Chapter 4
Chapter 4
It’s Monday morning, and I’m back in the conference room at the Hawks offices with Ed and a smug-looking Nick Zachary. Although what he’s got to feel smug about is beyond me. Despite my new career aspirations, I’m quite certain he wants to fake date me as much as I do him.
We’re sitting at the large, glossy wood table, watching a girl from PR present a strategy for Nick’s and my fake relationship. But by the way she’s flirting with Nick and throwing daggers at me, I’m quite certain she would swap places with me in a heartbeat.
“So, Miranda, what have you come up with for these guys?” Ed asks the tall, slim, blonde girl from the PR department who has never deigned to speak to me, let alone put together a plan for my fake relationship with a rugby hero.
“Well, Ed, my feeling is that we want to take this slowly but carefully. We want the whole thing to be perfectly choreographed so that it’s not only convincing but aspirational too.”
I blink at her. “You want our fake relationship to be aspirational?”
“Well, yes,” she replies as though I’m an imbecile, asking a question as obvious as “Do we have noses for smelling stuff?” or “Do people wear shoes on their feet or their elbows?”
I glance at smug Nick. He’s still leaning back in his chair, an ankle crossed over one of his knees, looking completely unbothered by any of this.
He slides his eyes to mine, and he catches me looking.
I look away immediately.
“We can be aspirational. Right, Erin?” he says.
I turn to him and raise my eyebrows. “Do you know what being an ‘aspirational’ couple means? Because I’m not so sure I do.”
He gives a nonchalant shrug, his lips curved in a hint of a smile, his eyes lit with mischief. “Well, I know what ‘aspirational’ means, so I guess that makes one of us knows what we’re doing.”
My jaw drops open. Is he really mocking me? In front of my boss? “Oh, I know what ‘aspirational’ means, too, thank you very much. I’m just not sure how we’re going be it as a fake couple.”
“For starters, you’re going to look amazing together,” Miranda replies. “Which won’t be hard for you, Nick,” she simpers as she bats her eyelashes at him.
Oh, puh-lease .
Nick smiles back at her. She’s totally his type, and I’m totally not.
“And you, Erin, look exactly the way we want you to look. We want you to be an approachable, relatable, everyday kind of girl. And you’re pulling that off perfectly already.” Miranda smiles condescendingly at me.
“Thank you,” I say through gritted teeth, pretending it’s a compliment when I know it’s so not.
“The aim of this entire plan is to show the world that Nick is not the man he’s portrayed to be in the media. That he can date, well, someone like you ,” Miranda continues.
Could this Glamazon get any more patronizing from up there at the top of her high heels?
“I think what Miranda is trying to say, Erin, is that when people see you two together, they’ll realize that there’s more to Nick than he’s been showing the media lately,” Ed explains, ever the sweet, fatherly type he is.
“Exactly. He may have been dating girls who look like, well, me, if I may, Nick,” Miranda says as she throws him another one of her smiles. He returns it once more, which makes my eyes do a full-circle roll. “With you on his arm, the public will see he’s more than just gorgeous girls and parties. He has a heart.” She places her hand over her own for emphasis, if indeed there is even one in her chest. “He can fall for, well, you .”
I glower at her. It’s safe to say Miranda Allen is off my non-existent Christmas card list now (because, really, this is the twenty-first century, and I think other than Grannie and my great aunt Grace, who make a huge song and dance about how difficult it is to write their mountain of cards each year, no one sends Christmas cards anymore).
Nick clears his throat. He’s barely suppressing a laugh, his eyes dancing again.
I shoot him a withering look and turn back to Miranda. “Shall we move on with the plan?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Yes, let’s do that, Miranda. Excellent idea, Erin.” Ed beams at me encouragingly.
“Of course,” she says. “As you know, we’re due to launch you as a couple next Friday night at the new season Kickoff Party. Before then, we need you two to be seen in a few places. Cafés, walking along the beach, that kind of thing. Low-key, casual. The optics will be fantastic. You could start today.”
Wait, what?
“No time like the present, right, Miranda?” Ed says cheerfully, and I blink at him.
Now? Today? I am so not ready for this.
“I’ll arrange for some of my people to take some candid snaps of you looking happy together, and we’ll get them up on social media,” Miranda says brightly.
“Not the Hawks’ accounts, though,” Ed says.
“Oh, no, of course not,” she says with a shake of her head. “I’ll feed them to some influencers. They’ll get the message out about Nick’s new relationship fast.”
“I can do beaches and cafés,” Nick says as he stretches even further back in his seat and laces his fingers behind his head. “You up for it this afternoon, Erin?”
