silas says. “He’s a tough one. He lost his twin brother a few years back. Holden. We were all devastated, but Halsey really didn’t handle it well for obvious reasons. He’s never been the same. He’s focused on hockey and hockey alone. Some of the championships we have are because of him. When he comes up to the cabin during the off-season, he keeps to himself a lot of the time, always reading, and we just let him because we know if he needs something, he will come to us. Surprisingly, out of the guys in our group, he’s the most levelheaded. Well, he and Pacey. If you need advice, they’re the ones to go to.”

“Huh,” I say as I stare down at a picture of Halsey. “He’s also really handsome. Is he dating anyone?”

“No, but he has a huge crush on a girl who is actually dating someone else.”

“Aw, that makes me sad for him. Does she know?”

“Probably not. We barely know about it. It slipped out of him earlier this year, and it’s something none of us have been able to let go because we’re pretty sure he hasn’t had sex since his brother died.”

“Interesting,” I say. “I mean, that’s not the end of the world. I’ve barely had sex.”

He stops at a red light and looks over at me. “What do you mean you’ve barely had sex?”

I shrug. “Yonny wasn’t that into it. I love the act of sex and living through a heart-beating orgasm. It’s the best feeling ever, so I never understood him. It really irritated me that he didn’t want to have sex that much. I started to think I was repulsive or something.”

“Not the case,” Silas says as we start moving again. “The dude probably had some sort of complex.”

“Maybe. Hard not to blame yourself, though, you know?”

“Don’t,” he says. “That’s all on him, trust me.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly, then stare out the window. I appreciate his reassurance, but I still can’t help to think it had something to do with me. Maybe my expectations were too high? “Do you remember the first time you looked at porn?” He coughs and pats his chest, causing me to laugh. “Sorry, that was kind of out of the blue. It was a bit of a rabbit trail in my head.”

“You think?”

“I was just thinking that maybe my expectations were too high with Yonny because of porn,” I say. “My friend showed me my first video our freshman year in high school. Her older brother had it all over his computer. I was fascinated. I remember going home and looking at it myself. I thought it was so hot. These people just getting off with each other. But when it came to the actual act of sex, I always felt intimidated. It took me a second to lose my virginity, and when I did, it was not the kind of experience I wanted to give myself.”

“No guy is good at sex when they’re younger. None.”

“I guess so. And with Yonny, he was . . . well, less than interested to say the least. I love playing with my nipples so much, and he never paid them any attention. He was in and out. Honestly, the only orgasms I’ve ever felt have been hand-delivered by me.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch his grip on the steering wheel tighten even further.

“Am I making you mad?” I ask, sensing the tension in his shoulders as well.

“Yeah, only because I can’t stand guys who don’t put in the effort.”

“Are you saying you put in the effort, Silas?” I ask teasingly.

He makes another right, then slowly pulls in front of a lavish hotel. When he puts the car in park, he turns toward me and says, “I don’t come until she comes.” And with that, he’s out of the car and moving around the front to open my door.

“ARE YOU SURE THIS IS OKAY?” I ask, my palm feeling sweaty as I hold Silas’s hand.

“Can you stop asking?” he says. “Couples hold hands.”

“I know, I know, but this was supposed to be your ruse, not mine. I feel like I’m abusing the situation now. I owe you something, like . . . a new pair of skates.”

“For the love of God, don’t purchase me new skates. And you owe me nothing. This is the deal we made.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I just feel like we need to make more of a deal.” I spot an empty high-top table and tug on his hand. “Over here.”

I guide him through a crowd of people I know are staring at us. They started staring the moment we walked into the ballroom. I wasn’t aware of Silas’s popularity until we showed up here. There’s whispering, pointing, and talking behind hands. Apparently, I’m an absolute dumbass.

“Does this work?” I ask.

“Whatever you want,” he says just as a server approaches with glasses of champagne. Silas picks up a flute for each of us and hands me one.

I hold the glass up to him and say, “Thank you for coming here tonight.”

“No need to thank me. It’s part of the deal,” he says before clinking his glass against mine and taking a long sip of champagne.

“About that,” I say as I pick up a napkin from the table and pull a pen out of my clutch. Always come prepared. That’s what I say. “I think we need to make some ground rules.”

His brow rises. “Is that really necessary?”

“It would make me feel better because right now, I feel like I’m using you.”

“Jesus Christ, Ollie, I told you—”

“I know,” I say. “But please just humor me.”

