The Mascot's Fake Fiancé

Chapter 1

The coffee in Maya Chen's hand had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but she couldn't bring herself to drink it anyway. Her stomach was too tight, too knotted with the kind of dread that only came from watching your entire world collapse in slow motion.

"—and frankly, Maya, the numbers don't lie."

She forced herself to focus on the man behind the desk. Gerald Vance. Her father's "business partner" for the last three years, and now, apparently, the man who held the Chen family agency's fate in his manicured hands.

Gerald leaned back in her father's chair—her father's chair, which was still scuffed at the edges from where Dad used to prop his feet after a long day—and folded his arms.

"The agency is hemorrhaging clients. We've lost three in the last two months. Your father's health isn't getting any better, and frankly, you don't have the experience to turn this around."

Maya's jaw tightened. "I've been working here for six years, Gerald. I know every client. I know every contract. I—"

"Six years as an assistant," he interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Junior agent for the last eighteen months. And in those eighteen months, you've signed exactly zero new clients."

Because you gave me the worst territory to cover, Maya wanted to scream. Because every time I got close to a deal, you pulled me off to file paperwork.

But she didn't say that. She couldn't.

Because the truth was, Gerald wasn't wrong about one thing: the agency was sinking. Her father had built Chen Sports Management from nothing, representing athletes who'd been overlooked by the big firms. It had been a labor of love—underdogs representing underdogs. But two years ago, her father had suffered a stroke, and

Gerald had bought his way into the company, promising to "stabilize" operations.

Instead, he'd driven it into the ground.

"I'm giving you one more chance," Gerald said, sliding a folder across the desk. "There's a quarterback you've been pursuing for months. Derek Cross."

Maya's heart stopped.

No. No, no, no.

"Cross is the biggest name in the league right now," Gerald continued, oblivious to her internal panic. "He's got a reputation problem—too many tabloid stories, too much bad press. His agent is shopping around. If you can sign him, the agency gets a lifeline. And you get to keep your job."

Maya stared at the folder. Derek Cross's face stared back at her from the cover photo—smug, arrogant, with that patented smirk that had made her high school years a living hell.

"The deadline is the end of the month," Gerald said. "Get him on the roster, or I'm shutting this place down and selling the building."

He stood, straightening his tie, and walked out of the office without another word.

Maya sat frozen for a full minute.

Then she pulled out her phone, opened her anonymous email account, and stared at the flood of messages waiting for her.

@SidelineScribe: BREAKING: Derek "The Cannon" Cross spotted at yet another exclusive club, leaving with a model. Is this man incapable of being alone?

@SidelineScribe: Sources say Cross's teammates are sick of his drama. One anonymous player called him "a ticking time bomb."

@SidelineScribe: It's time we admit it: The Cannon is overrated. He's got the arm, sure. But he's got the ego to match—and no heart to back it up.

Maya scrolled through the comments.

"You're doing the Lord's work, Scribe."

"FINALLY someone telling the truth about this jerk."

"He's trash. Always has been."

She should feel proud. That was the whole point of the blog—exposing the athletes who coasted on talent while treating everyone else like dirt. Derek Cross was the poster boy for everything she hated: entitled, arrogant, untouchable.

But as she stared at his face on the folder, she felt something twist in her chest.

If I can't sign him, the agency dies.

If I sign him, I have to work with the person who made my life miserable.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Maya hesitated, then answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Maya Chen?"

The voice was male, deep, with a hint of familiarity that made her skin prickle.

"Who's asking?"

"This is Bryce Wheeler. Derek Cross's agent."

Maya nearly dropped the phone. She scrambled to compose herself, clearing her throat. "Mr. Wheeler. I—yes. I've been trying to reach you for weeks."

"Funny," Bryce said dryly. "I've been avoiding you for weeks."

She winced. "I understand you're busy, but if I could just have five minutes to—"

"Save your pitch," Bryce interrupted. "I'm not interested. But Derek is."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"Derek read your bio," Bryce said, sounding genuinely confused. "He specifically asked for you. Something about your father? Apparently, he knew him?"

He knew me, Maya thought, a bitter taste filling her mouth. He knew me, and he made sure I knew exactly how little I mattered.

"He's willing to hear your pitch," Bryce continued. "But Maya—he knows who you are. And he doesn't trust easy. If you're not serious, don't waste his time."

Maya's mind was spinning. He knows who I am. But which version? The coach's daughter? The pathetic mascot who followed the team around with a clipboard?

Or the blogger who'd been systematically dismantling his reputation for two years?

"I'll be there," she heard herself say.

What are you doing? her inner voice screamed.

What do I have to lose? she answered.

Bryce rattled off an address—Derek's penthouse—and a time. Tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock.

He hung up without saying goodbye.

Maya stared at her phone, then at the folder on the desk, then at the cold coffee she'd forgotten to drink.

Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she heard Derek's voice from a decade ago, laughing as she tripped over the water bottles she'd been carrying for the team.

"Watch it, Mascot. You're almost as clumsy as you are useless."

She'd been fifteen years old, humiliated in front of the entire team, and he hadn't even looked back.

Now, ten years later, he was the only thing standing between her and complete ruin.

Maya took a breath, picked up her phone, and began typing.

@SidelineScribe: Sources confirm: Derek Cross is shopping for a new agent. Anyone willing to take on a liability?

She hit send.

And wondered if she'd just made the biggest mistake of her life.