Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
OLLIE
To: Ollie Owens
From: Alan Roberts
Subject: Internship
Miss Owens,
I’m writing to advise that I’ve chosen to extend your internship through the end of the college year. I assume you’ll be able to handle the workload. I’ve already been in touch with your adviser. I suggest you accept.
Roberts
I stare blankly at my computer, confused, elated, worried . . .
It’s rare for an internship to get extended. I know it happens, but only to a few choice candidates. And when they’re extended, you’ll most likely be offered a job at the end of the year.
A job straight out of college would be everything I ever wanted.
It’s what I’ve been working toward. To prove to everyone, especially my dad, that I don’t need their help and can make it on my own.
Yeah, I might not have been entirely truthful with Silas last night.
I don’t want to go back home because I don’t want to hear it from my dad, who has told me time and again that a job in journalism will get me nowhere.
That I was wasting his money and my time by going to school up here.
He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to follow in his footsteps and take over the family business when I graduated from high school.
The family business is a small print shop in Oregon where he prints menus, brochures, and any other miscellaneous things he can get his hands on.
The business was passed down from his dad, and he was hoping to do the same, but I have zero interest in it.
Last Christmas, we got into a huge fight about it.
He told me I was wasting his money by going to school for something that would never pay the bills.
I told him his business was a dying trade, and then we parted ways.
So this is a huge opportunity . . .
“I see you got my email,” Roberts says behind me, startling me right out of my thoughts.
“Oh Jesus,” I mutter and catch my breath. “I didn’t see you there.”
“You are one of two who got the email. Don’t take it for granted.”
One of two . . . I can only imagine who the other person is. *Mentally grinds teeth together* Seems like I’ll be spending more time with Candace since there’s no way she didn’t get it.
“I won’t,” I say. “I’m very grateful. Thank you.”
He nods. “We have a fundraiser tonight at the Walton. I suggest you bring your boyfriend to it. I’ll be expecting him.”
“Oh, uh . . . sure.” I swallow hard.
“Connect with Candace, and she’ll give you the details.”
Great.
“Wonderful. Thanks.” I wave awkwardly, and he turns on his heel and walks away as I slump into my chair.
A fundraiser? Roberts attends many events during the year, and I’ve never been invited to one. But now that Silas is in the picture, I’m invited. I don’t like how this feels, not even a little.
Yet . . . I’ll also do anything to move forward in my career, so it looks like I need to get in touch with my fake, doting boyfriend.
Phone in hand, I head down the hall toward Candace’s cubicle, where she’s typing away on her computer. Tacking on a smile, I knock on the side of her cubicle and brace myself.
When she turns, she says, “Oh, Ollie, didn’t expect to see you.”
“Roberts came by my desk. Told me he wanted me at the fundraiser tonight and said to get the info from you.”
“Ah, I see,” she says as she turns back toward her desk and grabs a Post-it Note. She scribbles something on the paper and hands it over to me. “Here you go. It’s black tie. Do you have something to wear?”
No.
“Of course,” I say as I glance down at the information. “Uh, do I have to come with an invite or anything?”
She shakes her head. “Just say you’re with Roberts, and you’ll be let in.”
“Are you sure?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, would I tell you the wrong information?”
Yes, yes, you would.
“I suppose not.”
“Will you be bringing your boyfriend?”
“Roberts requested me to, so yes,” I say, hoping Silas isn’t doing anything tonight. They’re still in preseason training—that’s what he told me last night—so unless he has another engagement, he should be free.
“Great,” Candace says with a smile. “Then I’ll see you two there.”
“Yup, see you there,” I say. “Thanks for this,” I add because she seems to be acting nice, so I’ll return the favor.
Moving away from her desk, I bypass the kitchen and head into one of the private conference rooms. I lock the door, then pull out my phone and click on Silas’s name. I have no idea what he’s doing, but at least I can leave a message.
The phone rings a few times, and then he picks up.
“Hey,” he says quietly. “Everything okay?”
“Umm, sort of,” I reply. “Are you busy?”
“I have a second.”
“Okay, well, long story short, my boss invited me to a fundraiser tonight and kind of made it a requirement that I attend . . . with you. And I’m sure you’re busy or whatever, but—”
“I’ll be there. When and where?”
“Seriously?” I ask, my breath escaping me all at once.
“Yes, we agreed to help each other out, so I’ll be there. I can’t promise I’ll be as flexible when the season starts, but I can do this.”