“Fine.” He nods at the napkin. “You’re going to take notes?”

“No, I’m drawing up a contract.”

“On a napkin? Wow, really official.”

“Hey.” I tap the napkin and say, “We will live and die by this napkin. Got it?”

“Sure,” he answers while taking another sip of his champagne.

As I write, I talk out loud. “This hereby napkin will formally and legally bind Ollie Owens and Silas Taters to the following agenda below.”

“Agenda . . . fancy.”

I lean in and whisper, “I took one class in law as a prerequisite.”

“It’s like you’ve practically passed the Bar.” Silas grins.

“Right?” I smile and go back to the napkin. “Silas Taters, hereby known from here on out as Puck, will deliver the following to Ollie Owens, hereby known from here on out as Lipstick.”

“Are the nicknames necessary?”

“It’s called having a sense of humor.” I poke him with my pen. “Try having one.”

“Be funny, and I will.”

My eyes widen, and he smirks while sipping his champagne.

“Oh sir, you better watch yourself.” He laughs some more while I focus back on the napkin. I clear my throat and continue, “Puck allows Lipstick full access to his home gym. Puck agrees to answer any question about hockey, even if it seems like a dumb question.”

“Can’t wait for that,” he says.

“Puck agrees to attend any event/outing/date requested by Lipstick as long as his hockey season schedule allows.”

“It’s going to become quite sparse when the season starts.”

“I understand that.” I hand him the pen. “Please initial next to each line.” He initials, then I take the pen from him and do the same. “Okay. Lipstick will deliver the following to Puck. Attend any and all events requested by Puck. Lipstick will dress as slutty—within reason—as Puck wants to make Sarah last name unknown, from here on out known as Witchbag”—Silas snorts—“jealous.” I glance up at him. “What else do you want?”

“Nothing,” he replies. “That’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I say. “There has to be something else I can do for you.”

“Everything is already done for me.”

“What about something like social media? Do you need help with that? Or a website? I know how to make one. Or I can help you with any lifestyle things like . . . how to, uh . . . fold a fitted sheet.”

“I’m good.”

“Ugh, come on, can’t you think of something? I mean, I’d offer sexual favors at this point.” He raises one brow in question. “But as we established, this is a business transaction, not a whorehouse.”

“Maybe you should write that on the napkin.”

I tap my nose with the pen and point at him. “You’re right.” I leave a space for him to put in another request, then underneath that, I write about not being a whorehouse. I hand him the pen. “Initial, please.” He initials and hands me back the pen. “Okay, so now that we have no sex written in stone, we need one more thing for you.”

“I want nothing.”

“Urgh, you’re infuriating,” I say as the room around us erupts in laughter. We both glance to the right where Roberts has walked into the room. “Shit, my boss. Make it quick.”

“I told you, I don’t need—”

“Lipstick owes Puck one favor not related to events. Lipstick must comply. There,” I say, dotting the sentence with a period. “Now sign here.”

I give him the pen, and as he signs, he says, “You realize I will never cash in on that favor.”

“Your problem, not mine.” I sign the napkin as well and then seal it with a kiss.

“Is that your version of notarizing the document?”

“Yup.” I place the napkin in my purse just as I feel the crowd part behind me, and Roberts steps in.

Tacking on a smile, champagne flute in hand, I turn toward the right, where Roberts waits. “Mr. Roberts, so nice to see you,” I say, feeling awkward since I saw him just this morning. “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend, Silas Taters. Silas, this is my boss, Mr. Alan Roberts.”

Silas sets his champagne down, snags his arm around my waist, and then holds his hand out for Roberts. “It’s a pleasure,” he says. “Ollie has said nothing but great things about her internship with you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Roberts says with a huge smile. A smile so large, it almost seems like he’s fangirling. “Please, come over to my sitting space. I’d love to get to know you better.”

Ooo, sitting space. He makes it sound so luxurious.

“Of course,” Silas says as he slips his hand into mine and guides me through the crowd, sometimes pausing to shake a hand or two. It’s probably one of the most surreal experiences I’ve ever had. I went into this thing with Silas completely blind, not knowing a damn thing about him and hockey or his presence in this city. Yet here I am, pretending to be his girlfriend as grown-ass men and women fawn over him as he walks through a crowded room. No wonder he tries to hide his face when he comes to my dorm. He doesn’t want to be mauled.

