Chapter 14 Avery
Chapter fourteen
Avery
"What the fuck am I looking at?" I seethe, throwing my phone across the desk in Orlando’s office. I watch as it slides and lands on his lap.
I woke up, saw the articles after the rest of the world, and made my way straight to my manager’s office.
I knew he was behind it in some way, and going by the look on his face, my assumption would be correct. He’s in total control of the narrative, and apparently, I’m the fucking talking piece.
Me, and that…girl whose name I refuse to say.
The one I, for some reason, cannot stand, yet cannot stop thinking about after that night.
It’s not because she rejected me. I can handle being told ‘no’ by a woman. If anything, it made me respect her more. She didn’t throw herself at me because of who I am.
But when I saw the pictures planted all over the internet, us, side by side, a smile on both of our faces, with the media talking about a secret romance that we’d kept hidden, my blood began to boil. I leapt out of bed, threw on a hoodie and sweats, and ran out the door.
I scrolled through every article and image I could find whenever I stopped at a red light. Idiotic, I know, but I got in my head about it.
They even have a picture of her and I sharing a ‘secret look’ at my game last week.
And people are buying it.
People are fucking buying it.
"I had a feeling it would come to this the moment you came to her defense.
" He shakes his head, locking my phone and sliding it back across the table in my direction.
I pace around his office. "Which, by the way, Coach White, is fucking pissed about. He wouldn’t stop blowing up my phone for days after, until I finally answered and told him I had it covered. "
We’ve played two games since, and while I’ve had game time, Coach hasn’t looked in my direction.
A necessity on the court, but no longer off it.
"What’s that supposed to mean, ‘Had it covered?’ What did you do?" I cross my arms over my chest, staring into the depths of his soul, but he doesn’t flinch. He isn’t afraid of me at all.
"I did what I had to do." He rises from his seat. Turning his back on me, he looks out the window and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "People think you’re an asshole Ave. But basketball? Everyone knows you’re a weapon on the court. You were the best in the league once upon a time."
Once upon a time.
"But the fans are bored, brother. All they see from you these days is aggression. Fury. Fight. They’re over it. They want to see more from you. And as your best friend, I want to see more from you."
I ignore the last part, because it’ll sting a little too much to know that I’m letting him down in ways I’d never considered.
"They don’t care about anything that isn’t basketball," I remind him, but he shakes his head.
"People want to see you as a family man. Hell, you’ve never had a girlfriend that lasted more than three months.
" He laughs as he turns to face me, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You’ve become a liability, skating on thin ice.
Imagine how the world would react, seeing you with someone like Olive Herring. "
"So you planted the seed? About her and me? You want everyone to believe that I’m seeing some girl who sings sad songs and is half my height?" Not overly accurate, but close enough. I’d guess she’s just over five feet, but compared to my six two, she looks…tiny.
"Exactly. Show that you have a softer side. You would be surprised at how much people actually care."
They don’t, they’re just nosy. They need celebrity gossip to survive their day-to-day.
"So, what? You want me to use her?" I hate how that makes my insides churn.
He shakes his head. "You’ll use each other."
"What’s in it for her?" I ask, purely out of curiosity, not at all because I care. "Has she even agreed to it?"
There’s a knock at the door before he can answer.
Instead, he says, "I guess we’re about to find out."
"What do you mean?" It comes out like a hiss. This is the thanks I get for just wanting to live my life alone.
Going by the smug expression on his face, I don’t think I’ll ever be rewarded that particular luxury ever again.
"Come in," Orlando says, and I hurry to one of the three vacant seats in his office.
I look over my shoulder and freeze. Big, hazel eyes meet mine, wide and unblinking. Suddenly, I’m stone. Like my body forgot it ever belonged to me.
The betrayal I feel toward myself for letting it get this way is embarrassing.
I’ve seen her three times now. At the game, where she sat next to Akira, and I obsessed over the tiny smile she gave me.
After her show, where she was sweaty, overwhelmed with meeting new people, and pissed at me.
