Chapter 6
Hunter
God damn. I’d rather take a puck to the teeth than walk into this ballroom.
Before I step through the hotel ballroom doors, I’m dreading this gala. Fake smiles, forced chatter, media flashbulbs. Nothing about tonight feels real.
But by far the worst thing about tonight is my fake fiancée.
Juliet grips my arm, looking like a cool, collected, confident woman.
Sky high heels. Raven hair bobbing around her shoulders, styled to emphasize her curls.
Emerald dress poured over her curves, bare shoulders catching the lights from the hotel entrance, lipstick dark and dangerous.
With her slightly olive skin, the woman looks devastating in jewel tones.
Juliet grips my arm like she owns me, a dangerous glint in her eye. A huge, sparkling ring on that finger. She’s trouble wrapped in silk.
“Can you pose for me?” She holds up her phone, angling it just so to snap a photo. She frowns. “Oh my god. Come on. Pretend I’m the love of your life.”
I try not to choke. Easing my arm around Juliet, I try not to look like I want to strangle her.
The camera flashes a few times, with Juliet adjusting to make each photo something new.
Her hand comes to rest on my chest, her engagement ring glinting in the lights.
She leans her head back a little and I instinctively cup her lower back to keep her standing upright.
Our bodies press together in a way that alarms me. I want nothing more than to take Juliet’s shoulders, give her a shake, and put distance between us. What is the saying? Good fences make good neighbors?
I would prefer it if the little vixen moved to the damn moon.
She heaves a sigh. “I’m giving this everything I’ve got, Huxley. Do something better with your face.”
I roll my eyes and then give her phone the same expression I give the camera at a sponsored photoshoot. No matter what I’m selling, I want to give the viewer a sense of debonair mystery. Juliet snaps more pictures, moving a little each time, and then looks at her phone.
“Oh my god.” She shows me the last one. I look stiff and uncomfortable, my eyes narrowed, my head tilted as if I am trying to figure out where a foul smell is coming from. She giggles. “As expected, you’re terrible at faking this.”
“I think that speaks volumes about what kind of person I am.”
She giggles again, the sound impish. “You keep telling yourself that, Hux.”
I like the sound of my name on her lips. Ryan warned me earlier, “You don’t have to like a plan, you only have to survive it.” He was talking about something else, but I would do well to remember it and bite my damn tongue.
Juliet flutters her long, thick lashes. “Are you ready for this, honey?”
“Not even remotely, darling,” I fire back.
She grins and tightens her grip on my arm. “Perfect.”
She drags me forward. I exhale like I’m a warrior seeking the precise focus he needs to head into battle. My pulse’s already climbing, and we haven’t even crossed the threshold.
She always paints her lips the same deep red. Too precise, too deliberate. I’ve always hated that lipstick. It screams, look at me in a way that sets my teeth on edge.
I’m looking. Every man is looking.
My jaw ticks. I tell myself it’s not jealousy, just annoyance. She’s playing a part. That’s all this is.
But when she bends toward the camera later, touching my arm and smiling with that perfect mouth, all I can think about is how that lipstick’s going to end up on someone else’s collar if she keeps tempting the wrong people. The thought makes me want to break something.
I recover by needling her. “Didn’t know you owned anything that wasn’t stitched up to your throat.”
She pivots, giving me a glare sharp enough to leave a scar. “Didn’t know you owned anything that wasn’t covered in sweat stains.”
I feel the familiar rush. Annoyance, attraction, pure adrenaline. Provoking her and hearing her whip-smart retaliations is addictive in ways I probably shouldn’t examine too closely.
She walks into a room and owns it. I walk in, and people brace for impact.
That’s why I need to stay away. When someone like her lets someone like me in, all I do is wreck the place.
I enjoy making her angry, though. She’s like a little five-foot firecracker, all contained energy and sharp edges. During one pose, I bend her backward slightly, liking how stiff her body gets. She’s fighting me tooth and nail, and I like the challenge.
I have to lean down every time I talk to her. Makes me feel like I’m handling a toy dynamite stick. She’s tiny, dangerous, and always one wrong move from exploding.
Then I catch myself. This isn’t a challenge. I don’t need to win anything here. And I definitely shouldn’t get any closer to Juliet than I already am.
Inside the ballroom, we circulate. Black and gold drape the entire room.
Round tables draped in white linens and centerpieces that probably cost more than most people make in a month.