When we arrive at Roberts’s sitting area—a small section of the ballroom blocked off by fern trees and bushes and decorated in rich black velvet couches—Silas helps me down to one of the couches. Roberts takes a seat across from us, and a beautiful woman in what I can only assume is her fifties takes a seat next to him.

“This is my wife, Gloria. Gloria, this is Silas Taters, as you know, and his girlfriend, Ollie Owens. Ollie works for me as an intern.”

“Lovely,” Gloria says while folding her hands on her lap. I wonder if she knows about Roberts’s affair. If she’s compliant about it because she doesn’t want to start over or lose the luxury of being with someone like Roberts. “How long have you two been dating?”

“Just a few weeks,” I answer, my nerves spiking immediately because we didn’t really talk about that. As I opened my mouth to answer, I just prayed that Silas didn’t answer at the same time. That could have been disastrous. “Still newish. We just actually told our friends we were dating.”

“Ah, I see,” Gloria says in a disbelieving tone and pursed cheeks.

I’m going to tell you right now, I don’t like her vibe.

I don’t like the way she’s studying us.

I don’t like her clipped tone.

And I don’t like how she’s sitting there with a gleam in her eyes like she’s ready to catch us in a lie.

How can she be so jaded, so disbelieving within seconds of meeting us?

I know when someone is challenging me, and I believe that’s what she’s doing.

How can she see right through me, through us? Does she not believe the validity of our fake relationship? Did she speak to Candace?

Will she go home tonight, and while she’s brushing her teeth and Roberts is combing his mustache with mustache oil, is she going to tell him that we’re frauds and that he should fire me?

Will I have a job tomorrow?

Will Roberts meet me at my cubicle with a box and a sardonic laugh as he watches me pack my pathetic desk up, noticing the one pack of light blue Post-it Notes I stole from Candace a month ago because Ross dared me?

I slip my hand into Silas’s, scared for my freaking life.

It’s bad enough Roberts is going to fire me, but there’s no way I can allow him to see those Post-it Notes. He’ll know the sort of deviant I actually am.

“How did you two meet?” Gloria asks, snapping me out of my thoughts and forcing me to face-plant back into this conversation. But now, instead of surging with waving confidence, I’m teetering on the brink of nerves.

How did we meet?

Great question.

Sweat forms on my upper lip as I attempt to remember the story Silas and I agreed upon, but for the life of me, my mind goes blank.

Black.

It’s all faded.

“The doctor’s office,” I nearly shout. The moment the words leave my mouth, Silas stiffens next to me. I don’t blame him because I’m pretty sure we’re about to go on a wild ride. “Yup, the doctor’s office. Weird, I know, but I was there for a routine checkup, and Silas was there because he got a rock stuck up his nose.” Silas shifts next to me, and I can only imagine what’s going through his head. “Now, some might think that’s a sure-fire way to get a first-class ticket to the emergency room, but not Silas. He’s a real saint and believed his GP could assist him with his needs. I remember seeing him in the waiting room, wondering how a grown man got a rock stuck up his nose. Come to find out, it wasn’t from morbid curiosity or a nose fetish on his end. He just happened to sniff at the wrong time while a car drove by, lodging a rock right up the nostril. What are the chances, right?”

“Very . . . odd,” Gloria says while Roberts studies me carefully. God, he can probably see right through me as well. He’s mentally dialing HR, telling them to pull my file because a firing will occur.

“Anyway, I told him good luck with his nose, then went on my way. Hard to make a love connection with a guy who was mouth breathing the whole time, am I right?” Silas slips his arm around my waist and squeezes me tight. Yeah, he’s not happy.

Don’t worry, dude. I’m not happy either because now I need to run with this story.

“So how did you two connect then?” Roberts asks, seeming more into the story than I initially thought.

I nod slowly and say, “The zoo.”

“The zoo?” Gloria asks.

“Yup. We were both marveling at the domestic donkeys when we turned to leave and bumped into each other. The earth nearly shook as we fumbled to gain our footing. I knocked a chicken tender out of his hand, he accidentally sneezed on my face, and when all was said and done, I cleared my eyes, he pushed his hair out of his face, and it was like angels sang around us. It was rock nose guy . . .”

“Aw,” Gloria says.

“And he had his fly down.”

“Oh,” Roberts replies with a chuckle. I know, I think a fly down is hilarious as well. Real classic comedy.

