She swats a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry. I deal with the media all the time, and if it starts to get nasty, we can just end it. Trust me, you need all the help you can get with your reputation.”
“Haha.” I roll my eyes.
She shrugs one shoulder, offering a smile. “Hey. At least we can get something out of this crazy scheme I roped you into.”
I scratch my forehead. “Right, well, you’re the boss. If you think it’s worth a shot, let’s do it.”
“Absolutely.” She beams. “It doesn’t really require anything on our part, so why not take advantage of it?”
Millie
I’m on my way to Callum’s, chatting with my dad through the car’s Bluetooth speaker, when I slow to a stop at a red light.
“I’m not dating him, Dad. I told you,” I insist for what must be the fifth time. “I’m just helping him out.”
“Still don’t like the sound of that,” he grumbles. “What kind of job would force you to date a footballer? Even if it is just for show.”
“It’s not like that,” I sigh, pressing the gas as the light turns green. “I wanted to do it. Just trust me.”
He goes quiet for a moment. “Maybe I should have a talk with that Munchford bloke. Tell him my thoughts about the way he’s running his business.”
My hands jolt on the steering wheel. “Dad, please. I beg you. Don’t. I promise I can handle it, and besides, Philip had nothing to do with this. It was my idea.”
“I’m just worried about you, honey,” he says, his gentle tone breaking my heart. I can practically feel his anxiety, and I know how it must look from his perspective.
“I’m sorry, Dad. But I promise you there is nothing fishy going on. It’s all perfectly professional.”
He breathes out a woosh of air. “All right, I’ll trust you, and I’ll keep your secret. But if something feels wrong, you have to let me know.”
“Of course I will,” I assure him as I turn into Callum’s street. “I have to go, Dad, I’m almost at—I’m here.” No need to add another layer to his anxiety. “Talk later, okay?”
“Love you, honey.”
“Love you too.” I hang up and draw a deep breath. It’s weird, lying to my dad again. Actually, it’s not just weird. I hate it. I just wish he could see things my way.
I park in frontof Callum’s double garage, grab my overnight bag from the trunk, and walk up to his front door.
When the door opens, I’m greeted by Fergie’s fire alarm impression and an exasperated Callum. Talk about a warm welcome.
“He won’t shut up,” he groans, pushing the door aside to let me in. “Maybe you’ll be able to do something about it.”
I drop my bag in the entrance, kick off my shoes, and follow him up to Fergie’s room. The second he spots me, his screeching stops.
“What’s up, little guy?” I crouch to stroke his lime-green feathers through the bars.
“I’ll go get my stuff,” Callum mutters, turning away.
“Don’t be jealous now,” I sing out after him, grinning.
“Definitely not,” he throws back dryly.
“Callum jealous,” Fergie echoes, cocking his head. “Cuddles?”
I reach in again and gently scratch his head. “We’ll play a game after your dad leaves, okay?”
“Puzzle?”
I nod. “Yeah, puzzle. After.”