It’s an event where everyone’s here to see and be seen, where the actual charity work is secondary to the networking.
Decker, Moose, and Shane spot us first and approach with open shock written all over their faces.
Moose nudges Juliet with his elbow. “How much are you paying him to behave tonight?”
“Not nearly enough,” she shoots back without missing a beat. It gets a laugh from all of them.
Earlier today, Ryan had tried to run a new drill with the defensive line and ended up barking at Shane, who couldn’t keep his spacing right. I had to grit my teeth not to intervene. It wasn’t my job to coach the rookies. Still, watching the kid fumble beside Jett made me itch all over.
“I always knew Juliet and I would get together eventually,” I say, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her closer. “She’s always been the most beautiful girl in every room. She kicks everybody’s ass intellectually too.”
It’s not untrue, but Juliet turns hot pink at the compliment. I decide to rub it in. “Isn’t that right, baby?”
When I nuzzle her neck, her eyes go wide and the alarm I see registered there is nothing short of hilarious.
She elbows me in the ribs, hard enough to make her point.
“Hunter’s always been such a romantic,” she murmurs sweetly. “Just last week he compared my eyes to... what was it, my love? Fresh-pulled espresso. Practically poetry from his lips.”
God, I don’t mind a feisty Juliet. The guys are eating this up.
Shane and Decker stick around for proper introductions. I watch Juliet work her magic. She grins at them, lighting up the entire space, and jokes with them easily. They’re completely charmed within minutes.
Where is that ease with me? Why am I the special case who only gets her sharp edges and careful distance?
I know the answer, unfortunately. We have history. And it’s not flattering to me. I might have told a reporter once that she was stuck up and asked why anyone would even like her. The back of my neck heats just thinking about it. Definitely not my finest moment.
My brother Silas appears like a ghost, raises one eyebrow at our performance, and says nothing. Thorne, captain of the team, watches us like we’re a live experiment he’s conducting.
Grayson deadpans, “Did I miss a press release?”
Juliet probably remembers Silas from our college days, but she hasn’t met Thorne or Grayson. Silas asks how she’s been, and she frowns.
“Uhh, fine?” She looks to me for help in navigating whatever weird dynamic this is.
I just shrug and make proper introductions. “Juliet, meet Thorne and Grayson. Center and left wing. Guys, this is my fiancée.”
The word feels strange in my mouth. Foreign. Like trying to speak a language I don’t actually know. Silas has a coughing fit because he’s so surprised. I shoot him a glare.
Juliet mentions she loves being at galas, then immediately starts picking apart this one. “Though this one isn’t really up to my standards.” She scans the room with a critical eye.
“What’s wrong with it?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She barely pauses before launching into it, all brisk and focused like she’s presenting to a boardroom.
‘The branding’s off,’ she says, pointing behind us.
‘The sponsor logos don’t match between the welcome banner and the press wall.
One company’s massive on the entrance signage, like front and center, then practically invisible once you get to the red carpet.
That’s not a minor mistake. It’s a visibility issue.
It makes the event look worse than slapdash. ’
I blink at her. I was expecting a yes or no. Maybe a meh. Not a TED Talk.
She doesn’t notice my surprise, as she’s still in go-mode. “It’s like if Nike paid to sponsor the Super Bowl and you forgot to put the swoosh on half the jerseys. Someone’s gonna get pissed, and they’ll take it out on whoever was in charge of optics.”
Then she sweeps her hand at all the guests, starting with the dress code confusion.
“The invitation said black tie, but half the people here are in cocktail dresses. And look at this décor. String lights and rustic table settings? It screams garden party, not luxury gala. The tonal dissonance cheapens everything.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t have noticed any of it, but now that she’s pointed it out, I can’t unsee the problems.
“And don’t get me started on the silent auction. Shoved over there with no signage, terrible lighting, and handwritten bid sheets instead of tablets. They’ll be lucky to raise half their projected total if nobody can even find where to bid.”
I find myself impressed, though I’d never tell her that. I don’t have the eye for detail that she does. Everything looks fine to me, but she sees all the ways it could be better. That’s worth something, sure.
“It’s okay to compliment me,” she says with a quick smile. “Just once. I won’t tell anyone.”
I scowl. Of course, she has to have the last word.
“Ah, shit.” Her phone buzzes, and she checks it with a frown. “An interview with your mom just went live on ESPN4.”