Page 2 of False Start, Real Passion
My rational brain fights back. “You realize what you’re asking for could be a disaster, right? You realize I have no interest in pretending to be your girlfriend?”
He nods, as if I’ve just offered to take his order at a restaurant. “Sounds perfect.”
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to shut out the sound of my racing heart. This is a decision that could change everything, and I’m not sure I’m ready for the fallout.
But when I open my eyes, Jaxon’s still there, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and challenge. And I realize that maybe, just maybe, this is a risk worth taking.
I take a deep breath, letting the enormity of this settle over me. It could make my career. Or end it. Or break me in ways I haven’t even considered. But one look at him—confident, infuriating, with that cocky smile that suggests he knows I’m going to say yes—and I find myself saying, “Fine. But I’m in control of this narrative. 100%.”
Jaxon leans back in his chair, that infuriating smirk still playing on his lips. “Of course, Tori. I wouldn’t dream of mixing business with pleasure.” But the glint in his eye tells a different story, and I have a feeling he’s going to test my resolve at every turn.
I nod, trying to ignore the way my skin prickles under his gaze. “Good. We’ll need to establish some ground rules, set boundaries to make sure this doesn’t get out of hand.”
“Boundaries, huh?” Jaxon chuckles. “Never been much for playing by the rules, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. Jaxon’s charm is a force to be reckoned with, but I refuse to let it disarm me. I have a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I let a pair of pretty blue eyes distract me from my goal.
“I mean it, Jaxon,” I say, my tone firm. “This is a professional arrangement, nothing more. We’ll play our parts, but at the end of the day, it’s just business.”
He nods, but the mischievous gleam in his eye doesn’t fade. “Just business,” he agrees, but I have a feeling he’s already plotting ways to blur the lines.
I fix him with my steeliest stare, the kind that can hold its own in boardrooms and emergency press conferences. “No surprises. No improvising. Everything goes according to plan. And the plan is to keep this fake.”
“Fake,” he echoes, like he’s never heard the word before. “Sure, sure. Fake.”
It’s like negotiating with a tornado. The meeting is a hurricane of logistics and dates and contingency plans, each detail a desperate sandbag I throw down in hopes of controlling the flood. Jaxon nods at all the right places but never loses that infuriating glint, the one that suggests my precious rules are just opportunities for creative reinterpretation.
“We start tomorrow,” I say, shoving the last of my paperwork into my bag. “Public appearance at the team gala. And remember—”
“No shirts, I know,” he interrupts, winking.
“I was going to say, ‘Remember that this is strictly business.’“
“Right, business,” he says, trailing me out the door with the confident strut of a man who doesn’t believe a single word I’ve said.
I pack up the rest of my materials with more force than necessary, ignoring the fluttering nerves that remind me of high school prom jitters. I should be afraid. And I am. But there’s something else, too, a thrill I can’t quite name. Something that looks suspiciously like excitement.
“So, this means I don’t need a shirt, right?” Jaxon asks as I head for the door.
I pause, a hint of a smile tugging at my lips despite my best efforts to look annoyed. “Don’t push it, Reid.”
I walk out with my pulse doing a little victory dance, knowing the game is on.
I exit the building like I’m leaving the scene of a crime, my brain a whirl of post-meeting madness. I’m really doing this. I’m pretending to date Jaxon Reid. The full absurdity of it crashes over me in waves, followed by an aftershock of excitement that I can’t quite suppress. It’s a thrill, and not entirely the good kind, the kind that’s half “I’ve got this” and half “what the hell have I done?”
It’s official. I’m dating the un-dateable, reining in the wild stallion of professional sports, putting a leash on him—and, most dangerously, I might actually like it. I set the rules, sharp and bright and clear, the highlighter strokes of a careful planner’s heart. And he? He smiles at me with all the gravity of a man who’s never had to plan in his life.
My car’s in sight, but clarity isn’t. The risks start assembling themselves like a second round of meeting notes. Tori, you don’t date clients. Tori, this is crazy. Tori, this could ruin you. Each thought gives me a mini-panic attack, like having my life flash before my eyes without the dying part.
I throw my bag in the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel, talking myself down from this ledge of uncertainty. I can handle Jaxon Reid. I can handle the tabloids and the headlines and the firestorms of gossip. But as I drive away, the questions linger, draping themselves across my confidence like wet laundry.
Can I handle the emotional mess that’s waiting at the end of this? Can I handle me?
I’ve barely had time to process it all when my phone buzzes. A message. From him.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever comes next, because this is a game I plan to win. Even if the rules are starting to feel like they’re written in disappearing ink.
Chapter two
