Page 51 of Make the Play

He grins, and I regret everything.

“That means our first date was technically—”

“Nope.” I cut him off before he can say it. There’s no way our one-night stand can count as our starting point for this terrifying timeline of events.

“Baby, you can’t erase our history.”

“I actively am.”

Chase just grins wider. “Alright, so we’ve been together since the wedding.” He leans against my desk, like he’s comfortable here, like this is natural. “That means we need to be seen together in public soon. Like…together.”

I sigh sharply because he’s right.

“We can tip the media off,” I murmur. “Make it casual. Make it look organic.”

Chase hums, watching me. “Date night?”

The words send a full-body flush through me, but I keep my face neutral.

“Sure.”

His smirk deepens. “I’ll pick you up Friday night.”

“You’re so fucking proud. Like an actual child.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

I scoff, nodding. “Exactly.”

He leans in slightly, eyes dancing. “Five years isn’t even an age gap.”

“It’s actually four and a half,” I correct. “I’m not thirty yet.”

“I know.”

I ignore the weird little twinge in my chest. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re completely fixated on something that doesn’t matter. But if it helps, sweetheart… I like my women a little bit older.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I barely resist the urge to throw my stapler at his head.

His voice suddenly drops, turning smooth as he studies me. “You know, you’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

Chase’s gaze coasts over my face. “Lying.”

My throat tightens because I hate the way he says it, like it’s a compliment. A challenge. Like he already knows the truth.

And I know I should laugh. Tell him to shut the fuck up. Say of course I’m good at lying—I work in PR, dumbass.

But I don’t.

Instead, I just stare at him, skin flushing and brain scrambling, and I loathe that he notices. The air between us feels like a slow-building pressure against my ribs, and I hate it.

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