Faking Forever With My Hockey Roommate

Chapter8

Zaria's POV

Two days had passed since I signed my life away on a piece of paper, and I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It felt entirely too good to be true. I had completely stopped the desperate job hunt after signing the contract, but my brain wouldn't stop running the numbers. When was the money actually going to hit my account? The draft for my mother’s medical bills was due by the end of the week, and every time my phone vibrated, my stomach did a little nervous flip thinking it was the pharmacy calling to tell me her prescription was delayed.

If this thirty thousand dollars was real, it meant safety. It meant paying off Mum’s care, putting away a solid savings cushion, and finally, finally, getting my own place. Somewhere small, quiet, and completely free of men with massive egos.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed in the spare room, staring at my reflection in the mirror, when David knocked on the open doorframe and leaned against it.

"You doing okay in here?" he asked, crossing his arms. "You've been staring at that wall for twenty minutes."

"I'm fine," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Just thinking."

David chewed on the inside of his cheek, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure about this whole contract thing, Zaria? You don't have to do it if it feels weird. You can stay here as long as you need while you look for a real job."

"It's thirty grand, David," I said, looking up at him.

"A real job isn't going to give me that kind of money in thirty days. I just... I don't know. Is Niko secretly crazy or something? What was with all that practical advice and the contract stuff?"

David let out a small laugh. "Nah, he's not crazy. I wouldn't be best friends with a lunatic. But he's insensitive as hell. He doesn't really get how regular people think because he's lived in a bubble for so long. He just sees a problem and throws a solution at it."

"Well, that's not bad and besides,

I'm not expecting romance," I muttered, turning back to the mirror. "I just want the money and the benefits so I can pay Mum's bills and move out into my own apartment."

"You're not moving out," a smooth voice called from the hallway.

I jumped slightly as Niko appeared in the open doorway, leaning casually against the frame with his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark trousers.

"Excuse me?" I said, turning around to glare at him.

"You're my girlfriend for the next thirty days," Niko said, his face completely unbothered. "Girlfriends don't live in cheap studio apartments across town while their hockey-player boyfriends stay in a high-end penthouse. You stay here. This place is more than big enough for three people, and it looks better for the press."

He flicked his gaze toward David. "And stop scaring her. You're making it sound like I'm holding her hostage."

"You basically are," David grunted, though he stepped back to give Niko room.

I stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. "I am not staying here a second longer than I have to, Volkov."

“Oh, so you don't want the deal then?”

“What—”

“That's fine, do you have thirty grand to cancel the contract?”

My eyes widened. Oh yeah, there was a clause for if I broke the contract before the month was up.

"Yeah I thought so," he replied smoothly.

Then he looked me up and down with an unreadable expression, his eyes lingering on my faded grey oversized sweater and old sweatpants. "Do you actually own anything nice?"

My jaw practically hit the floor. The absolute audacity of this man.

"I'm sorry?" I gasped, my voice rising.

“Like, fancy…” he looked me up and down again, “Better clothes.”

"Are you insulting my wardrobe now? I have very nice clothes, thank you very much! They happen to be neatly packed in my suitcases because I've been a little busy having my life ruined!"

Niko didn't even flinch at my outburst. He just tilted his head, looking mildly amused by how fast I had flared up. "Good to know. But you won't need your suitcases today."

Before I could fire off another insult, he reached behind his back, produced a sleek, glossy black box, and casually tossed it onto my bed. It landed with a soft thud.

"What is this?" I asked suspiciously, eyeing the box like it might explode.

"A simple dress," Niko said, stepping back into the hallway. "Put it on. Put on some lipstick, look pretty, and be ready in twenty minutes. We have a lunch date."

"A lunch date?"

"A 'private' lunch," he clarified, putting air quotes around the word. "Where we are going to 'accidentally' run into a few eager members of the press. So when the cameras flash, try to look shocked and scared, not like you're about to murder me."

David looked between the two of us, shook his head, and raised his hands. "I'm staying out of this. Good luck, Zaria." He turned and walked down the hall toward the living room.

"Twenty minutes, Reeds," Niko added, giving me one last irritatingly handsome smirk before disappearing down the corridor.

I stood in the middle of the room, fuming. The nerve! The absolute, arrogant, sassy nerve of that man! Telling me to 'look pretty' like I was some prop he could just dress up and parade around town!

"Arrogant jerk," I muttered under my breath, stomping over to the bed. "I should throw this right back at his face if I wasn't so broke.”

I reached down and yanked the heavy ribbon off the top of the box, pulling off the lid just to see what kind of hideous, high-fashion nonsense he had picked out for me.

The crisp white tissue paper parted, revealing smooth, midnight-black fabric. I reached in and pulled it out, letting the dress unroll. It was an exquisitely tailored, classic sleeveless black dress, ellegant, clean, and unmistakably expensive.

Then my eyes caught the small, gold-embossed label stitched near the neckline.

Chanel.

Actually f*****g Chanel!!

I froze, holding the fabric between my fingers. I stared at the label, then at the box, and then back down at the dress.

Damn it.

I hated him. I really, truly hated Nikolai Volkov. But damn, Chanel? I mean I could…yeah, I could do the date thing, I guess.