"What the hell is she doing here?" I whip around, keeping my ass firmly planted in my seat, even though no part—and every part—of me wants to be in this room with her.
We got along so well at the charity event after the initial awkwardness, but now, knowing what Orlando and Josie are up to? That they set it all up?
It leaves a bitterness in my mouth.
I accepted my rejection already. I don’t need another reminder.
"Cheer up, big guy. I don’t want to be here either." She pats my shoulder, taking the seat next to mine. Josie leaves the third one empty. Instead, she stands beside Orlando on the other side of his desk, watching us intently.
"I can assure you both, neither of us saw this coming until we noticed people taking photos of the two of you at your meet and greet, Olive." This time, it’s Josie who speaks. She looks sharp in her black, unwrinkled pantsuit, her blonde hair stuck to her scalp with what I can only assume is an entire bottle of hairspray.
"Josie filled me in this morning. You want us to pretend to date, right?" Olive cocks her head to the side, picking at the skin on her thumb without looking at me.
"No fucking way. I’m not doing that," I say, clenching my fists firmly in my lap. "No offense, but outside of the other night, I don’t know you." Not that I didn't try.
"How is that supposed to be offensive?" She turns to face me, a smile pulling at her lips.
She’s enjoying this. Of course she is. And I should be mad about it, but instead, my eyes are doing that thing again.
Trailing. Lingering.
Hazel eyes, almost too big for her face in a way that somehow works. I’m close enough now to catch the gold in them, and maybe even a hint of green.
Her lips are pink, full, and shaped like they know things I don’t. Freckles are dusted across her nose like she dove face-first into sunlight.
If I weren’t actively avoiding her, I’d memorize every inch of her.
"How is this supposed to helpme, Orlando? I thought we were trying to make this a drama-free year?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don’t think dating a singer is going to do anything for my image other than paint me as the type of guy to—"
"Settle down," Orlando says.
"I’mcalm." I scoff.
"No. I mean, it’ll make you look like the type of guy who is ready to settle down."
Ah. Precisely what Idon’twant.
"And the type of guy that leaves aggression behind, and focuses on the girl."
"Again, no offense, Olive, but she isn’t exactly going to bring drama into your life," Josie says with an apologetic smile toward her client, who rolls her eyes in response.
I’ve had girlfriends in the past, sure. But I’ve dated other athletes, models, and even the occasional actress. Musicians? I’ve neverdated-dated one. Hooked up with, yeah. But nothing serious
I don’t care to have songs written about me if things end badly, and going by the type of songs Olive writes, I can only imagine the type of shit she would have to say. Or what the media would assume by trying to find clues in her lyrics.
"No." I shake my head. "Spin the narrative another way."
"Thereisno other way, Avery. Not really. It’s either this—you coming to yourgirlfriend’sdefense after another man laid hands on her without permission, and she fights another lady for a date with you, or you continue to come across as someone who doesn’t know how to control his temper." Orlando straightens in his office chair, ready to go head to head against me like we’ve done countless times. "After the charity event, people thinkOlive couldn’t handle seeing someone else try to win a date withher boyfriend. That she wanted to come clean about your ‘love’."
"Okay, firstly," Olive chimes in. "I am confident enough within myself tonotbe jealous over a married woman desperately trying to fuck someone twenty years younger than her. And secondly, gross. Never use the wordlovewhen you talk about him and me." She shudders visibly.
"Next, you’re going to tell me we need to get married to keep up appearances," I say with a mocking tone. I lock eyes with Orlando across the desk, and something flashes across his face, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
No, no, God dammitno.
"That’s actually not a bad idea," Josie chimes in, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a head whip around as fast as Olive’s just did. I’m surprised it didn’t give her whiplash. Her complete attention is now on her manager, who just said the worst thing imaginable.
"Uh, no.That’swhere I draw the line." She stands from her seat. "Pretending I’m dating him for a few weeks, I can handle that. Butmarriage? Absolutely not. Over my dead body am I legally committing to someone like him when I’ve never wanted to commit to anybody, period." She collects her bag at her feet, running her hands down her pants.