“Yup, there he was, not one single rock stuck up his nose, munching on a kid-size chicken tender, staring romantically at the domestic donkeys with his fly down.” I wave my hand in front of my face, chuckling. “What an ass . . . am I right?” I laugh a little harder because that was funny. Thankfully, Roberts and Gloria join in.

When the laughter dies down, Gloria says, “What happened next?” And right there, I see that I’ve hooked her. She’s no longer sneering in judgment or trying to see through me but rather leaning forward in interest. She’s invested. Roberts crosses his ankle over the opposite knee and looks positively entertained.

Huzzah.

Now it’s time to really kick it up a notch.

“Naturally, after the angels stopped singing, I told him his fly was down. Befuddled with embarrassment, he gripped his zipper and yanked it up . . .” Gloria and Roberts lean in. “I know what you’re wondering . . . he zipped up too much, right?” I shake my head. “Luckily, that was not the case, but while he zipped up, I bent down and picked up his chicken tender for him. Poor thing was barely nibbled on. When I offered it back to him, he told me we’d surpassed the five-second rule, and he couldn’t finish it. A decision I respected, given the amount of animal feces probably scattered throughout the walkways. He then proceeded to tell me how he was at an expert level of zipping his fly and wasn’t sure why it was down in front of the donkeys. I gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, told him not to be embarrassed, and then . . . took off.”

“You left?” Gloria asks. “After the angels sang?”

“Crazy, right? But there was something in his desperation to clear the air about his fly being down in front of the domestic donkeys that had a mini red flag waving over his head. I didn’t want to subject myself to someone who might have . . . an animal fetish, if you know what I mean.” Silas sharply coughs, and I take that as a solid “shut the fuck up right now, Ollie.”

But I can’t stop.

It’s like a dam that’s collapsed.

“You didn’t know who he was?” Gloria asks.

I shake my head. “No idea. And as I started to leave, he called out . . . you owe me.” See, there’s some truth to this story. “When I asked him what for, he told me I owed him a chicken tender.” I talk behind my hand and say, “Clearly a desperate attempt to spend more time with me. Despite the possible red flag, I saw right through it but was marginally interested. I’ve always been into a little freakiness. After all, he did have a rock stuck up his nose and flirted with me in the doctor’s office. The confidence this man has is astounding. So I told him of course I’d buy him a new tender. Together, we walked over to the concessions, and I purchased more tenders. He asked me to join him, and I did. I watched him mix mayonnaise and mustard together for a dipping sauce concoction I can still smell to this day. Positively putrid. But as he ate, he told me how much he loves donkeys. Their petite stature, unruly hair, and mind-of-their-own ears. As I listened to him go on and on about donkeys, I thought to myself, you know . . . he’s kind of cute, so when he asked me for my number, I handed it over.”

“That’s sweet,” Gloria says.

“But that’s not really how it ended.”

“Jesus Christ,” Silas mutters under his breath.

“His attention to grammar in his text messages truly got my motor revving. Nothing is more erotic to me than the proper usage of punctuation in a text message. A lost art if you ask me.”

“Makes sense, given your profession,” Gloria says. “Well, that was quite a story.”

“Yes,” Roberts says with a smile on his face. “Seems like Silas will need something stronger if that story keeps getting repeated.”

“Something like Scotch,” Silas says.

“I’ll have the finest brought to you.” And with a wave of his fingers, Roberts orders Silas a Scotch while I feel a drop of sweat scoot down my back.

Well, that didn’t go as expected.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK WAS THAT?” Silas asks while Roberts and Gloria are pulled to the side to meet with another couple. I heard mumblings of a big sponsor from one of Roberts’s assistants, which means Roberts needs to shake hands.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I was nervous.”

Silas leans close to my ear, his hand still curved around my waist so he can pull me in even closer. “How the fuck was that nervous? That was a disaster.”

“Disaster seems a bit drastic,” I say. “More like a great story.”

“Says the girl who didn’t have a rock shoved up her nose.”

I wince. “Yeah, that is slightly problematic for your image, but hey, it garnered some sympathy. Instead of a run by fruiting like in Mrs. Doubtfire, this was a glide by rocking.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Is it not working?” I ask, his nose now mere inches from my cheek.

“Not even a little.”

“Can I offer you an apology?”

“Not sure an apology can cure the damage done.”

“What damage?” I ask. “You came off endearing.”

“That was not endearing,” he says, his voice dripping in anger. “It’s not the fucking rock that I’m overly concerned about. It’s that you practically said I had my penis out while marveling at donkeys. They’re going to assume I’m some sort of public voyeur with a sick animal fetish. And domestic donkeys? Really?”

