Fake It Til You Break It (+One #5)

1. Chapter 1

one

~ Jasper ~

C lutching the basketball between his hands, Caleb looked back and forth between me and the net.

Small for a twelve-year-old, he appeared lost and alone, his gaze pleading, and a desperate need for acceptance etched on his face.

“You can do it,” I assured him.

“Take the shot!”

In the three weeks since he had arrived at Project SafeHouse, we had been working to build his confidence.

Some days, some situations, were better than others.

I wanted him to try, to trust himself, but I wouldn’t let him crash and burn.

If it came to it, I was prepared to step in and save the day.

“You’ve got this!” one of the older boys shouted, effectively sidelining my rescue plans.

Then the other three joined in, offering their own encouragements.

“Come on, Caleb!”

“You can do it!”

“Let’s go, Caleb!”

No one tried to steal the ball.

No one tried to guard him or block him.

They simply surrounded him with the kind of support I had worked so hard to cultivate at the youth center.

Witnessing my team’s efforts paying off in real time filled me with an overwhelming sense of pride and gratitude.

Narrowing his eyes in determination, Caleb bent at the knees, lined up his shot, and let it fly.

The ball hit the rim, bounced and wobbled, and when it fell through the net with a satisfying swish , the other boys converged on him, patting his back and ruffling his hair.

“You did it!”

“Way to go!”

“Good shot, man!”

I stood off to the side, watching him for any signs of discomfort, worried that the noise and unsolicited contact might be triggering.

But Caleb brushed his hair away from his sweaty brow and beamed, soaking up the praise and attention like a sponge.

“Mr. Ryan?”

Still grinning, I glanced over my shoulder to find a couple of giggling teenage girls standing near the edge of the court.

“What’s up?”

“There’s someone here to see you,” Jessa announced.

I frowned. “Someone? Did you get a name?”

Both girls bobbed their heads.

“He said his name is Beckett.” Amber placed a hand over her mouth to muffle another round of giggles.

“He’s really hot,” Jessa, the bolder of the pair, added.

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Definitely not,” I answered distractedly as I checked the time on my watch.

He was early.

I pinched the front of my gray tee and tugged, grimacing at the way the fabric clung to my shoulders.

Sweat had seeped into the cotton, creating several dark patches across the chest and under the arms. Combined with a pair of black basketball shorts and a messy bun, it wasn’t exactly how I had pictured attending the meeting.

An image of the charcoal chinos and cream polo hanging in my office closet popped into my head.

I had come prepared with a plan to shower and change before our introduction, but I had gotten wrapped up in the game and forgotten all about Beckett Shaw.

“Please tell him I’ll be with him soon.”

While I didn’t have time for a shower, I could at least wash my face and make myself presentable.

I didn’t want to keep him waiting, but first impressions mattered, and I wanted this guy to like me.

At the very least, I wanted him to tolerate me enough to pretend to like me for the next three months.

Once the girls agreed to pass along my message, I turned and motioned for a volunteer to join me.

After outlining the situation and receiving assurance from Miss Florence that she could handle things outside, I made my way back to the court.

“Count me out of the next game. I have to go see a guy about a thing.”

The younger boys laughed, while some of the older ones seemed to be working out if my words held some hidden meaning.

None of them protested, however, apart from making me promise to return for a rematch as soon as I could.

“Thanks, Mr. Ryan,” Caleb said as I started to walk away.

That simple statement of gratitude held a lot of weight, and it could have pertained to any number of things.

The kid didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, however, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

“Anytime, Caleb.” I held his gaze, making sure he understood I meant more than just the game.

Seconds ticked by, but eventually, he smiled.

I smiled back. It felt like we might have made a little progress.

“Mr. Ryan?”

Ah, Jessa and Amber were back.

“I know, I know.” I chuckled as I turned.

“I’m coming.”

The laughter died in my throat.

The air leached from my lungs.

And my heart attempted to crawl out of my mouth.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a crooked smile, Beckett Shaw stood just behind the girls.

He appeared relaxed, his arms resting at his sides, and when our eyes met, his smile stretched a little wider.

He dipped his head in greeting.

“Jasper.”

My name, spoken with casual familiarity in that deep, smooth voice, made my head spin and my pulse stutter, but I brushed it off.