“No!” I say with a little too much gusto. I bring it down a notch from white hot panic to only mild concern. “It’s just that I’m really, really busy with work right now.”
Ed’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows ping up to meet his non-existent hairline. “You are?”
“I’ve got my monthly report to prepare, which is due in…three weeks,” I say.
Ed smiles at me indulgently. “Erin, I’m quite certain you’re capable of writing your monthly report in less than three weeks. If you have any other commitments, I can find someone else to cover for you. This is important.”
“Well, there’s—” I rack my brain for another excuse, but all I come up with is, “—all that filing I need to get done.”
“Filing?” Nick says with a chortle. “Wow, you really don’t want to go out with me this afternoon, do you?”
“That’s not true,” I reply, although it is. “I’m just a little taken aback it’s all happening so fast, that’s all.”
“No time like the present,” Miranda quips.
My mind whirs as I try to think of another excuse. Sick grandmother? Sudden migraine that’s going to last for several weeks? Invasion by Australia?
I slump in my chair. I got nothing.
“That settles it then. Nick and Erin will be spotted doing everyday types of things today,” Ed announces.
“Like grocery shopping, picking up the dry cleaning, that sort of thing?” Nick asks.
“Maybe a little more glamorous than that,” Miranda replies with a giggle. A giggle , really? “Erin? What do you like to do on weekends?”
“Oh, well, I go to this fantastic karaoke bar with my girl—”
“No freaking way,” Nick interrupts with a shake of his head. “I am not going to some karaoke bar. If I want to hear songs being sung badly, I can get that in the locker room.”
“We don’t sing badly,” I protest, and then I think of Sophie Howler Monkey McCarthy and add, “well, most of us, anyway.”
“It’s clear karaoke is off the agenda then,” Miranda says. “What else do you like to do?”
“Well, one of my BFFs works at a high tea place, and I like to visit her there and eat all the delicious food,” I say, referring to Sophie. She’s worked at Cozy Cottage High Tea for a while now and loves her job, despite her family putting pressure on her to “do something important.” I mean, what can be more important than cake? (Okay, I know a lot of things can be more important than cake, but it’s easily in my top ten. I’m nothing if not a committed cake-aholic.)
Nick scrunches up his face. “What’s high tea?”
I shoot him a patronizing glare. “You don’t know what high tea is?”
“Nope. But I know it doesn’t sound like my kind of thing.”
“How do you know if you’ve got no idea what it is?”
“What is it then?”
“I guess it’s like a fancy snack. You get this tiered cake stand full of bite-sized food, and you sit there and talk and eat,” I explain, and he laughs. “What is funny about that?”
“A cake stand? Dude, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a guy.”
Dude? Seriously? I swallow down a retort.
“Would I have to drink tea? Because I don’t do tea.”
“Coffee, champagne. Whatever,” I reply.
“No champagne,” Miranda says hurriedly. “Coffee is good.”
He puts his hands up in the air. “I guess I can manage some fancy snacks with some coffee.”
I give him a patronizing smile. How big of him.
“Great. That’s settled then,” Ed says. “Nick, I understand you’ve got a new Bennett truck?”
“Sure do,” he replies. “It was parked in my driveway when I got back from training. It’s a sweet ride.”
I press my lips together. If I left my car on a beach to get washed out to sea, I’m positive no one would hand me a brand-new version for free.
“Well, you can take that ‘sweet ride’ of yours and head to Erin’s friend’s high tea place,” Miranda says with a light laugh.
And there she goes again, flirting with him. I think I might be sick.
Nick shoots her his dazzling smile, plucks his phone off the table, and looks back up at me. “What time works for you? You know, once you’ve got that important filing done and that report written that’s not due for three weeks, that is.”
I give him a terse smile. “How’s three?”
He peers at his screen. “Two.”
That’s how he’s going to play this?
“Two thirty. Split the difference.”
His eyes flick back to mine, and I notice the edges of his mouth twitch. “Two thirty it is. I’ll pick you up out front.”
“Actually, let’s take my car.”
“Is it a Bennett?” Miranda asks.
Dammit. “No.”
“Take Nick’s,” she instructs, “and after you’ve been to this high tea place, go stand next to the truck and, I don’t know, look like a happy couple. That’ll be the perfect optic to keep Bennett Motors happy, I’m sure.”
Nick stands, his eyes still on mine. “Do you think you could manage to look happy? Or do you always look like this?”
“I can look happy,” I snap and then realize my face is probably creased with annoyance, so I let out a laugh and throw my head back to show him just how happy I can be.
“What the heck was that?” he asks with a startled chortle.
