Smart woman.
“Saturday morning,” Chloe says. “Eleven a.m.”
“I’ll be here.”
“And you’ll pay her ten thousand before Saturday?” Jessa, the shark, isn’t letting this go. She could have a real future in agenting.
“I’ll have it transferred to her account by Friday night. Is that acceptable?”
Jessa looks at Chloe. “Is that acceptable to you?”
Chloe’s quiet for a long moment. I can see her thinking. Calculating. Weighing the money against whatever reservations she has about this insane plan.
I feel gross.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. I’ll do it. Five events. Fake girlfriend. Professional arrangement.” She stands up, extends her hand across the coffee table. “It’s a deal.”
I stand too.
I take her hand. Her fingers wrap around mine, and there it is again—that electric shock from earlier when I handed her the coffee. The one that reminds me this is a terrible idea for about seventeen different reasons.
Her eyes meet mine.
We shake. Professional. Clean. Businesslike.
Except her hand is warm and fits perfectly in mine, and I remember how it felt to dance with her under those lights in Barcelona, and this is absolutely not going to be as simple as a business transaction.
Not even close.
I release her hand. Step back. Try my best to look normal.
“I should go, but I’ll text you the contract when my agent sends it,” I say. And I can’t help it…I need her to look at me. So I duck my head into her line of sight. Her eyes lift, those deep, beautiful brown eyes find mine. Worth it. “I’ll see you Saturday morning.”
Jessa stands. “I’ll walk you out.”
Oh, this will be fun.
She opens the door and steps into the hallway with me, pulling it mostly closed behind her.
“If you hurt her again,” she says quietly, “I will personally destroy your career and your reputation so thoroughly you’ll never play hockey in this country again. Are we clear?”
One way or another, this arrangement is going to ruin me. It’s either going to end my career or destroy what’s left of my heart.
I nod to Jessa and turn away toward the elevator.
I’m not going to break Chloe’s heart.
She’s going to break mine.
And I’m going to let her.
Because five weeks with her—even fake, even ending badly—is better than the rest of my life without her.
Six
Brody
The Xcel Energy Center locker room smells like sweat, wintergreen balm, and desperation—and tonight I’m contributing to all three.