Then the YBAGB, where she looked absolutely breathtaking.
That dress, with those heels giving her extra height, and a natural glow about her face.
Today, though, on day four of ever seeing this woman? Her chocolate hair is messy, in a bun on top of her head. Her oversized, gray hooded jumper is a lot cleaner than mine, black leggings hugging her thighs like they’re painted on.
And I cannot look away.
It’s by far the most attractive she’s looked to me, and I can tell she barely even tried. I oddly find myself at peace while looking at how relaxed and comfortable she seems.
Sculpted to total perfection. Those four words drip, drip, drip in my mind, but the closer to me she gets, the more I have to shove them back where they came from.
She isn’t perfect.
Nobody is.
I scrunch up my nose at the reminder I like to give myself, and go to turn away, but her sarcasm rips through me like a freight train, and I realize I’m staring.
"You’ve got a little bit of drool on the corner of your mouth, Jones," Olive says, and even though I know she’s lying, I wipe it with the back of my hand to be sure.
Unsurprisingly, it comes up dry.
"What the hell is she doing here?" I whip around, keeping my ass firmly planted in my seat, even though no part—and every part—of me wants to be in this room with her.
We got along so well at the charity event after the initial awkwardness, but now, knowing what Orlando and Josie are up to? That they set it all up?
It leaves a bitterness in my mouth.
I accepted my rejection already. I don’t need another reminder.
"Cheer up, big guy. I don’t want to be here either." She pats my shoulder, taking the seat next to mine. Josie leaves the third one empty. Instead, she stands beside Orlando on the other side of his desk, watching us intently.
"I can assure you both, neither of us saw this coming until we noticed people taking photos of the two of you at your meet and greet, Olive.
" This time, it’s Josie who speaks. She looks sharp in her black, unwrinkled pantsuit, her blonde hair stuck to her scalp with what I can only assume is an entire bottle of hairspray.
"Josie filled me in this morning. You want us to pretend to date, right?" Olive cocks her head to the side, picking at the skin on her thumb without looking at me.
"No fucking way. I’m not doing that," I say, clenching my fists firmly in my lap. "No offense, but outside of the other night, I don’t know you." Not that I didn't try.
"How is that supposed to be offensive?" She turns to face me, a smile pulling at her lips.
She’s enjoying this. Of course she is. And I should be mad about it, but instead, my eyes are doing that thing again.
Trailing. Lingering.
Hazel eyes, almost too big for her face in a way that somehow works. I’m close enough now to catch the gold in them, and maybe even a hint of green.
Her lips are pink, full, and shaped like they know things I don’t. Freckles are dusted across her nose like she dove face-first into sunlight.
If I weren’t actively avoiding her, I’d memorize every inch of her.
"How is this supposed to help me, Orlando? I thought we were trying to make this a drama-free year?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don’t think dating a singer is going to do anything for my image other than paint me as the type of guy to—"
"Settle down," Orlando says.
"I’m calm." I scoff.
"No. I mean, it’ll make you look like the type of guy who is ready to settle down."
Ah. Precisely what I don’t want.
"And the type of guy that leaves aggression behind, and focuses on the girl."
"Again, no offense, Olive, but she isn’t exactly going to bring drama into your life," Josie says with an apologetic smile toward her client, who rolls her eyes in response.
I’ve had girlfriends in the past, sure. But I’ve dated other athletes, models, and even the occasional actress. Musicians? I’ve never dated-dated one. Hooked up with, yeah. But nothing serious
I don’t care to have songs written about me if things end badly, and going by the type of songs Olive writes, I can only imagine the type of shit she would have to say. Or what the media would assume by trying to find clues in her lyrics.
"No." I shake my head. "Spin the narrative another way."
"There is no other way, Avery. Not really. It’s either this—you coming to your girlfriend’s defense after another man laid hands on her without permission, and she fights another lady for a date with you, or you continue to come across as someone who doesn’t know how to control his temper.