I turn toward him so it looks like we’re having an intimate conversation rather than him scolding me in my ear. “First of all, I did not claim you were jerkin’ your gherkin while staring at the donkeys. All I said was your fly was down. If you took that as something else, that’s on you, sir.”

“While eating a goddamn chicken tender. That’s weird behavior, Ollie.”

“I couldn’t think of the word of that stick dough thing with the cinnamon.”

“A churro?” he hisses.

“Ohhh . . . yeah, that’s it. Churro would have made much more sense.”

“So you wanted to say churro but opted for chicken tender instead?”

“What the mind wants, the mind gets,” I respond. The way he snorts steam in my direction makes me believe he doesn’t like that response. “Also, why are you breathing all heavily at me when you could have stopped me and taken over the conversation at any point. Almost seems like you wanted to hear the rest of the story. I can’t be completely at blame here.”

“The fuck you can. This is all on you. Jesus fuck, Ollie, you said I dip tenders in mustard and mayonnaise. Do you know how vile that is?”

“Made me gag just saying it out loud.”

He stares at me, those ice-blue eyes screaming murder. “We had a fucking story, a simple one, so what happened?”

I pat his arm and kindly say, “It’s called panic. Welcome to the show that is my life. Strap in, it’s going to be bumpy.”

“Jesus,” he mutters under his breath just as Roberts and Gloria come back to sit down.

“Sorry about that,” Roberts says while placing his arm behind Gloria.

It’s odd to see your boss outside the workplace because if I didn’t know Roberts professionally, at this moment, I’d believe he seemed like an easygoing guy. He’s relaxed, in his element, and enjoying himself. There’s no crease between his brow, no pep in his step to yell at someone for doing their job inadequately. He’s . . . dare I say it? Chill.

I honestly don’t think I like it. It’s throwing off everything I ever believed in.

“Have you two thought about what the season will be like and the toll it will have on your relationship?” Roberts asks, the question quite specific. Makes me wonder if he’s fishing for anything.

Is that why he seems so relaxed because he’s trying to loosen us up, make us feel comfortable so we say something we might not want to say?

Well, too bad for him. The boning of this dress has released from its confines and is digging into my side, putting me on high alert.

“We’ve spoken about it,” Silas says, clearly wanting to take the lead now on answering questions.

Go ahead, man. I’m exhausted.

“She understands the schedule and that I’ll sometimes be gone on longer trips, but the days I’m in town will be spent with her when I’m not required to be at the arena.”

“Balance is important,” Roberts says and smiles. “But so are championships.”

“They are.”

“Think you’ll win another one this year?”

“That’s the goal,” Silas says while taking a very tiny sip of his Scotch, something I appreciate since he’s the one who has to drive me back to my dorm. After the chicken tender–donkey debacle, he could be guzzling it.

“Mr. Roberts,” another assistant says, “the chair would like to speak with you about your speech.”

Roberts sighs and places his hands on his legs. “Duty calls. I’ll let you two have some time with the rest of the crowd. Thank you for coming, and we’ll catch up some more later.”

“Sounds great,” Silas says, and together, we all rise. Silas and Roberts shake hands one more time. I smile at Gloria, she nods at me, and then we part.

Silas takes my hand in his and keeps me close as he walks us through the crowd and over to the far wall, where we can scrounge up a touch of privacy.

“Was it worth it?” he asks when we’re finally out of range of other ears.

“Was what worth it?”

“Embarrassing me. Was it worth the minuscule leap you must have taken in his eyes?”

“Hey,” I say, pushing at his chest. “Don’t be mean. It’s a stupid story about your fly being undone. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It is when I have people all over this goddamn city trying to find information to print about me.” He shakes his head. “You don’t get it, Ollie. I’m not like you. I can’t float around this world without a worry or care. I have to watch my image at all times.”

“I don’t float around without a worry or care. I care very much, hence why I brought you to this stupid thing. And I panicked. I didn’t say those things to purposely embarrass you. It just happened.”

“Well, control yourself. Jesus. If you’re going to make moves in this world, in this career, then you’ll have to grow up, Ollie.”

I take a step back, his words hitting me harder than I expected because they sound like something my dad would say.

Journalism? Grow up, Ollie. Pick a real job.

