The Mascot's Fake Fiancé

Chapter 4

Maya woke up the next morning in a bed that cost more than her monthly rent, staring at a ceiling she didn't recognize, and wondered if she'd lost her mind.

The guest room was ridiculous. King-sized bed. Private bathroom. A walk-in closet that was already filled with clothes she hadn't packed—designer pieces someone had apparently ordered overnight. She ran her fingers over a silk blouse, still in its packaging, and felt like she was stepping into someone else's life.

Someone else's nightmare.

A knock on the door made her jump.

"Maya?" Derek's voice, muffled through the wood. "We have a stylist here. She's going to help you get ready for the press conference."

Maya glanced down at her ratty pajamas and groaned. "Give me ten minutes."

"Five. The press is already gathering."

She threw on the silk blouse—it fit perfectly, which was somehow more infuriating—and a pair of tailored black pants. By the time she opened the door, a petite woman with sharp cheekbones and an even sharper smile was already waiting.

"I'm Celeste," she announced, sweeping into the room. "Derek's personal stylist. We have a lot of work to do."

Two hours later, Maya barely recognized herself.

Celeste had worked miracles—or maybe it was just the magic of expensive makeup and a dress that cost more than her car. The emerald green gown hugged her curves in all the right places, and the stylist had swept her hair into an elegant updo that made her look like she belonged on a red carpet.

She looked like a fiancée.

She felt like a fraud.

"There," Celeste declared, stepping back to admire her work. "You're perfect. Derek's going to lose his mind."

"That's not the goal," Maya muttered.

But when she walked into the living room and saw Derek waiting in a perfectly tailored black suit, his eyes widening the moment he looked at her, she couldn't help the flutter in her chest.

"Wow," he said quietly. "You look... wow."

She forced herself to stay composed. "You look like you're about to give a press conference. Which you are. So let's go."

He smiled—that slow, knowing smile—and extended his arm. "Ready, fiancée?"

She took it, her heart pounding. "Don't make me regret this."

The press conference was held at a luxury hotel downtown. The moment they stepped out of the black SUV, cameras started flashing. Reporters shouted questions from all sides.

"Derek! Who's the woman?"

"Are you engaged?"

"Is this a publicity stunt?"

Maya's grip tightened on Derek's arm, but he just smiled and waved, leading her through the chaos like it was nothing. Like he'd been doing this his whole life.

Because he had.

They made their way to the podium, where a microphone was already set up. Derek stepped forward, his voice calm and confident.

"Thank you all for coming," he began. "I know there's been a lot of speculation about my personal life lately, so I wanted to clear things up." He paused, turning to Maya with a smile that looked almost genuine. "This is Maya Chen. And yes, she's my fiancée."

The crowd erupted.

Maya forced herself to smile, to wave, to play the part. But inside, she was screaming.

Derek continued, fielding questions with practiced ease. Yes, they'd known each other for years. Yes, she was a sports agent. Yes, it was love at first sight—the second time around.

Maya had to suppress a laugh at that last one. Love at first sight. If only they knew.

"One more question," the moderator called out. "Derek, there have been rumors that this engagement is a publicity stunt to repair your image. What do you say to that?"

The room went silent.

Maya's heart stopped. She glanced at Derek, unsure what he would say.

He looked at her—really looked at her—and something in his expression shifted.

"I'd say," he began slowly, "that Maya is the only person in my life who's ever been honest with me. She's not here because of my money or my fame. She's here because..." He paused, his voice dropping. "She's here because she sees the real me. And she stayed anyway."

Maya's breath caught in her throat.

He was acting. Of course he was acting.

So why did it feel so real?

After the press conference, they retreated to a private room backstage. The moment the door closed behind them, Maya pulled away.

"What was that?" she demanded. "You practically wrote a love letter up there."

Derek shrugged, loosening his tie. "It's called acting. You should try it sometime."

"I'm not acting. I'm doing exactly what you asked—playing the part."

"And you're doing a great job." He stepped closer, his voice dropping. "But you're not going to fool anyone if you keep looking at me like I'm the enemy."

She bristled. "Maybe because you are."

"Am I?" His gaze was intense. "Because I just defended you in front of the entire press. I just told the world you're the only person who's ever been honest with me. That doesn't sound like an enemy to me."

She opened her mouth to fire back, but someone knocked on the door.

"Mr. Cross? The photographer is ready."

Derek held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned away. "Coming."

The photoshoot was brutal. Maya had to stand next to Derek, smile, touch his arm, lean into his chest like she was actually in love with him. Every brush of his hand sent electricity through her skin. Every smile he gave her made her heart race.

And the worst part?

She couldn't tell if she was acting anymore.

At the end of the shoot, Derek pulled her aside. "You did good," he said quietly. "The press is going to eat this up."

"Great," she said flatly. "Now can I go home?"

He shook his head. "We have dinner reservations. My publicist booked the best restaurant in the city."

"Of course she did." Maya sighed. "And how long do I have to pretend I like you?"

He smiled—that infuriating smile. "Just for tonight."

She glared at him. But beneath the anger, there was something else.

Something that felt dangerously real.