She did that?
“I was only tr—”
Stacey waves her hand, silencing Mirabelle. “You’re not in trouble. I applaud you for using your resources because I believe they gave us the solution. Can you tell me why you weren’t aware our client is trending online right now?”
Mirabelle glances up at me briefly, but I can’t get a read on her anymore. “If Henry’s name is trending with mine, I wouldn’t have received any notifications because I have all alerts involving my name blocked.”
“I see,” Stacey says. “Your team has suggested the two of you enter into a fake relationship to boost Henry’s PR in a way that these interviews won’t. The only thing I’m mad about is that I didn’t think of it first.”
My mind goes blank.
Stacey stares expectantly at us. “Can one of you say something?”
“I . . .” I trail off because after how the rest of the day has gone, I don’t trust myself to not say the wrong thing. My mind immediately goes to the initial meeting where I found out about my shadows, and the way I’m trying not to look at her again, despite every intrusive thought that pops into my brain telling me otherwise.
I’m not supposed to see Mira as anything other than a friend. I mean, how exactly does this fit into my promise to protect her? Won’t our age gap be concerning to the fans and media?
“Are you serious?” Mirabelle asks in disbelief.
Stacey clasps her hands together. “Obviously, there are some finer details that need to be hashed out, and I can’t make you do this, because it’s not under your initial job description, but I think the circumstances warrant something like this based on the positive effect it’s already having from the speculation alone.”
“The circumstances warrant me dating Mirabelle? I’m sorry, but I think there’s a disconnect here. I know I haven’t been the most forthcoming with the media and fans, but is it actually that bad we’re considering doing this?” I ask, laughing at the absurdity of it all. I’ve heard of shit like this happening, but it never dawned on me that it could happen to me.
“Youneedthis, because during the offseason this year, the public perception of you was poor and over half the front office wanted us to trade you despite Coach Lewis fighting against them. No one knows who you are, and as of this moment, they don’t care to. Your actions during training camp made sure of that, so congratulations, Henry. They’re doing what you want by leaving you alone because you’re seen as the guy who doesn’t care about the fans—fans who make all of this possible. The fans, whose hard-earned money pays your salary, think their quarterback cares more about partying than about football. This whole PR plan that you hate was created to keep you from getting traded when your rookie contract is up,” she says. I can feel my face drain of all its color. I knew there was talk of trading me and bringing in fresh meat after Bash retired, but they decided to keep me. I didn’t realize it wasthatbad.
“This girl right here?” Stacey motions to Mirabelle as I swallow the lump in my throat. “She’s football royalty in everyone’s eyes. Dating the daughter of your mentor who happens to be Sebastian Walker is a huge step in the right direction. People are excited and talking about you right now in a positive way. If I were you, I’d stop laughing and saythank you.”
I’m speechless.
I had . . . I had no idea about any of that.
Dragging my hand over my jaw, I turn to look at Mirabelle, but she won’t meet my eyes.
“I’ll do it,” she says, making the choice for us.
Stacey doesn’t wait for me to protest, which at this point, I’m not even fucking sure I would do. “Great. I need to go handle the logistics so we can release something this afternoon to the press. Figure out some details between the two of you like how long you’ve been together, when you started liking each other, and some other details to make it more believable. I’ll come find you in an hour. You’re a trooper, Mirabelle.”
“No problem.” Mirabelle smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. When it’s a genuine one, her eyes crinkle at the corners, and her smile is brighter than the goddamn sun.
Stacey walks away quickly, typing at the speed of lightning on her phone.
What the fuck just happened?
“Mirabelle—” I begin to say, and she shakes her head.
“If you actually meant your apology, don’t tell me I’m not allowed to do this. You need this, and I’m doing it, so let’s not fight about it.”
God, Mirabelle’s . . . incredible. I look at her in amazement, wondering how I could ever deserve this kindness she’s offering. There’s no denying Mirabelle’s beautiful, and if I’m being honest, she’s exactly my type, which is why I’ve fought so hard to keep my mental block in place to only see her the way I’m supposed to.
Mirabelle’s long blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail with pieces framing her face, the unruly waves flowing down her back. Her eyes reflect how tired she is, and the splash of freckles over her nose are prominent from a summer spent in the sun. She carries herself with confidence and grace, and she’s smart.
She’s the total package, but she’suntouchable.
I can’t forget that during this charade.
“Thank you,” I finally say. What else can I say? She’s right, I can’t tell her what to do. I might not be a fan of the idea, but Mirabelle’s not wrong. I think I do need this.
Fuck.
