Chapter 30 #2
“Bianca!” I swing my head around to see my best friend, former roommate, and soon to be awarded the trophy for best save of the year, Kat.
In my gratefulness for her interruption, I half stand, ready to give her a big hug, but she waves her hand for me to sit. Instead, she pulls out the fourth chair at the table and sits.
“Do you mind if I join you? I hate eating alone.”
“Not at all,” Cherry says.
“Kat, I’m so glad to see you.” I quickly introduce her to Delaney and Cherry. “Kat’s my best friend from home, and she also happens to be an up-and-coming singer-songwriter.”
The two hockey wives are delighted to turn the conversation to Kat and her music career, as I’d hoped, and they pepper her with questions.
“True confession,” Kat says, “the reason I’m here is to be seen.” She rolls her eyes. “A friend of mine told me her publicist says this is the best place in the area to be because they often take photos of guests of note and post them on IG and elsewhere.”
“Brilliant. Let’s ask the server to take a photo of all of us,” Delaney says. “You can post it yourself and talk about lunching with the Whaler’s WAGs.”
I jump from my chair. “How about if I take the picture? I didn’t come prepared for a photo op.” I pull out my camera without waiting for a response because, as predicted, Cherry complains that I look better than fine.
But Kat knows me, and I give her a pleading look. So she saves me again.
“Great idea, Bianca. You’re so good at photographing me. You know just the right angles.”
As the ladies assemble for their photo, looking gorgeous and glamorous, and I take a few pics, we unfortunately gather the attention of the other patrons. Even after I take my seat, I notice several people with their phones out taking pictures.
Kat leans in and whispers, “I doubt they even know who they’re taking pictures of.” She pats my hand.
Cherry says, “Don’t look now, Bianca, but I think you’ve gotten noticed.”
Delaney chirps in, “Of course she has. She’s the most notorious of all of us—no disrespect, Kat.”
“None taken. I wish I had her talent for promotional savvy.”
“You should hire Bianca as your agent,” Cherry says.
“Yes,” Delaney looks between us. “Why don’t you? It seems you’re a perfect match. Bianca is a fantastic agent according to Link, and you’re an up-and-coming singer with everything going for you—you definitely have the looks and poise it takes.”
“Thank you,” my best friend says, turning to me. “I’ve been thinking the same thing and floated the idea.”
“You’re all forgetting one important thing,” I finally put a stop to the snowballing idea. “I don’t have a speck of knowledge about the music industry and most importantly, I have no insider contacts.”
Delaney waves a hand in dismissal. “You’re smart enough to learn the business in no time, and you don’t need personal contacts with your growing reputation and Kat’s obvious talent and credentials.
” She turns to Kat. “You really should build on your momentum. It’s exactly what your friend here has done with Brody’s career. ”
Kat nods, grinning with enthusiasm.
“Are you forgetting that I already have a full-time job?”
“So quit,” Cherry says, literally putting the cherry on top of this unexpected conversation and sending my heart racing so fast I think I start looking around for the nearest defibrillator.
“What do you say, Bianca? Will you consider it? Seriously?”
“We can talk about it later. Maybe work something out.”
Brody will be pleased that I’ve taken over his rarely used den and made use of it for my at-home office.
Or he would have a day ago. Now I’m not so sure, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s time for me to get back to my roots and return to being Brooks, the ace agent, not honey pants, the pretend wife of a hockey hunk.
An errant thought pops up asking me why I can’t be both.
My firm answer is that I’ve tried that and it’s far too complicated with emotions I don’t seem able to control.
Which leads me back to the inevitable trajectory of my career: the demise of my marriage and along with it, the end of my time with Jett and all those lucrative professional athlete contracts.
I’ve decided that even if Jett wants to keep me on and have me work with other athletes, I don’t think I could stand running into Brody and being forced to see him in public while he pursues his career and renews his rep as a man-whore.
I think it just might kill me if I saw him at a charity event and he was with a supermodel.
It’s happened before, and it’s bound to happen again if I continue representing other athletes, potentially even someone on his team.
It’s possible he wouldn’t want to see me either—not that I’d be with someone else—maybe because I’d remind him of his vulnerability. Because that’s clearly something he needs to avoid, that he’s protective of at all costs. Even at the cost of a loving relationship.
I’m deep into creating a list of music industry movers, shakers, and influencers when I hear the condo’s front door open.
“Brooks, you here? We got some packages.” There’s a pause and the sound of some packaging tearing open. “Shit. It’s a wedding gift.”
My stomach turns to a lead ball and plummets while my chest tightens against the displeasure in Brody’s voice.
I rise, straighten my new skirt, one of those I purchased with his credit card, and realize I’ll need to leave it behind.
I nearly stumble, but I go forward and find him at the kitchen island with several boxes strewn on top, one opened.
“No problem. I’ll take care of it and see that they get returned after we—after the divorce.”
He frowns. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll have someone do it.”
“You mean like your agent?”
He laughs and reaches for me, and as much as I want to feel the comfort of his arms around me, even non-romantically, I feel too fragile, as if one touch will put me into an emotional spin which may include tears.
No way can I allow that. So I back away and skirt around the table to look at the boxes.
“We’ll figure it out later. In the meantime, I’ll send thank you cards.”
