Chapter 5 Chloe #3
Chloe turns her gaze back to me, the question echoing in her eyes.
The question I’ve been dreading.
The one I’ve been thinking about since she left me in a cloud of diesel on the sidewalk last night.
She…isn’t impressed by me. And I know that sounds crazy. But I made her laugh six months ago in Barcelona, and she let me kiss her, and she didn’t have a clue who I was, really.
Or maybe she saw the real me, and that’s just a little bit addicting.
Which is why I’m here, with coffee, and I know it feels creepy with the money on the table, but I saw the overdue bill on the counter and did a little math.
She’s broke. So, I could lie. Say she’s convenient.
Already in the viral photo. Has the wedding dates I need.
But if I don’t put a little skin in this game, she’s going to walk. Or run. Or I guess, since this is her place, kick me out onto the street. She can’t be the only one sacrificing some pride for this win.
So I give her just a little of what I owe her. Honesty.
“Because I trust you,” I say. “I trust you not to sell this story to the tabloids. Not to use it against me. Because—” I stop. Regroup, because the way she’s looking at me now, all big brown eyes…I can’t think straight. “There was an incident.”
“What incident?” Chloe leans forward slightly.
I brace myself.
“About a month ago, I went to a charity gala. Met someone—a woman who seemed nice, normal. We talked for maybe twenty minutes. I gave her my number because she said she worked for a social media magazine and wanted to do an article about me. I was being nice.”
“Of course you were,” Chloe says, but it doesn’t sound like judgment. Huh.
“Turns out she was an aspiring influencer looking for her big break.”
Chloe’s brows lift, soften. Not quite sympathy. More like recognition. Like she knows exactly where this is going.
“She posted our entire conversation online—DMs, texts, everything—claiming we had this intense romantic thing and I ghosted her. Painted me as this serial charmer who uses women and throws them away.”
Because that’s not at all what I did to the woman sitting across from me six months ago. Completely different situation. Totally.
The irony is not lost on me.
“Did you?” Jessa asks flatly from the doorway. Arms crossed. Pajama pants with little hockey pucks on them, which would be funny if she wasn’t looking at me like I’m a suspect in an interrogation room.
“No. I literally talked to her for twenty minutes. But after that night, we shared a few texts.”
Silence.
Jessa raises a brow.
“I…Okay, I flirted a little.” I don’t look at Chloe.
“I was…charming.” Heat sears my neck. “It’s what I do with members of the media.
But I was never inappropriate. And I never led her on.
She asked about my game, wondered if we could meet for dinner.
It was light. Polite. And then she started asking if she did something wrong and why I was ignoring her.
Asking why I was rejecting her, because she thought we had a connection—”
“And you answered her?”
“At first. I tried to let her down easy. But eventually…”
“He told her not to text anymore,” Jessa says, now holding up her phone. “I’ve seen the post.” She glances at Chloe. “I’m a little surprised you haven’t. Even outside the sports realm, it went viral.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Yeah, and then she went on some podcast talking about how I led her on. It got completely blown out of proportion. I’ve got this reputation—I’m friendly, I smile for photos, I’m good with fans.
So when someone claims I’m secretly a player who charms women and disappears… ”
Jessa makes a face, reading off the headline. “‘Kane’s Contract Renewal in Question Amid Personal Conduct Concerns.’”
Yeah. That.
“And now she’s threatening to sue me.”
“For what?” Chloe says, frowning, and oh, I like that tone. It’s nice to have someone on my side about this for once.
“Intentional Infliction of Emotional Duress. For five hundred thousand dollars…” I trail off. Watch Chloe’s face carefully.
Her eyes flick away. Down to her coffee cup.
Yeah. She’s probably thinking it too. The charmer who disappears. That’s exactly what I did to her.
“So you need a girlfriend to prove you’re not a heartbreaker.” Jessa pockets her phone. “Interesting strategy, considering your track record.”
There it is. Of course she knows all about Barcelona. And she’s not letting me off the hook for it.
Chloe’s shoulders tense. She still won’t look at me.
“Yeah, well.” I meet Jessa’s stare. Try for casual. Land somewhere around defensive. “That’s why it has to be someone who won’t sell me out.” I glance at Chloe, willing her to look up.
The silence stretches.
Jessa is watching me like she’s waiting for me to confess to murder, while Chloe studies her coffee, which apparently has become very interesting.
“And your contract renewal?” Jessa presses. “What happens if you don’t fix this?”
“I don’t get renewed. Maybe get traded. Maybe get dropped altogether.” All because I can’t seem to convince people I’m capable of being a real person.
Chloe and Jessa exchange a look.
“And you thought,” Jessa says slowly, “that asking Chloe—who you ghosted six months ago—to fake date you was a good solution to this problem?”
“I didn’t say it was a good solution. I said it was the solution I have.”
“Why?” Chloe asks again. Quieter this time. “Why not someone else? Why me?”
“Because you’re real. You don’t care about the hockey thing. You didn’t even know who I was. And I—”
I what? Miss you? Think about you constantly? Spent six months trying to forget you and failed spectacularly?
“I just…trust you,” I finish lamely. “And I don’t trust people. So. Yeah. That’s why you.”
The apartment fills with a different kind of quiet. Not the warm, intimate quiet Chloe and I shared minutes earlier. This one is heavy. Almost insurmountable. Suffocating.
“Chloe,” Jessa says carefully. “Can I talk to you for a second? Privately?”