“Just me being happy,” I reply.
He leans his hands on the back of his chair and says, “Well, try to give me some warning next time, okay? So I can be prepared.”
I arch a sardonic eyebrow at him.
“Right, you two,” Miranda says, interrupting our moment . “That’s today worked out, and we’ll gauge the media attention following the initial outing. This is a layered approach we’re taking here, so we will need you to be seen in a number of different places before next Friday.”
“Wonderful,” I say as I paste on a happy smile. “Isn’t that wonderful, Nick?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Yeah, it is.”
“I’ll leave you to it. Nick? It was a pleasure meeting you,” Miranda says with a girly flutter of her eyelashes. “A real pleasure.”
“You, too. And thanks for, you know, the plan,” he replies.
“Oh, you’re very welcome.” She stands, gazing at him for a moment, before she seems to shake herself out of her goofiness. She glances at me with a terse smile and says, “Make it look authentic, okay?”
“And aspirational,” I add, and I catch Nick out of the corner of my eye biting back a smile.
“Erin, if you’re at all concerned about your workload during this, rest assured it’ll be covered,” Ed says. “You’re doing us a favor as an organization here. We won’t forget it, will we, Miranda?”
“No,” she replies with a brittle smile.
“But what about the monthly report, Ed?” Nick questions with mock concern on his face.
Ed laughs while I simmer. “As I mentioned, we don’t need to worry about Erin’s monthly reports for now. I’m certain Bennett Motors will see that you’re serious about your future, Nick, and about keeping your sponsorship deal.”
“Oh, I am serious,” he replies. “I get it. I need to shape up.”
Ed pats him on the arm. “Good man.” He says good-bye and leaves the room, but Miranda remains hovering at the door.
“Everything all right, Nick?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he replies. “I just wanted to talk to Erin for a while. You know, get to know her a little before we head out into the big bad world today.”
Miranda looks like she might swoon. “A talented rugby player, handsome, and smart. You are the total package, Nick.”
He shrugs but doesn’t refute her statement.
Freaking jocks.
Miranda (finally) leaves and closes the door behind her.
“So. What did you want to talk about?” I say.
“I wanted to check if you really know what ‘aspirational’ means, because I’ve got my concerns.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “No, you didn’t.”
He shrugs. “Okay, you got me. What I did want to ask is why you don’t seem to like me.”
“Who said I don’t like you?”
“You.”
“I did not.”
“Not in words, but in every other way. I’m good at reading people, and you, Erin Andrews, can’t stand to be around me.”
Surprised, I ask, “You know my full name?”
“Yeah. Of course I do. You’re my new girlfriend, remember?”
“How could I forget?”
“So? Cards on the table here. What is it about me that gets your back up?”
“Nothing gets my back up about you. I don’t know why you think I don’t like you.” I add a little laugh to show him how ridiculous he’s being. “I don’t even know you all that well. We’ve met, what, a handful of times now? And all of those were to discuss sponsorship stuff.”
“So, you’re telling me that you act the way you do around me because that’s just who you are?”
He got me, and I know it.
“Yes,” I reply haughtily.
He lets out a puff of air. “Well, this is going to be fun.”
I chew the inside of my lip. “Do you really want to know?”
“Hit me.”
“It’s not you, per se ,” I begin tentatively, aware of the fact that I work for the rugby team he plays for, as of 2:30 this afternoon we’re in a fake relationship, and I need to at least try to keep things professional here. “I guess it’s just that I’m not into jocks. So, it’s not you at all.” Satisfied with my response, I shoot him a smile and open the door to leave.
“Why?” he says behind me.
I turn back to face him. “What do you mean ‘why?’”
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not being difficult,” I protest, although I know I totally am. I let out a sigh and say, “Because they all think they’re God’s gift to us mere mortals, that’s why.”
“All of them?”
I raise my chin. “Yes. All of them.”
“Because you’ve met all jocks.”
“Well, no, of course not. That would be impossible.”
“Erin, you don’t know me. You make all these assumptions based on some idea of what a jock is. And that’s not me.”
“I know you better than you realize,” I say smugly.
“How?”
“I’ve seen the photos. I’ve read the articles.”
His mouth tightens as he studies my face for a beat. “You can’t believe everything you read.”
“Okay. That’s fair enough,” I concede. “Tell me, what makes you different from the average sports pro?”
“I guess you’re gonna find that out at 2:30 this afternoon.” He throws me a smile, walks past me, and heads down the hallway. “Enjoy writing that report,” he says over his shoulder.
“I will, thank you,” is the only reply I can muster as I watch him walk away.