“Okay.” He pushes a hand through his hair, which I know means he’s unhappy.
“But won’t that send mixed signals if you’re just going to return them?
How about if we keep them, split them up—or better yet, you can have everything.
” He tries a half-hearted grin. “As part of our fake divorce settlement.”
I try a half-hearted smile in return, but I don’t take his suggestion seriously and heave a sigh.
“Heck, I don’t know what the right thing to do is.
” I can admit this much. “It’s so complicated, this whole mess.
” I glance up at him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t find another way to resolve the wedding ring problem, Brody. I truly am.”
“What are you talking about?” He moves toward me, backing me against the island, putting his arms around me and forces me to rest my head against his chest. His heart is beating as fast as mine, only stronger.
He must be stronger because this gesture of affection is killing me, knowing it’s going to disappear forever soon.
He whispers into my hair. “You know your idea was brilliant and that you’ve made me—all of us—a shitload of money in sponsorship contracts and promotional gigs.
” He takes a deep breath like he’s taking in my scent, and I feel my knees weaken.
“I’m so lucky that my biggest problem is jealous teammates. ”
I push back from him and look up into his eyes. “There’s a problem with your teammates?”
His smile is genuine and his eyes crease at the corners, but I don’t miss the shadow of sadness.
“Nah, mostly it’s just the same old problem with the same old Windy.
Ax is handling him for me, running interference.
By the way, after our road trip and the fashion show, he wants to come over for pizza, and I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. No problem. It’ll be fun. No rule saying we can’t have a little fun, right? Maybe we can even tell Ax what’s going on since he technically knows this is all a sham.”
Brody’s eyes go dark. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that, Brooks. We need to work out the timing.”
“How about after the fashion show?” I don’t know what makes me say it, but the sense of urgency to get away from him is stronger than my desire to stay and let myself fall. Guess that means I don’t want to commit Cupid suicide and fall on the arrow that will break my heart.
It’s a smart choice, I insist as my gut churns and I try to tamp down the urge to hurl my lunch.
“The fashion show is Saturday. You think it’s wise to blow this up so soon?”
“It won’t be an explosion. We’ll spin it as the natural conclusion to a Vegas wedding.” My heart pummels my chest wall like it’s angry with me.
“Something smells good.” He looks in the direction of the stove.
“Instead of calling for take-out, I made dinner. I hope you’re okay with that. It’s not because I’m trying to be domestic; it’s more to keep me distracted. Although it does feel domestic, like I’m still playing house or something, but I’m not—”
“It’s okay, Brooks.”
“Since you’ll be leaving for your road trip first thing in the morning, I thought we should talk about the details anyway.
I was thinking, maybe we can use Nora as our reason for a breakup?
We can stage a scene or something at the fashion show.
It makes sense. Our last blow-up confrontation is all over social media, so people will buy it. Would that be a problem for you?”
His face is a mask, a cold one, and he’s silent so long I’m afraid I’ve lost everything—even his respect—and I may need to move out tomorrow.
“You want me to pretend to be interested in Nora?” His words are rough and pained.
“No, no. I’m sorry—I would never. I meant that she could be encouraged to throw herself at you again and I could act like the jealous wife again, and you could rightly insist that there’s nothing going on, and I could be the overreacting bitch housewife—”
His mouth quirks up in one corner. “You had me until the bitch part, not to mention the housewife act. No one would believe that part.”
“I’ll give it my best shot, and you can award me the statue later.”
He smiles then, and it’s almost like his real smile except without the enthusiasm or energy or real carefree charm that it used to have, and I’m responsible for that.
“I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t much like this mess either.”
“No. I’m sure you don’t. But it’s better than the alternative of having someone call us out as a couple of fakes.”
“That’s for sure.” I’m relieved he didn’t say the horrible alternative was ending up married to me forever. Not that that was ever a possibility.
I should be relieved for the break in the tension.
But, heck, I’ll miss him far more than I should.
I’ll miss his presence, his smile, that dimple, his energy, the sight of his hunky body, and that connection we have—which is all terrible for me, like poison.
Why can’t I get it through my head that our relationship is like poison?
Because it’s not my head that’s the problem, that’s why.
“So it’s a plan then.”
He says nothing and goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of beer. “You want one?”
I shake my head. He takes a long pull as if he needs fortification before returning to sit at the island. Making a space among the forgotten wedding gifts, he puts his bottle down.
“You said there was dinner.”
“It’s no big deal. I was going with the team’s family night tradition that the girls told me about. I had lunch today with Delaney and Cherry. Kat showed up and we—“
He puts a finger against my mouth to quiet me, and I know he’s not interested in doing any more pretending, not even pretending that everything is fine between us, that we’re okay with our pretend divorce and the end of whatever we have.
But neither of us is okay with staying together and risking the heartbreak of Cupid’s arrow. For my part, I’m afraid continuing would shatter me into pieces in the end because I’ve never felt this way about a man before.
Still, as I gather my things to sleep in the study, I’m uneasy about this road trip. He won’t be back until the morning of the fashion show, so I won’t see him again until the show itself.
There’s so much at stake. My family and his will be there. Nora Shade will be there.
And the press will be there in full force along with an army of social media influencers.
Exactly the audience we’ll need for our fake fight.
What’s one more charade?
I shouldn’t be so nervous.