Chapter Six
1276 Words
Cole pov
The Gazette building's entrance corridor had a broken overhead light. It flickered every four seconds. I stood outside for eleven minutes, counting each flash. That was long enough to see the corner coffee cart close at six. It was long enough to watch the security guard inside do a twelve-minute loop and completely miss me. I hadn't planned to arrive this early, but I told myself it didn't matter.
At 6:17, Nadia Calloway pushed through the glass door. She held her bag on one shoulder and a coffee cup in her other hand. She walked three full steps before she noticed me.
She stopped short. "No."
"I was in the neighborhood," I said.
She angled around me to keep walking. "You live in Ashford Park."
I looked at her, my eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you stalking me? How do you know where I live?"
Nadia rolled her eyes, her pace never slowing. "Everybody on campus knows where you live. It is not hidden, per se."
I fell into step beside her, matching her fast pace easily. "I had a meeting downtown."
"Then go back to your meeting."
"It ended." I kept our strides perfectly in sync. "I thought you might want to talk through the specifics before Thursday."
"I said I'd think about it."
"It's been three days."
She stopped on the sidewalk and turned to face me, tilting her head back to look up.
"Are you following me?"
"I'm proposing dinner."
"You showed up at my job."
"I showed up at a public building at the end of a business day," I said. "That's different."
She looked at me the way she had at the press conference—evaluating me. Then she started walking again. I stayed right with her.
"The offer is still the same," I said. "Public appearances for a few weeks. You get paid, you stop being the girl from the viral clip, and Ryder's charity contract negotiation becomes a lot more complicated."
"How much," she said flatly.
"Twelve hundred a month. Cash, if you want. We work out appearances in advance. You're not on call, and you're not a prop. You write the rules on physical contact. That goes in writing."
Nadia stopped by a recycling bin near the corner. She looked down at her half-full coffee cup, then dropped it into the bin without breaking eye contact.
"Twelve hundred a month," she said.
"Minimum."
"You said that like there's a ceiling."
"There isn't one if this works."
She looked past me down the street, then back. "Why me? There are women who would do this without the attitude."
"I don't want women without the attitude. I want someone he already hurt. Someone the public already has a narrative about.
Someone it's easy to believe has left the past behind.”
"You want a prop who looks like she's not a prop."
"I want someone who can handle herself in a room. That's not the same thing."
Nadia adjusted her bag strap. She looked at me for three beats—I counted those too—and then she turned and walked away without another word.
I watched her go. I turned up my collar against the cold and headed toward the parking garage.
************************************************
Two hours later, my phone buzzed on my kitchen counter. It was an unknown number. I answered on the second ring.
"Who is this?" I asked. "I do not have this number saved."
"It is Nadia," she said.
"Who owns the number you are using to call?" I asked. "If I remember correctly, this is not your phone number."
"That is not your concern," she said, her voice sharp.
I chuckled. It seemed she had a sassy mouth.
"Okay," I said. "What do you want, Nadia?"
"Is the twelve hundred upfront?" she asked.
"Half now, half at the end of the month," I said, leaning back against my counter. "Standard terms."
"Nothing about this is standard, Cole. If I do this, I need the first full month tonight. I have a security deposit due for a place in the Flats, and my landlord isn't waiting on your hockey schedule."
I didn't hesitate. "Fine. You'll have it tonight. But we start tomorrow. There’s a team dinner at the Rusty Blade. You need to be there."
"Tomorrow? That's too fast."
"Ryder’s people are pushing the charity narrative in the morning papers," I said. "We need to break our news before they control the cycle. I'll pick you up at seven."
"No," Nadia said quickly. "Do not come to Greyford Heights. My mom works double shifts at the hospital, but my brother Finn is home. If he sees you anywhere near our house, he will break your jaw before you can explain the contract."
I frowned. "Finn is a third-line winger, Nadia. I'm the captain. He knows better."
"He's my brother," she shot back. "He doesn't care about your captain's C when it comes to me. He still blames himself for introducing me to Ryder. I'll meet you at the restaurant."
"The Rusty Blade is a team hangout," I said, my voice dropping. "If you walk in alone and meet me, it looks staged. If we arrive together, it looks real. I'll pick you up at the corner bodega two blocks from your house. Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
There was a long pause on the line. I could hear the distant sound of traffic from her end.
"Fine," she said. "But we establish the boundaries before we walk through that door."
"We will," I said. "See you tomorrow, Nadia."
The line went dead. I stared at my phone, then dialed my bank.
***********************************************
At 6:55 the next evening, I pulled my truck up to the curb by the Greyford Heights bodega. The engine rumbled in the cold air. At exactly seven, Nadia appeared from the shadows of the awning. She wore an oversized hoodie and had her hair pulled into a messy bun.
She climbed into the passenger seat, bringing the smell of faint vanilla with her. She didn't look at me.
"You're on time," I noted, shifting the truck into drive.
"I want to get this over with," she said, staring straight out the windshield. "Let's talk about the rules."
"Go ahead."
"No kissing," she said firmly. "Not on the cheek, not for the cameras. Nothing."
I kept my eyes on the road. "Fair. What about holding hands? If we walk into a crowded bar and don't touch at all, people will notice."
Nadia crossed her arms. "Fine. Hand-holding is allowed when we are entering or leaving a venue. Nowhere else. And you don't put your arm around my waist."
"Why the waist?"
"Because Ryder did that whenever he wanted to show me off like a trophy," she said, her voice turning sharp. "You said I'm not a prop. Prove it."
I nodded once. "Agreed. My turn. If someone asks how we met, we say we ran into each other at the university library three weeks ago. It keeps the timeline clean and away from the stream incident."
"The library?" Nadia let out a dry laugh. "You expect people to believe you go to the library?"
"I'm a senior, Nadia. I do study."
"Right. Anything else?"
"When we get inside, Theo Nash is going to pull me aside. He's my co-captain and he sees everything. Just stay by the bar, get a drink, and act like you want to be there."
Nadia looked out the window as the bright lights of the downtown district came into view. "I'm a journalism major, Cole. I know how to play a part. Just make sure your check clears.”
- Writer
