Page 50 of Make the Play

“Because that’s just how these things work.”

“That’s bullshit.”

The quiet frustration in his voice startles me. I’ve seen Chase smug, cocky, playful, absolutely exasperating, but this? This serious, simmering frustration on my behalf? It wrecks me in a way I’m not prepared for.

I force myself to keep my voice even. “C’mon, Walton—”

“No.” His voice is deceptively light. “You’re telling me that not a single person in that room considered the fact thatyouwere the only one with something to lose?”

I press my lips together because I know that’s what happened. I know that I’m supposed to be grateful that it’s just a “technicality,” one I’m expected to accept without complaint.

But Chase didn’t.

He sat in that boardroom, skimming a contract meant to protect him, and realized that I was the one paying the price, and he refused to let it stand.

“It’s my job,” I say quietly. “I know the risks.”

He exhales sharply, pushing off the door. “Yeah, well, so do I.”

I swallow. This is dangerous. Thisfeelingis dangerous. So I look away, needing to redirect.

“Why are you in my office?”

He blinks once, and the moment shifts. His head tilts, mouth curving just slightly like he’s just remembered who he is.

“Can’t a boyfriend visit his girlfriend at work?”

I groan. “I’m going to pour coffee on your head.”

“Please. Not my hair.” He smirks, stepping further into the room. “Look, if we’re doing this, we need to get our story straight.”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Fine. When did we start dating?”

“Wedding.”

I glare. “No.”

He spreads his arms. “It’s perfect.”

It’s not, because it happened. Because it was real.

I cross my arms. “We didn’t start dating at the wedding.”

“Zo.” He exhales, grinning like this is all so funny to him. “Think about it. It makes sense.”

It makes too much sense.

I shake my head. “We could say it was before that. That we kept it a secret and wanted our privacy.”

Chase’s expression is slow and predatory, like a cat with a cornered mouse. “You want our fake relationship to be secretly real?”

I am going to scream.

“God.” I press my fingers to my temples. “I cannot believe I have to sit here and construct a fabricated timeline of my life with you.”

“Hm, careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

I ignore him. “Fine. The wedding. Whatever.”

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