Chapter 4
FOUR
Olivia
There are good emails and bad emails. The good ones have subject lines like Approved Funding or Donation Received. They arrive like small miracles, proof that the hustle is worth it.
The bad ones… well, the one currently glaring from my inbox is titled Notice of Delinquent Utilities.
I close the laptop before the weight of it settles on my shoulders. It’s not like staring at it will make the numbers rearrange themselves into something I can afford.
The gym hums on the other side of the office wall. Kids arguing over foosball. A basketball thumping. Someone is giggling so hard they hiccup. That messy chorus of safe chaos keeps me moving when my body wants to collapse.
It’s also why I don’t turn CJ Morgan away when he taps lightly on my open door.
“Hey, Boss,” he says, leaning a shoulder on the frame. His cap is backward, hair curling around the edges, grin cocky as always, but his eyes… there’s something deliberate there. Calculating, like he’s actually thought about what he’s about to say.
I narrow mine. “You’re early again. Should I be suspicious?”
“I told you, I’m a changed man.” He pushes off the frame and steps in. “Or at least… changing.”
“That’s encouraging,” I say dryly.
He flops into the chair across from me without asking. Typical. But instead of his usual jokes, he leans forward, forearms on his knees, all fake swagger dropped. “What’s wrong?”
I blink, surprised he can read me so well and see that I’m upset.
Do I tell him?
“I can’t lose this place,” I blurt out.
He leans back in his chair. “Is it that bad?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,” I choke out. “God,” I swipe at my eyes, brushing away the stray tears. “Opening this youth center has been my dream since I was a kid. There was one when I was growing up in Maple Creek, but it closed when I was fourteen, right when I needed it the most.”
“What happened then?”
I want to stop talking. Usually, I’m closed off and buttoned up. Usually. Around CJ, I seem to come undone.
“That was the year that my mom died. My dad worked a lot, and he wasn’t… he just wasn’t what I needed,” I tell him softly.
“I’m sorry, Olivia,” he says sincerely.
I swallow hard. “The kids need this place, and I feel like I’m failing them. We’re late with the utilities, and they want to take this building from us. I just…what am I going to do?”
He’s silent for a minute before he speaks. “I have an idea.”
I’m not sure if it’s hope or dread that fills me. “Should I be worried?”
“No, seriously.” His grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, but he reins it in. “Management’s on my back to do something big for PR. Something that screams, Look, CJ’s not a human blooper reel. He cares.”
“Do you?” I ask, folding my arms.
His eyes meet mine, steady. “Yeah. I do.”
For a moment, my chest betrays me with a flutter. I shove it down. “Go on.”
“I pitch a fundraiser,” he says. “For the youth center.”
I blink. “You… what?”
“A charity event. Something public, splashy, good press for me and money for you. Plus, we get to spend more time together.” His grin returns full force now, confident he’s hooked me. “Win-win.”
I study him, looking for the catch. There’s always a catch. “What kind of event?”
“Gala night with the Thunder.” He spreads his hands like it’s obvious. “Fancy clothes, donors, media coverage. People love a redemption story, and I love an open bar. Everybody’s happy.”
The flutter in my chest turns to something heavier. Money. We need it desperately. A fundraiser like that could keep us afloat for months.
But then he adds, too casually. “And I told management I’d bring a date.”
I arch a brow. “Congratulations. I’m sure there are plenty of women lining up—”
“I told them it was you.”
My jaw nearly drops. “Excuse me?”
“You. Olivia Walker. Director, saint, general of the clipboard army.” His grin is infuriating. “You and me. Going on a date. For the cause.”
I can only stare. “You what?”
“Think about it.” He leans back like this is the easiest thing in the world. “You get donors interested in your center because they can’t resist the story: bad-boy goalie cleaned up by small-town heroine. I get to prove I’m not a complete disaster. The Thunder’s image gets a boost. It’s perfect.”
“It’s manipulative,” I shoot back.
“It’s strategic.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“It’s brilliant.”
I press my fingers to my temple. “You can’t just—this isn’t—”
“The kids win,” he says softly.
And there it is. My weakness exposed like a nerve.
I think of the utilities bill. Of Bea’s wide-eyed pride when she finished her book report. Of Malik’s cocky grin when he sank his last shot with CJ cheering like he’d won gold.
We need money, we need visibility, and CJ knows it.
And you want to go out with him, my subconscious whispers.
“You’re impossible,” I mutter.
“I’ve been told that before.” He leans forward, grinning again.
“We’re not dating, though,” I argue. “No one will believe it.”
“We could be.”
“We’re not,” I say, desperately trying to keep some semblance of professionalism between us.
“People will believe it. It will be okay,” he assures me. He rests his elbows on his knees. “So, is that a yes?”
“It’s a reluctant maybe,” I tell him. “And only because the center comes first.”
“Reluctant maybe is my favorite kind of yes.”
“Ground rules,” I blurt. “We need ground rules.”
“I expected nothing less from you.”
“No touching that isn’t strictly necessary, we remember that this is just pretend, and you will behave like a professional.”
He smirks. “Define professional.”
I glare.
“Fine, fine.” He holds up his hands. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout.”
“I could’ve been.”
I sigh, already regretting every life choice that led me here.
“Okay. We’re fake dating.”
I ignore the thrill that shoots through me at those words.
He rises, tipping his cap like some ridiculous cowboy, and then he’s gone, leaving me staring at my laptop, heart pounding like I’ve just agreed to juggle knives.
That night, after the kids are gone and the center is dark, I sit at my desk with the utilities notice beside me.
I think about telling him I’ve changed my mind. I need to protect myself from his grin, his chaos, his ability to get under my skin. But then I picture Malik sinking that shot. Bea typing her conclusion with fierce determination. The sisters with their pink and glitter coding project.
And I know with sinking inevitability that I can’t back out now.
Because I always put the center first.
Because deep down, I do want to get closer to the charming goalie.
And because maybe, just maybe, CJ Morgan isn’t quite what I thought.