Chapter 1
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Haley
A hockey player barging into my cubicle wasn’t on my schedule today.
Especially not this one.
“Haley Williams?” His voice is smooth but carries an edge, like he’s not asking but expecting me to confirm it’s me.
“Yes…?” I glance up, meeting a very familiar smirk.
Connor Jessup. He’s standing there like he owns the place, his blonde hair and blue eyes sweeping over my cramped cubicle with a hint of disdain.
His fitted blue shirt clings to broad shoulders, and the jeans are a little too perfectly snug, but his arrogance drowns out any possible charm.
Beside him is a shorter, mousy-looking man in glasses, clutching a slim briefcase like a lifeline. He clears his throat, gaze darting nervously. “We need a moment in private, if you don’t mind.”
“Excuse me?” I blink, caught off guard by the intrusion. “I work here, so maybe you could start by introducing yourselves?” My tone holds a practiced professionalism, even though my stomach’s already twisting because I recognize the one.
Connor extends his hand, like this is some polite introduction rather than an ambush. “Connor Jessup and this is my publicist, Carl.”
The name alone has my mind tripping over old memories. Jessup. As in Dean Jessup’s younger brother. Dean was the whirlwind that marked my freshman year of college in all the wrong ways. I stare at Connor’s outstretched hand for a second, then give it a firm shake, trying to keep my face unreadable.
“Haley, we really need to talk,” Connor says, his gaze steady, challenging.
“And why would we need to talk?” I manage to keep my voice even, but irritation is bubbling up. How is it that the past I worked so hard to forget just waltzed into my cubicle?
Connor doesn’t answer directly. Instead, he nods toward the glass-walled conference room. “It’ll be easier to explain in private.”
I consider saying no, but I don’t want to cause a scene in front of my colleagues. “Fine,” I say, grabbing my notebook as I lead them down the narrow hallway. We settle into the conference room, and I study both men, looking from Connor to his nervous companion. “So, what’s the big secret?”
Carl relaxes visibly, like he’s been holding his breath. “Connor’s image needs… adjusting.”
“Adjusting?” I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You’re here to ask a journalist to smooth over whatever mess he’s caused?”
Connor chuckles, crossing his arms over the back of his chair, posture relaxed and unconcerned. “If you’d give him a chance to explain, it might make more sense.”
I turn back to Carl, giving him a skeptical look. “Alright, go on.”
The man clears his throat again, nervous fingers adjusting his glasses. “Connor Jessup has a certain reputation as a… playboy. The team’s PR is looking for a stable relationship to counterbalance that image.”
I barely hold back a laugh. “Then find him one. I’m sure there’s a line of hockey fans willing to step in.”
Connor’s smirk doesn’t waver. “It has to look real. And it needs to be someone I know who can… manage the arrangement.”
“Manage the arrangement?” I echo, giving him an incredulous look. “What’s that supposed to mean? You need a fake girlfriend who can handle the… what, the fame, the fanfare, or just you?”
He leans forward, his eyes boring into mine. “We need a relationship that appears real. And in exchange, you’d get exclusive access to the Acers’ stories, interviews, and behind-the-scenes details for the rest of this season.”
It’s hard to keep my poker face as I feel the excitement bubble inside me. Exclusive access to the Acers? That’s game-changing. But I school my expression into neutrality. “So, to clarify, I’d be dating you in public? All cameras, no strings?”
“Exactly,” Connor replies, the smirk widening. “And we’d stage a breakup sometime during the playoffs. Clean, easy, and profitable for both of us.”
I study him. “This is really how you think PR works?”
Carl nods eagerly. “It gives him a way to brush off all the wild rumors. Having a steady girlfriend—especially a respected journalist—makes the whole story much more believable. That's why I thought of you…right age, right profession, and a win-win for both.”
I roll my eyes, looking between them. “What kind of ‘wild rumors’ are we talking about?”
Connor raises his eyebrows, amused. “Apparently, some fan claimed she hooked up with me in the locker room after practice.”
