(c) Forfeiture of all future salary obligations
(d) Two-year non-compete clause preventing Player from signing with any NHL team
Two years.
His entire career.
Everything.
I slam the laptop shut as though doing so will trap the scary words inside. Keep me from letting my disastrous life seep into Brody’s. My gaze lands on the dress hanging at the end of the bed, and I let out yet another heavy breath.
Okay. List time. Lists fix everything.
1. Get dressed. In clean clothing.
2. Meet Brody at 11 a.m. Be cool. Don’t embarrass yourself. We’re going for Sandra Bullock from The Proposal, here. Not Sandra Bullock—Miss Congeniality. Poise. Professionalism. Altogether put-togetherness. You get the picture.
3. Align our stories, coordinate our watches, you know the drill.
4. Pick up flowers.
5. Decorate the venue.
6. Change into party dress. (Take off the Goodwill tag.)
7. Convince my entire family I’m in love. (Honestly, this is the easy one.)
8. Don’t get your heart broken. I think it’s important to keep this on the list, don’t you?
My phone buzzes. I grab it too fast, nearly fumble it onto the floor because I’m graceful like that. Maybe I should take the wholepoisething off the list…
Brody
On my way. Coffee first?
My heart does a little flutter that I refuse to attribute to the idea of a fake coffee date with my fake boyfriend. Attribute it toindigestion, if you will. Lack of sleep. Caffeine withdrawal. All great alternatives to the truth.
Chloe
Yes. Brew & Rumor?
Brody
Perfect. See you in 20.
Twenty minutes.
Perfect. Just enough time for me to get dressed, throw on some makeup, and talk myself back off the ledge. This is fine. I’m fine.
I pull on jeans and an oversized cream sweater that makes me feel approximately three percent less like a disaster. Hair in loose waves because I tried for “effortlessly pretty” and landed somewhere around “gave up.”
My party dress hangs on the back of my bedroom door—a simple black sheath, January-appropriate, elegant. I bought it on clearance three years ago, and it’s been to exactly two events. I think you’d call thatmint condition.
I grab my tote and shove in the essentials: party dress, party shoes, makeup bag, deodorant, Tylenol, double-sided tape, scissors, pliers, glue gun—hey, you never know what you’ll need in an emergency. I’ll be darned if Maya’s party is a flop all because I forgot my glue gun.
I scramble through the apartment in search of my keys, flipping over piles of unpaid bills and zero-balance bank notes.
No wonder Brody offered me money. Wow.