Probably just nerves from being caught off guard.

I had seen Beckett Shaw at different parties and events around the city, and we had spoken once or twice in passing.

I wouldn’t, however, consider us friends, or even on a first-name basis.

Clearly, he thought differently.

“Thank you, girls.”

I gave them each a pointed look, indicating they should head back inside.

The last thing I needed was an audience to my awkwardness.

They leaned against one another and giggled, but they didn’t argue.

The dirty little traitors.

They knew exactly what they had done, and judging by their expressions, they were quite pleased with themselves, too.

“Jessa and Amber said you were working,” Beckett explained.

“I thought it would be easier if I came to you.”

While the second part of that statement could be debated, it didn’t escape my notice that he had taken the time to learn their names.

It might not seem like much, but for these kids—kids who had so little—identity meant everything.

And it raised him a couple of degrees in my estimation.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.” No sense in pretending I hadn’t been in the wrong.

“And I apologize for my appearance.” As I spoke, I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and tugged self-consciously at the hem of my shirt.

“I promise I’m usually better about managing my time.”

The fact that he had also dressed casually in a pair of dark wash jeans and a simple blue V-neck did nothing to lessen my anxiety.

Not when he wore it so well, and especially not when the soft material hugged every hard muscle of his upper body.

“You’re a busy man. That’s nothing to apologize for.” A quiet, indulgent chuckle rolled off his lips.

“It’s not like I expected to find you playing basketball in a jacket and tie.” His gaze raked over me.

Slow. Assessing. “This suits you.”

My entire being short-circuited at the unexpected flattery, and I had no idea what to say in response.

To thank him meant I agreed.

Which sounded a little conceited.

To say nothing, though, felt rude.

“That’s nice of you to say.” That seemed neutral enough.

“I’m not nice,” Beckett corrected.

“I’m honest.”

I blinked at him, malfunctioning like a faulty light switch while I grasped for, and failed, at something to say.

Thankfully, I had a lot of practice faking social competency, even if I wore it like an ill-fitting cardigan.

“Should we head to my office?”

I took a step forward but stopped when he didn’t move.

He studied me now, his pale blue eyes creased at the corners, and that easygoing smile morphed into something sharper.

“Jasper?”

A shiver rippled through me, and I really wished he would stop saying my name like that.

“Yes?”

“Take the compliment.”

“Thank you,” I blurted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

He dipped his head in approval.

“Now, how about you show me around? It’s quite a place you have here.”

I settled marginally at the change in topic.

Enough, at least, to return his smile.

“It belonged to my parents.” I angled away from him so I could see the three-story French Renaissance mansion, the centerpiece of the gated, fifteen-acre lot.

“I inherited it when they passed, and since I had no use for such a large home, I decided to do something useful with it.”

Beckett nodded.

“So, it’s a group home?”

“No, not exactly. It’s a youth center.” I moved farther away from the basketball court—and from potential eavesdroppers—relieved when he followed without invitation.

“It’s more of an emergency safe house,” I explained, lowering my voice.

“A temporary shelter for kids who don’t have anywhere else to go until we can reunite them with their families or find suitable foster placement.”

The logistics of opening a youth center near an affluent residential neighborhood had been a bureaucratic nightmare filled with an army of attorneys and miles of red tape.

It had taken almost two years to secure the permits and licenses required, and another eight months to complete the renovations.

Every late night filled with stress-induced insomnia.

Every soul-crushing meeting.

Every denial. Every battle.

It had all been worth it, and I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

“I see.” Resting his hands on his hips, his gaze swept over the property, pausing momentarily on the different groups of children and teenagers enjoying the sunshine.

“There are so many.”

Ah, now I understood his confusion.

“Most of them are just here for the after-school programs. They’re not residents.”

His smile returned, and he bobbed his head again.

“Tell me about it.”

It occurred to me then that he had deliberately steered the conversation into safer waters, toward a subject I not only knew but felt passionate about.

While he seemed interested in what I had to say, I couldn’t tell if it was genuine or practiced.

Either way, I couldn’t even be mad about it.

If he brought this same level of insightfulness to the rest of our arrangement, I might actually survive the spring gala circuit.

When my usual plus-one had retired, so to speak, I had panicked.

