Chapter 3
Sloane
"Ha!” The sudden outburst caught me by surprise, but the borderline hysterical laughter that followed didn’t.
Me? Rhys’s PR girlfriend? Yeah, okay. Funny.
Cami pinned me with a look that clearly said: “This isn’t a joke.”
“Camille,” I reasoned, shaking my head. “No. It’s not—No.”
She sat back in her chair, the flowy purple sleeves on her blouse bouncing as she shrugged. Her hands folded on her lap. “You did say it was a good idea. Someone local, a name the higher-ups would know...”
Her sentence trailed off, as if it were the most obvious solution to the problem. Of course, it would be if she had someone else in mind. Someone... realistic.
I could feel my cheeks redden when I spared a glance in Rhys’s direction and saw the astonished look on his face.
Great. He’s fucking mortified by even the idea of being seen with me as anything other than a friend.
My fingers moved on their own, reaching up to toy with the metal of my hoop earring, and I hated it.
The need to be moving or doing something with my hands only came over me when I was nervous or feeling vulnerable, and neither of those emotions should be felt when I was supposed to be on my A-game.
The two of us sat in stunned silence, amusement written all over Cami’s beautiful face.
I shook my head, a firm rejection that she was clearly not accepting. “Moving on. Who else?”
For making such a bold suggestion, she was entirely too nonchalant about this.
One time... One fucking time in college, I made a comment about wishing Rhys looked at me in a different light, and this stubborn bitch wouldn’t let it go.
The look on her face proved it was just some elaborate plan to force the two of us together, and I knew she wasn’t planning on giving up easily.
“I think this is a fantastic idea.” She shrugged again. “You need an excuse to get Stu off your back and—”
“Camille Lynette Hart!”
Dammit. Dammit.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
That certainly caught Rhys’s attention. He sat up straight in his chair, his usually sparkling green eyes darkened as his jaw clenched in anger.
“What’s going on with Stu?” he bit out, his eyes flickering between Cami and me.
Shit.
He wasn’t supposed to find out about this, especially not from Cami.
I trusted the apologetic look on her face, knowing she probably hadn’t intentionally let it slip. But the floodgates had been opened, and there was no way Rhys was going to be satisfied without some kind of explanation.
But on the other hand... Fuck him.
I’d been calling and texting the man nonstop for months. He was clearly avoiding me, I just didn’t know why.
Frustrations aside, I composed myself, straightening my spine and squaring my shoulders, reminding myself to get it together.
I was at work. This was my job. It was not the place to discuss how my Chief of Police ex-boyfriend had been showing up at my apartment complex every night or how he basically stalked me for a living.
It was not the time to feel weak or flustered.
I was here to figure out the best course of action for Rhys. He needed to earn back everyone’s trust, and dating—fake dating—me wouldn’t do that.
Clearing my throat, I mirrored Cami’s posture and rested my hands on my lap. “My answer is no. Nothing is going on with Stu that I can’t handle on my own. End of discussion.”
I leaned over to snag a pen and my trusty notepad from my purse, clicking the tip of the pen. “Okay, so I do have a couple of--”
“What the fuck is going on with Stu?” I peeked over at Rhys again, his normally calm, happy-go-lucky demeanor long gone.
An angry flush was creeping up his neck, his carotid thrumming a fast, erratic rhythm in his neck.
He clenched his hands, a few of his knuckles cracking as he formed fists on his lap.
My leg bounced nervously as my eyes jumped back and forth between a very sheepish Cami and a very pissed off Rhys.
“Sloane, I swear to god—”
I let out an exasperated breath. “Honestly, Rhys. Mind your own business. You haven’t been around in months.
Months. And I’m coming to your rescue. Bailing you out of jail.
You want to know what’s going on in my life?
You have to earn that right,” I snapped, turning to face Cami instead of my childhood best friend.
My eyes blurred as I fought the tears of frustration, my chest heaving as I tried to keep myself composed. Coming face to face with Stu, bailing Rhys out of jail, and getting absolutely no sleep was almost too much to handle.
On top of all that, Cami was basically taunting me with a crush I had on Rhys in fucking college, and he was beside himself thinking about actually having to be seen as more than a friend to me in the public eye.
Correction. It was too much.
I grabbed a tissue from Cami’s desk, blotting the corners of my eyes to preserve the makeup I’d thrown on this morning, knowing I wouldn’t have time to run home before court.
Cami looked over at me, the slight playful edge to her features turned apologetic as I fidgeted in my seat.