“Charming,” I say dryly. “And you think this pretend relationship will stop those rumors?”
“It’ll give me a way to dismiss them,” Connor says smoothly. “People can say whatever they want, but with a steady girlfriend, I can claim it’s all just exaggerated fan gossip.”
I consider his words, weighing the offer. “And in return, I get first access to the team’s stories?”
“First access, exclusive interviews, and insider details,” he says, ticking off each benefit. “Basically, a press pass to the Detroit Acers.”
I cross my arms, intrigued despite myself.
I’ve spent years clawing my way up in this industry, stuck writing fluff pieces and B-level stories.
An exclusive with the Acers could finally put my name on the map.
But that doesn’t mean I trust him. “Why not go with someone else? You must know dozens of women who’d take the job. ”
Connor shrugs. “It has to be someone who doesn’t come across as a fangirl. You’d fit the role perfectly. I can already tell you’re not going to look at me with starry eyes.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” I say flatly.
Carl pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open to a page with a list of neatly written bullet points. “We’d arrange a few public appearances to start building your ‘relationship’ and provide some key details so you know how to answer questions. It’s all planned out.”
“Details? You mean, like, Connor trivia?” I reach for the notepad, but Connor stops me, his hand brushing mine, warm and steady.
“Hold on,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “Before we dive into the details, I need to know if you can pull this off. A fake girlfriend has to be able to kiss me like it’s real.”
The words hit like a bucket of cold water. “You’re joking.”
Connor’s eyes gleam with challenge. “If you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, we’ll have to kiss in public. We have to make sure it doesn’t look awkward. Or fake.”
Carl is staring at his notepad, clearly wanting to disappear from the room.
I keep my eyes locked on Connor, my pulse racing.
A sarcastic comment about being a good enough kisser for his brother dangles on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back.
This opportunity is too valuable to ruin with snark.
“Fine,” I say, standing up, feigning confidence I’m not entirely sure of. “Let’s get it over with.”
Connor’s eyebrow lifts in surprise, but he recovers quickly, standing and walking around the table with an easy, measured stride. We face each other, just a step apart, and I feel a strange shift in the air, the room suddenly closing in around us.
“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and smooth.
“Just do it,” I reply, crossing my arms defensively.
Without another word, his hand settles on my hip, pulling me a fraction closer. He leans in, and I catch a hint of his aftershave—warm, fresh, with a subtle spice. Then, his lips brush against mine, soft but assertive, testing.
For a moment, I’m caught off guard, frozen. But I remember why I’m here. This is my career. I lean in, letting my lips mold to his, pressing back with just enough force to keep up. My hand instinctively rises to his chest, fingers curling slightly, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm.
The kiss deepens, a spark igniting between us that I didn’t expect. His hand presses gently against my hip, guiding me closer. His lips part, and I match his energy, pushing my tongue past his lips in a rhythm that surprises even me.
A quiet sound escapes him, something between a grunt and a sigh, and a thrill surges through me. I’m leaning further into him, my body betraying me. My hand drifts down his chest and around his waist, drawing him closer, and without thinking, I reach down and give his ass a quick squeeze.
Connor pulls back abruptly, eyes wide for a second before he regains his composure, dropping back into his chair as if nothing happened. But there’s a glimmer in his eyes, a snippet of surprise mixed with something else.
“She’ll do,” he says, his tone annoyingly casual, though his breathing is slightly uneven.
I sit back down, trying to ignore the irritation simmering beneath the surface. She’ll do? That’s his assessment?
“Perfect,” Carl chimes in, visibly relieved, the tension lifting from his shoulders. He slides a stack of papers across the table. “If you could look these over and sign, we can officially get started.”
I skim the contract, scanning the lines that promise exclusive rights, first access, and behind-the-scenes insights—the kind of opportunities I’ve been chasing since I started in this field.
I look up, meeting Connor’s gaze, his smirk still annoyingly in place, like he’s daring me to walk away. With a steady hand, I grab the pen and sign my name.