And just like with my dad, it’s not something I take lightly, nor will I let slide. Sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” I say. “Just because you think you’re wiser than me doesn’t give you the authority to treat me like a child. I fucked up tonight because I thought Gloria could see right through us. That panic made me try to think of a more elaborate story that seemed more believable. I’m sorry that I didn’t paint you as the golden boy of Vancouver. My apologies. I didn’t know you needed your ego stroked that badly.”

I pick up my skirt and turn on my heel, heading in a different direction. Any direction to get away from him.

“Ollie, wait,” I hear him call out, but I ignore him.

I then spot the buffet.

Bingo.

This girl needs a freaking crab cake.

With one thing on my mind, I bolt to the buffet where I pick up a plate and examine all the fine foods expertly crafted.

Fruits, cheeses, crackers, fancy vegetables cut to look like flowers. Mini beef things that look tempting, shrimp in a dollop of cocktail sauce, and . . . crab cakes.

Come to mama.

Don’t mind distracting the hurt Silas just caused by a delicious, perfectly fried crab cake.

“I heard the beef Wellington is delicious,” a familiar voice says. I glance up to find Yonny standing beside me, plate in hand.

“Ah, beef Wellington, I couldn’t think of the name. Doesn’t that take a while to cook?”

“Apparently, that’s why it’s such a delicacy to have as an appetizer at a buffet. Although, I’ve never seen it like this, in bite-size nuggets.” He smirks at me, and it feels . . . odd. The last time he smirked at me was when he found out he could eat prepackaged cookie dough and not get sick.

So what’s with the smirk?

Is he flirting? No, he can’t be flirting. That’s not what he does. He’s just being nice.

“Have you had a lot of experience with beef Wellington?” I ask. Might as well partake in the conversation. It’s not like the last person I talked to was being polite.

“Not as much as I’m making it seem.” He leans closer with a smile playing on his lips. “Am I fitting in okay?”

“Uh . . . yes,” I say, smiling back because, good God, he’s actually being playful. What’s going on with him? He must be high.

“Fantastic. I wasn’t sure about attending tonight, but Candace told me I didn’t have an option.” He looks over his shoulder and says, “I borrowed this tux from my dad. Does it smell musty?”

I chuckle. He’s definitely high. I lean in closer, giving his tux a sniff. “No, it smells like your cologne.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.”

“A good thing,” I say just as a strong arm wraps around my waist, pulling me in tight to an even stronger chest.

“Hey, baby,” I hear right before a pair of lips presses against my neck.

I might be irritated with the man, but oh my God, that little kiss sends a tsunami of chills up and down my legs. Damn him.

When he pulls away—and when I say away, I mean like an inch—he asks, “Can I get you another drink?” His thumb makes small circles over my waist.

So we’re just going to ignore our little conversation from a minute ago? Not going to act like you just told me to grow up? Going to assume all is right in the world?

Super.

“Sure,” I say, feeling my breath catch in my throat from his proximity. It’s easy to forget just how large he is, how his presence can eat up all the air around you. I realized that the moment I first kissed him, and I’m realizing that now as he holds me protectively in front of Yonny.

Not just protectively but . . . he’s claiming me.

He’s showing everyone in the room exactly who I belong to.

“Be right back.” He lays another kiss on my neck before taking off.

“So,” Yonny says, clearing his throat. “You seem to be happy.”

I pick up some cheese and crackers, mindlessly putting them on my plate as I try to shiver off the feel of Silas’s warm, delicious lips on my neck.

“Yes, I am,” I answer.

“I’m glad you found someone,” Yonny says. “I know I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.” He glances down at me, our eyes connecting. “You deserved so much more than what I could offer you at that time.”

“At that time?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean by that?”

He just shakes his head. “Nothing to worry about. But I’m glad you found Silas.” He glances over my shoulder at something behind me. I look as well and catch Silas leaning against the bar, his eyes glued on me. He doesn’t waver or hide the fact he’s staring. Instead, it’s almost as if his gaze grows more intense with each passing second. “He seems infatuated with you.”

I turn away as I feel this tingling sensation pour through my body. “He’s, uh . . . very protective.”

“I can see that. I’m pretty sure every person in this room knows you’re off limits.”

“That’s only because he commands the attention.”

Yonny shakes his head as he picks up a beef Wellington nugget. “No, he commands nothing from the room other than your attention.” He picks up a napkin. “I guess I’ll see you around, Ollie. Oh, and since I didn’t say it enough when we were dating, you look stunning tonight.”