I’d worked so damn hard to prove myself in this world.
Crying with a client at work was so frustrating and embarrassing.
Women weren’t allowed to have emotions in a male-dominated field.
Cry, and you were too emotional. Get angry?
Too emotional. Too happy? Too emotional.
I’d fine-tuned every reaction, every facial expression over the years to meet the happiest of mediums, and it felt as if it was slipping through the cracks.
Rhys cursed under his breath, turning to face me. But I couldn’t meet his eyes. “Pipsqueak, come on. I’ve just—I've been—”
I scoffed. I knew this excuse. I’d heard it a hundred times. “Busy, I know.” I didn’t even attempt to hide the hurt that laced my voice.
I’d been hiding it for entirely too long, masking the anger and the frustration to spare him. Maybe if he saw firsthand how hurt I was by his “busyness” he would quit pulling away.
Maybe.
“Our relationship is neither here nor there. Camille, who else do you have on your radar?” I readied my pen, waiting for her to list off some names. I could jot them down, do some research later, and soon, we’d find the perfect match.
Someone who definitely was not me.
Cami sighed, rocking back in her chair. “I mean—”
“I won’t do it if it’s not you.”
My head snapped toward Rhys, the pen in my hand almost slipping out of my grasp and clattering to the floor.
Excuse me?!
Rhys stared at me, and I stared right back, almost like we were both surprised those words came spilling out of his mouth.
I won’t do it if it’s not you.
The words played on repeat in my head, and I despised every second of it.
I swallowed, suddenly desperate for a glass of water. “What? I—What do you mean?” I asked, my voice scratchy from the desert forming in my throat.
He shrugged. The fucker shrugged. “It’s simple. Cami thinks this is the best idea. You fit the criteria. I trust you. You trust me. Or at least I hope you do. I know that whatever is happening with Stu must be pretty bad because you won’t tell me. So, that’s a factor, too.”
I let out a sharp puff of air, taking a second to collect my thoughts. “This is just—It's a little out of left field, don’t you think? Everyone knows—and has known for years—that we’re just friends.”
“It makes sense to me, babe,” Cami answered, her attention shifting to her computer momentarily. She took a deep breath. “And Jeff and Katie approve.”
Fuck me.
I closed my eyes, sinking back into my chair. Jeff Lauper. The General Manager of the Bandits. Katie Murphy. The Senior Vice President and Chief Strategy Officer for the Bandits. So essentially, Rhys’s boss and Cami’s boss.
“What happened to the higher-ups needing to be convinced? Doesn’t it defeat the purpose if the two of them know?” I asked, my eyes still squeezed shut.
Rhys shifted in his chair next to me, probably not enjoying the fact that his little stunt was basically forcing both of us into something we didn’t want to do.
I peeled my eyes open and stared blankly at the wall behind Cami’s desk.
“Katie oversees PR. Jeff oversees Rhys. I needed an idea of what they were looking for.” Cami answered, scratching her eyebrow with her thumb. “They both agree. It’s gotta be you, Sloane.”
I shook my head quickly, indecision clouding my thoughts.
Air. I need some fucking air.
Shoving out of my chair, I left my belongings behind and pushed her office door open.
This was ridiculous. I couldn’t be Rhys’s fake girlfriend. I couldn’t date him.
Being in this industry for the past six years has taught me a lot about PR dating, and every single time, it ends one of two ways.
They fall in love. For real.
Or one of them catches feelings, and the other doesn’t, leaving the former feeling burned and humiliated.
We’d been friends for our entire lives. Literally. There were pictures of my mom’s bump pressed against Lisa’s while they both labored in hospital gowns.
How in the hell could this end well?
We couldn’t fall in love. If the feelings were there, they would’ve presented themselves years ago.
They have had twenty-nine years to make an appearance.
But in the same sense, what would holding his hand for some paparazzi change?
Keeping my head down, I ignored the curious side-eyes thrown my way from people still making their way to their offices.
I opted against the elevator, hurrying down the steps at a speed that was entirely too dangerous for the five-inch heels on my feet, but the air in Cam’s office was suffocating.
Last night and everything I’d endured since had been suffocating.
If I just had a second to myself, a second to catch my breath and slow my racing thoughts, I could think about this rationally. I just needed fresh air and a moment to clear my head.
Rhys seemed so nonchalant about agreeing to this relationship. How? How was he not freaking out like this?
It was a big fucking deal.