" Orlando straightens in his office chair, ready to go head to head against me like we’ve done countless times.
"After the charity event, people think Olive couldn’t handle seeing someone else try to win a date with her boyfriend.
That she wanted to come clean about your ‘love’. "
"Okay, firstly," Olive chimes in. "I am confident enough within myself to not be jealous over a married woman desperately trying to fuck someone twenty years younger than her. And secondly, gross. Never use the word love when you talk about him and me." She shudders visibly.
"Next, you’re going to tell me we need to get married to keep up appearances," I say with a mocking tone. I lock eyes with Orlando across the desk, and something flashes across his face, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing.
No, no, God dammit no.
"That’s actually not a bad idea," Josie chimes in, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a head whip around as fast as Olive’s just did. I’m surprised it didn’t give her whiplash. Her complete attention is now on her manager, who just said the worst thing imaginable.
"Uh, no. That’s where I draw the line." She stands from her seat. "Pretending I’m dating him for a few weeks, I can handle that. But marriage? Absolutely not. Over my dead body am I legally committing to someone like him when I’ve never wanted to commit to anybody, period.
" She collects her bag at her feet, running her hands down her pants.
"Woah, woah, Olivia. You’re not my ideal bride either." I cock a brow, holding eye contact, watching as her face turns beet red in frustration.
"Olive. The label needs something. They need to break you out of your comfort zone. Something that makes you more exciting. Sure, you have a good group of fans who will ride for you at dawn, but eventually they’ll get bored.
You’re new on the scene. Give them something to latch on to from the start.
If not, you’ll fizzle out quickly. Make them see that you’re a real person that they can relate to.
" She sighs, a sympathetic, soft smile on her face, and I can see the wave of defeat that crushes over Olive like a tsunami.
"Fine." She sits back down in her seat, rubbing her fingers into her temples. "Tell me what you need me to do."
Josie doesn’t acknowledge Olive’s acceptance before turning to me.
"Avery. Tonight, Olive has her final show. You have a reserved seat. You need to be photographed in it, before you’re seen heading backstage."
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head before accepting my fate with a defeated nod.
"Olive. Avery has his team's gala two weeks from tomorrow. Every day and night the two of you have free in between those two weeks, will be spent together. I have already booked you a room at the same hotel you’re in now, with the same Alias. I’ll have a stylist and beauty team arrive that morning.
Avery, Orlando will text you the details for when and where to pick her up.
I’ll arrange a car for you both," Josie says, manager mode in full swing, flicking through her contact list on her phone.
"I’ll have the contract ready before the gala.
Orlando, get your lawyers to look over it before anyone signs anything. Olive included."
Orlando nods.
"Don’t bother about the car. I’ll pick her up myself." I need to be in control of something, even if it is as minor as driving myself to an event.
"I don’t mean to nit-pick at this, but wouldn’t it look less fake if he and I were together in the same place, rather than him picking me up from my hotel? I don’t know of any couple, real or fake, who would get ready for an event in separate places." She shrugs, sinking back into her seat.
"As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right." I mimic her movements.
"Then you’ll stay at Avery’s apartment. Josie, I’ll pass on the details for you to send to your client."
"Seriously, do either of you know my name?" Olive rises to her feet, shaking her head. "I guess I’ll see you then." Olive heads out the door without so much as a look in my direction. But I swear I saw tears fighting like hell to fall down her cheeks, while Josie followed hot on her heels.
It’s barely ten in the morning, and shit has already hit the fan.
"You really think we can pull this off?" I ask Orlando the minute the door slams behind us, leaving a thick wave of silence in the air for him and I to soak in.
"I do." He nods. "You just need to act loving. Dote on her. Buy her gifts, but be seen doing it. Maybe a piece of jewellery. Something small that she can wear all the time that isn’t too obvious, but something people will know is from you. For you."
As if I didn’t already have enough shit to do, now I apparently need to go shopping.
For jewelry, of all things.
I have two weeks to shut down Amore’s and find the perfect piece.