“Your wife looks like she needs the drink,” Coach Starnes said, chuckling easily. “I’ve worn a costume like that in my younger days – and they’re not fun. Hot as the dickens inside of those things with little airflow. I don’t know how Toby does it…”
“I don’t know either,” Harper said in agreement, pressing the plastic stemware into his hand. He took it automatically and downed the mango-papaya concoction in one massive swallow, the cold sweetness grounding him just enough to stand upright again. “And we never told anyone because we’re very personal people.”
“I thought your last name was Webb?”
“It’s hyphenated,” she countered smoothly, playing the part for him without question. “Can I keep the mask off for a moment or two – and borrow Marcus? We’re picking out flooring for the house, and I wanted to run something past him…”
“Of course. Marcus, see to your wife, and we’ll talk shortly. I think maybe you need to start the next game, but I want to run it past Savage – can’t step on his toes, now, can I?” Coach Starnes said congenially as Marcus nodded silently – before they walked away.
“This way,” Harper murmured, her fingers closing around his wrist as she tugged him toward the hallway leading to the conference rooms.
He followed her blindly, heart pounding, mind racing, one thought screaming louder than all the others:
Who the heck is this woman—and how did she just save his career?
4
HARPER
Harper’s heartslammed against her ribs, loud enough she was certain someone nearby could hear it. The moment stretched in her mind—her voice cutting into a conversation that hadn’t involved her, the way every head had turned, the weight of the lie landing the second she’d said it out loud. This wasn’t just embarrassing. This was catastrophic.
For her.
For Marcus.
For Toby, who wasn’t even here tonight. No, he was at home with his foot on a pillow and healing from surgery. She was filling in for him – and breaking every rule he’d set apparently.
She had caused a penalty in the last game.
She had removed the mascot mask.
And now?
She claimed to be married… to amarriedman.
And that married man, Marcus Shaw, was staring at her like she’d lost her freakin’ mind… and maybe she had.
There was no other explanation for why a rational adult woman would insert herself into a high-stakes conversation that had nothing to do with her, fabricate a marriage, and makeherself the centerpiece of a lie that was absolutely, inevitably going to unravel the second the real Mrs. Shaw showed up.
Because she would show up, wouldn’t she?
And Harper knew, deep in her bones, that she wouldn’t look anything like her. She imagined the scene with sickening clarity—someone politely asking why another woman had been at the charity auction claiming to be Mrs. Shaw… and of course, the fallout that would follow.
If the roles were reversed? If she were the wife?
Oh, she’d lose it – times ten.
Lose it in a way that probably ended with security being called. Maybe handcuffs. Definitely tears. Infidelity was her biggest pet peeve—slimy men who cheated and thought they could skate by on charm alone. Uh, hard NO. She’d lived that nightmare once before. One painfully memorable date, a ringing phone, a woman on the other end asking why her husband wasn’t home.
Clarity had struck like a lightning bolt that night. She had zero interest in reliving another lightning strike – no thank you.
“I can explain…” Harper began the second they stepped into the hallway, her voice softer now, stripped of its earlier bravado.
“Thanks,” Marcus cut in.
She didn’t even register the tone—too busy drowning in guilt and anxiety, her thoughts tripping over one another as she rushed ahead.
“I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted quickly. “They were cornering you, and I knew you needed someone. Toby told me about that weird clause in the contracts—the one about image and stability, and I thought if I played along for two seconds, it would get you out of it. You seemed nice, and?—”
