Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Absolutely,” he says, his voice deep and husky. “Have to say, I’m intrigued about the reasoning since you said you’d rather we speak in private.”
I swallow, ignoring the fluttering in my chest. “I’m sure you are,” I mutter as I open my notebook. A few Post-its fall out, and I stick them back onto the front. When I look up, he’s watching me, a small smile pulling at only one side of his gorgeous face, and everything seizes inside me.
How in the fiery depths of hell am I supposed to get through this?
Or even move forward with my plan?
“So, what’s this about?” he asks coyly.
I clear my throat, tearing my gaze from his. “As you know, we have been doing the Beauty and the Bull campaign for three years now.” I look up, and he nods, confirming he is listening, though his face is stoic. Like he’s bored already. “Yeah, okay. So, I don’t know if you’ve seen the insights,” I say, sliding the printouts to him. He doesn’t reach for them or even acknowledge the file. God, he makes me nervous. “Yeah, so our campaign is highly popular. Actually, anything that has us in it does very well for the school.”
He shrugs, tapping his fingers to the paper. “I’m not surprised.”
Okay. I swallow around the lump in my throat. I don’t know what I was expecting—for him to fall all over himself at the chance to meet with me? Why would he? I blew him off. He is Benson Jeannot; he’ll more than likely go top ten in the draft this summer. The Nashville Assassins are fighting to sign him, but I doubt they’ll get him. He is one of the best players in the history of Bellevue and so damn handsome, it hurts. This is probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought of.
But I’m not one to back down from a challenge.
“Nor am I,” I say, matching his energy. “Any campaign that features you or me does well for our respective team, but when we’re together, those have the highest engagement of the school. Last year, we had almost two million comments on a video of us interacting for the Beauty and the Bull.”
He nods slowly. “Again, I’m not surprised. Hottest gymnast, hottest hockey player—what do you expect?”
His confidence is intoxicating, and my heart has no intention of slowing down in my chest. I feel as if spiders are crawling down my back, and my stomach is in knots as I nod, wishing like hell I had even an ounce of his confidence. “We complement each other well, the dark to the light, according to our media team,” I say, moving my fingers along the cool surface of the table. “And everyone thinks we’re secretly dating.”
He scoffs. “How? You don’t speak to me. Or even acknowledge me.”
Well, that burns. “I wouldn’t go that far—”
“What is this about?” he says, cutting me off. “Like I said, you don’t speak to me or acknowledge me, and then I get an email out of nowhere. What is it you want, Cameron?”
The lump grows in my throat, threatening to suffocate me. Warmth fills my cheeks, guilt eating away at me because at one point we were friends, and in no way should a friend treat him the way I did. I feel as if I should apologize, but I don’t think that’s what he wants. He wants to know what I want. Which is fair.
I lick my lips, and when I look up to meet his gaze, I swear his eyes are on my lips. His eyes move to mine so quickly, I almost think I imagined it. “Fair enough,” I mutter, clearing my throat to buy myself time. “My project for my final marketing class was denied because my professor feels I can market to anyone, and that’s nothing new. She wants something bigger, something out of the box. When I saw our numbers, an idea came to me.” His brows draw together, and I know he is getting frustrated. I need to spit it out. “I’m not sure if you’re seeing someone—”
“I’m not. Though, I don’t know what that has to do with anything. You’re rambling, by the way. Get to the point.”
The giddiness that comes from knowing he isn’t seeing anyone is downright ridiculous, but nonetheless, I feel it deeply. I wet my lips once more. “I’m nervous,” I admit, and his brows come in.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t owe me a damn thing, and I’m about to ask you for something that you should say no to.”
His brows furrow more. “What’s that?”
Well, no need to beat around the bush, I guess. With our gazes locked, I swear I don’t even breathe as I say, “I want my final project to be about us.”
More confusion moves across his features. “Us?”
I nod. “I want everyone to think we’re dating.”