But Beckett Shaw had come highly recommended as a replacement, and now I was beginning to see why.

“Some of the older kids are close to aging out of the system, so we help them prepare for the transition—basic life skills, job readiness, affordable housing, that kind of thing.” I led him along the fence line and across the lawn toward the house.

“We also offer programs for kids who just need a break from whatever stress is waiting at home.”

Some came from families who loved them but didn’t fully understand them.

Others had found themselves caught in the middle of a messy divorce, or dealing with parents stretched too thin.

Not every situation was dangerous, but it didn’t have to be for a kid to feel like they needed a place to breathe.

“I could have used somewhere like this when I was a kid.”

Beckett spoke with an air of detachment, but I detected the thread of sincerity in his words.

I didn’t push or ask him to expand on the statement.

I had been doing this long enough to know that not every story needed to be told, and the ones that did took time to unravel.

Similar in height and build, our strides fell into sync, a natural rhythm that carried us through the front door of the center in companionable silence.

The once opulent foyer had been converted into a reception area, and I waved at the volunteer behind the desk as I led Beckett to my office.

Typically, I left the French doors open, always willing to accept guests, no matter how busy I was.

This time, however, I closed them and pulled the shades.

Not because I had anything to hide, but because a small part of me felt embarrassed about the reason for Beckett’s visit.

The rich and influential Jasper Ryan couldn’t even find his own date for a charity gala and had been forced to seek help from a professional agency.

I could already see the headlines.

But I had neither the time nor the inclination for the emotional investment actual relationships required.

I just needed a security blanket, someone to stand beside me and make sure I didn’t humiliate myself as I navigated the complexities of social interactions.

Thankfully, places like +One existed for exactly that reason.

It wasn’t a dating agency, but rather, a company that employed a curated list of agents, all highly trained to be the perfect plus-one.

No commitment. No stakes.

No risk. Just a business transaction safeguarded by a contract, so all parties knew where they stood.

“Please, have a seat.” Rather than the wingback chairs placed in front of my desk, I motioned toward the seating area situated by the bay window.

“I suppose you want to know a little about me.”

Beckett chose a seat at the end of the leather sofa and stretched his arm along the back.

“I already know quite a bit, but I do have some questions.”

I masked my confusion with a gentle laugh as I settled into one of the matching armchairs.

Unlike him, I didn’t make myself comfortable.

I perched on the edge of the cushion and clasped my hands together in my lap.

“I assume you’re referring to my client profile.”

“Right.”

His hesitation was brief, yet long enough to draw my suspicion.

“If not the profile, then I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“I know you show up to all those parties with a million-dollar smile, but today is the first time I’ve seen you truly happy.” His eyes narrowed in challenge, and when I didn’t refute him, a slow, cocksure grin stretched his lips.

“If you hate those events so much, why do it?”

A wave of relief washed over me, and I relaxed my clenched fingers.

“Obligation,” I answered bluntly.

“At least, in part. My mother supported several charities, and I would like to continue that legacy.”

“Fair enough.” With his arm still stretched across the sofa, he flipped his hand up in a questioning gesture.

“Why not just write a check and call it a day?”

“Because Project SafeHouse relies on sponsors and donations.”

“So, quid pro quo,” he surmised.

“You scratch their backs. They scratch yours.”

He made it sound so vulgar, but he had the gist of it.

“Something like that.”

Beckett nodded, a slow, subtle movement.

“Tell me, what are you looking to get out of this arrangement?”

This question I had anticipated, and as such, I had my answer prepared.

“I guess you could say I’m looking for a buffer. Someone who—”

“Let me stop you right there.” Moving to the edge of the sofa, he leaned toward me and rested his elbows on his knees.

“I didn’t mean the rehearsed version. I’m not asking for whatever it is you think I want to hear. I don’t care if it’s messy. Just tell me the truth.”

Oh, it was plenty messy alright, but he’d asked for it.

“I need someone to pretend to enjoy my company for the evening.” I paused and glanced down at my knees.

“I need someone to ease the pressure when things get overwhelming. Someone to keep me…grounded.” Finally, I took a deep breath and dared to meet his gaze again.

“Anything else?”

His smile came slowly, but it reached all the way to his eyes. “When do we start?”