My cheeks heat, and as he walks away, I find myself watching him. Silently, even though he can’t hear me, I mumble, “T-Thanks.” What was with that? You look stunning tonight? Obviously high. It’s a good thing I no longer crave his attention.

I finish filling up my plate, and just as I turn around, Silas is at my side with a drink. “Follow me,” he says, and because I feel all out of sorts, I do. I follow him to a private seating area to the left near an expansive window that grants us a view of the city. He takes a seat on an open couch and sets the drinks down on a coffee table in front of it, then helps me down as well. He sets my plate on the table and slips his hand into mine, tugging me close so he can speak quietly in my ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers gently. “I wasn’t prepared for your story, and it embarrassed me.”

The cold, rough exterior I erected the minute we started fighting melts away, and I reply, “I’m sorry too. It wasn’t my intention to embarrass you.”

He pulls away just enough to cup my cheek and stare into my eyes. From an outsider looking in, it looks like we’re head over heels in love. But I like this. I like that this gentle man, who I’m coming to see could have an ego the size of Mike Tyson’s, has chosen to make our moment of apology look like something romantic. I certainly chose a good one for my fake boyfriend.

“I know you wouldn’t intentionally try to make me look like a donkey-loving pervert.”

That causes me to snort. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he cradles me as we both chuckle.

“If the headlines tomorrow say Silas Taters is a donkey-loving pervert, I’ll take full responsibility.” I lift away from his shoulder and catch a slight smirk on his lips.

“If the headlines read that, the worst of my problems isn’t what the public has to say. Facing the boys would be an absolute nightmare.”

“Just direct them toward me, and I’ll be able to explain.”

“Pretty sure you lost all credibility when it comes to explaining or telling any kind of story. You’re a loose cannon, and I won’t allow it to happen again.”

“Probably the best move you can make at the moment.” I grab the plate and lift it between us. “Cheese and cracker?”

“Sure.”

“DO you go to those kinds of things often?” I ask as we sit in Silas’s car, sharing a large fry and sucking down milkshakes we got from a local joint that happened to be open.

“I go to more than I want to, that’s for sure.”

“So was that painful for you?” I pick up a fry and shove the crispy potato in my mouth.

“Parts of it.” He lolls his head to the side to smirk at me. “Other parts, not so bad.”

“I think we all know the painful part, and I’m pretty sure we’re over it, so there’s no need to bring it up again.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” He nudges my leg with his index finger knuckle.

“No need to be right all the time, Silas. It isn’t an attractive quality.”

“Good thing I have no need to be attractive around you since we have a strict no whorehouse policy.”

“A policy I feel very strongly about.”

“Is that why you were flirting with Yonny tonight?” He sips from his straw as I stare at him in shock.

“Excuse me, sir, I was not flirting.”

“Could have fooled everyone in the room, even Candace. She stormed off to the bathroom when she saw you two at the buffet.”

“Stop. No, she didn’t.”

Silas nods his head. “She did.”

“Well, I wasn’t flirting. If anyone was flirting, it was Yonny. I was just being polite.”

“Flirting when he knows you’re attached? That’s fucked up.”

“Is that why you came over to me?” I ask, still curious about the neck kiss.

“I didn’t like that my girl was talking to another man,” Silas says immediately as if he didn’t need any time to think about his answer.

“Uh, I’m not your girl.”

He picks up a fry and says, “You are when we work a job together. I would never let that happen in reality, so it’s not going to happen when we’re fake dating either. I had to stake my claim.”

“Is that what was happening?” I ask, the back of my neck growing hot at the thought of him possessing and acting on that sort of attitude in real life. I’ve read about these possessive men who want to control you but also give you space at the same time, but I’ve never experienced one. Now, as I live and breathe, Silas Taters is stepping up.

And that feeling that flew through me with the feel of his lips on my skin was very . . . arousing.

“Fuck yes, it was,” he says. “I’m not about to have anyone thinking you belong to anyone but me when we’re in public. Now here, in the car, I can sit for twenty minutes, not giving two shits that you have dried milkshake crusted on the tip of your nose.”

“Oh my God!” I shout as I grab the visor and flip down the mirror to look at myself. And sure as the day I was born, I have chocolate milkshake on my nose. I pick up a napkin, lick it, and then rub. “Why the hell are you just letting me sit here with milkshake on my nose?”

He leans back in his chair with a grin. “Donkey pervert, Ollie . . . donkey pervert.”

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