“No.” Chloe doesn’t break eye contact with me. “Whatever you want to say, say it here.”
Jessa huffs but moves into the room properly, sitting down on the couch next to Chloe. United front. Great. Honestly, I’m glad Chloe has someone to stand up for her. I wish she didn’t feel like she had to stand up for Chloe against me, but still.
“If she does this,” Jessa says, looking at me now, “there are conditions.”
“Okay.”
“You don’t even know what they are yet.”
“Doesn’t matter. If they’re reasonable, I’ll agree.”
Jessa’s eyebrows rise. “You’re that desperate?”
“I’m that desperate.”
She studies me for a long moment. Then nods, like I’ve passed some test. “Five events. Like I said, you show up to all of them. You play the part of devoted boyfriend convincingly enough that Chloe’s family believes it.”
“Done.”
“You don’t embarrass her. You don’t make her look stupid. You treat her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Something in my chest tightens. “Done.”
“After the end of the last event, the wedding on Valentine’s Day, you two have a big, public fight. Chloe’s the heartbroken one. You’re the jerk who couldn’t commit. Her family rallies around her, stops trying to set her up, and leaves her alone.”
I hesitate. That one stings. Being the villain again. Hurting her publicly after hurting her privately in Barcelona. And doing it on Valentine’s Day, because apparently, I’m destined to be that guy.
But what choice do I have?
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“And one more thing.” Jessa’s voice is hard now.
Final. “You don’t talk about Barcelona—not outside of your official story.
Sure, you can tell everyone how you two met and how you swept Chloe off her feet.
And how you spent an evening together. But that’s it.
No googly-eyed stories about kissing under the orange trees.
That’s her story, and you don’t get to use it.
And you don’t get to make her relive being left behind without so much as an explanation. You got that, Candy?”
I look at Chloe. She’s staring at her hands. Not meeting my eyes.
She wants to pretend our kiss never happened.
Which means it mattered to her. Which means it still hurts.
Which means I did exactly what I was afraid of—I hurt her so badly she wants to erase it.
“Fine.”
Chloe finally looks up. “And physical boundaries. Handholding is fine. Kissing on the cheek if necessary for photos or family. But no—” She stops. Clears her throat. “No real kissing. Nothing more than what’s needed to sell it.”
The way she says real kissing does something to my stomach. Because that kiss can still undo me.
“Understood.”
“And when this is all over, you let her be. No contact,” Jessa says.
I just found her again, and already I’m losing her…
My teeth click shut, holding back the objection as I nod. “My agent will have a contract drawn up.”
Chloe won’t meet my eyes. Her cheeks are pink, highlighting her freckles. I want to reach out, brush my thumb over them, reassure her that I would never do anything to hurt her…but I already have. And I’ve got no right to act like I didn’t.
Her eyes lift to the frosty window. “So, we make our big entrance at the party this Saturday.”
“I can pick you up,” I offer. “We should arrive together. Makes it look more real.”
“The party starts around three,” Chloe says. “But I’m supposed to be there early to set up, because, you know, I’m the event planner.”
“No problem. I’ll pick you up early. Help you set up.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” The words come out before I can stop them. Too honest. Too eager. I dial it back. “I mean, it might earn a few points with your family. Make it more believable. Devoted boyfriend helps with party setup. It can’t hurt.”
Jessa’s watching me with narrowed eyes. She doesn’t buy the casual act.
Smart woman.
“Saturday morning,” Chloe says. “Eleven a.m.”
“I’ll be here.”
“And you’ll pay her ten thousand before Saturday?” Jessa, the shark, isn’t letting this go. She could have a real future in agenting.
“I’ll have it transferred to her account by Friday night. Is that acceptable?”
Jessa looks at Chloe. “Is that acceptable to you?”
Chloe’s quiet for a long moment. I can see her thinking. Calculating. Weighing the money against whatever reservations she has about this insane plan.
I feel gross.
Finally, she nods. “Okay. I’ll do it. Five events. Fake girlfriend. Professional arrangement.” She stands up, extends her hand across the coffee table. “It’s a deal.”
I stand too.
I take her hand. Her fingers wrap around mine, and there it is again—that electric shock from earlier when I handed her the coffee. The one that reminds me this is a terrible idea for about seventeen different reasons.
Her eyes meet mine.
We shake. Professional. Clean. Businesslike.
Except her hand is warm and fits perfectly in mine, and I remember how it felt to dance with her under those lights in Barcelona, and this is absolutely not going to be as simple as a business transaction.
Not even close.
I release her hand. Step back. Try my best to look normal.
“I should go, but I’ll text you the contract when my agent sends it,” I say. And I can’t help it…I need her to look at me. So I duck my head into her line of sight. Her eyes lift, those deep, beautiful brown eyes find mine. Worth it. “I’ll see you Saturday morning.”
Jessa stands. “I’ll walk you out.”
Oh, this will be fun.
She opens the door and steps into the hallway with me, pulling it mostly closed behind her.
“If you hurt her again,” she says quietly, “I will personally destroy your career and your reputation so thoroughly you’ll never play hockey in this country again. Are we clear?”
One way or another, this arrangement is going to ruin me. It’s either going to end my career or destroy what’s left of my heart.
I nod to Jessa and turn away toward the elevator.
I’m not going to break Chloe’s heart.
She’s going to break mine.
And I’m going to let her.
Because five weeks with her—even fake, even ending badly—is better than the rest of my life without her.