“Wow, okay. Thank you. This means a lot to me.”
“Of course,” he says softly. And for the rough and tough exterior he exudes, he really is a softy at heart.
“I’ll text you the details. It’s black tie, though. Is that going to be a problem?”
“You fail to realize the number of events I’ve gone to just like this. I have everything I need.”
“Okay, awesome.”
“Want me to pick you up?”
“Hmm, we should probably show up together, huh?”
“Might look best.”
“Okay, sure. That would be great.”
“Just send me the details. Gotta go.”
“Okay, thank you, Silas.”
“Any time,” he says before hanging up.
Instead of returning to my cubicle, I sit in the silence of the conference room for a moment, gathering myself.
In the matter of a week, my life has drastically changed.
Before all of this, I was gearing up to finish up my final assignment, happy I was able to intern with Alan Roberts.
Now I feel like I’m living in this tangled web that’s becoming increasingly complicated with no escape.
The only lifeline I have is the man who I felt helped me get tangled in the first place.
No, let’s be honest. I brought this on myself.
I was the one who wanted to show up Yonny.
I’m the one who kissed Silas.
I’m the one who agreed to Silas’s fake relationship terms.
If anyone is to blame, it’s 100 percent me.
If only I didn’t need to keep Silas on the hook to impress Alan Roberts.
And I just wish I didn’t care so much about proving my father wrong. If I didn’t care, then keeping my hockey-legend fake boyfriend wouldn’t be a necessity.
With a heavy sigh, I head straight to Ross’s desk from the conference room. If anyone can get me black tie ready, it’s him.
* * *
Ollie: I’m going to have a nip slip. I know it.
Ross: You’re not.
Ollie: How do you know that? This dress wasn’t made for a girl like me. My boobs are big. This was made for someone with a flat chest.
Ross: You’ll be fine.
Ollie: But what if I go to shake someone’s hand, and then out of nowhere, my boob decides to have a mind of its own, slip out of my dress, and then wink at the person in front of me?
Ross: Boobs can’t wink.
Ollie: You don’t know that. You are not the one with the boobs. You prefer a penis.
Ross: I’ve been around enough models, even busty models, and I know for a fact the double-sided tape we used will hold up.
Ollie: This dress isn’t classy. Candace said black tie, and this is more like . . . hooker behind the dumpster in the back alleyway where watches are traded for dime bags.
Ross: Are you really questioning my taste in fashion?
Ollie: I’m questioning my life decisions.
Ross: I think you’re just nervous.
Ollie: Of course I’m nervous! I’ve never been to a fundraiser before or any sort of black tie anything. Nor do I take dates to functions this fancy. And the only reason Roberts invited me was because he found out I’m (fake) dating Silas. How am I supposed to handle this?
Ross: With a shred of dignity. Pull yourself together.
You’re wearing a beautiful plum dress that will grab the attention of every person in the room but also doesn’t pull too much attention.
You’ve worked hard on your networking this summer, and you have a very popular man at your side. You’ll be fine.
Ollie: What if I say something stupid?
Ross: Sneeze.
Ollie: What?
Ross: Pretend to sneeze and blame it on that.
Ollie: That has got to be the worst advice I’ve ever read.
Ross: Be happy I found you a dress on such short notice. Now stop bothering me. I’m trying to watch The Crown.
I’m about to text him back when another text comes through.
Silas: Out front.
I told him not to bother coming up to get me.
Since this isn’t a real date, I don’t need the fanfare of him knocking on my door and all that crap.
Plus, from what I could tell from the last time he came here, he didn’t want to be recognized.
No need to put the pressure on him when he’s doing me a favor.
After texting him back so he knows I’m on my way, I grab my clutch and glance at myself one more time in the mirror.
The plum dress Ross chose for me has a strapless, structured top that splits at the cleavage.
It has boning sewn into it, so it holds to my torso nicely, but the split of the dress to offer cleavage makes me nervous.
It’s why I used the tape, just in case. When the dress hits my hips, it flows in a gauzy-like material and appears to almost be Grecian.
It’s beautiful, but not something I’ve ever worn before.
Knowing I can’t go back now, I leave my dorm and take the elevator down to the first floor.
I pass a few people who eye me in my dress, but I move past them and right out the front door where a black Tesla Model X waits for me.
I peek into the window and spot Silas, so I wave awkwardly, and when I go to open the door, it pops open for me.
“Oh . . .” I chuckle. “Uh, hi.”