CHAPTER 2: First Deal

Although Edward was on the same hockey team as Elvis, they were bitter rivals. Elvis had never had a single good thing to say about him. He was obsessed with overthrowing Edward and becoming the team captain.

Edward was the perfect subject for my project at Boston Journalism University, titled A Critical Analysis of Boston Hockey College’s Stars: A Case Study of Captain Edward Oxford.

Without access to Edward and his team, my project would be a total flop. And without my project, there would be no graduation for me.

I desperately needed to interview Edward and his team, so I asked Elvis to introduce me to him. Elvis repeatedly refused out of pure jealousy. In fact, he had explicitly told me to change my project topic, but I refused.

Now, looking at Edward, a wicked idea began to form. I had an opportunity to bruise Elvis’s ego in a way he would never recover from. My eyes settled on the gold wristwatch on Edward’s left wrist.

He didn't look at me at first. He simply gestured to the bartender and ordered a drink, completely oblivious to my existence.

“I love your wristwatch,” I said, my voice coming out bolder than I expected.

He slowly turned his head. His dark eyes met mine, but they held nothing but indifference. He didn't say a word. He simply turned back to his drink, lifted the glass, and took a slow sip.

“That's rude,” I whispered, leaning toward him so he could hear me over the lounge music. “It won't hurt a fly if you acknowledge a compliment.”

Still, nothing. He ignored me like I was background noise, a minor inconvenience in his space.

A moment later, he finished his drink, pulled a leather wallet from his trouser pocket, and dropped a hundred-dollar bill onto the counter.

“Keep the change,” he told the bartender in a smooth, commanding baritone.

The bartender began thanking him profusely, but Edward was already on his feet, walking toward the exit without looking back.

I slammed some bills onto the counter, grabbed the handle of my small trolley suitcase, and hurried after him, the wheels clattering against the polished tile floor.

I burst through the glass doors just as he pressed his key fob. The amber lights of a black Range Rover flashed in the parking lot. He opened the driver's door and climbed in. Just as he reached for the interior handle to shut it, I caught the edge of the door and forced it open with the little strength I had left.

“Who do you think you are?” I snapped.

He glared at me, his eyes dark with irritation. He looked around the parking lot as though I had to be talking to someone else. But there was no one around except the two of us. He turned back to me, his jaw tightening.

“Get your hand off my door,” he barked.

He yanked the door hard, nearly jamming my fingers against the frame.

“I have a deal for you!” I screamed before he could lock the door.

He paused, his hand freezing on the handle. He stared at me through the narrow gap for a few seconds, assessing me like a puzzle he had no interest in solving. Then, without a word, he shut the door, started the engine, and shifted into drive. The car moved forward a few yards, leaving a cloud of exhaust behind.

My heart sank into my stomach. I had lost him.

But then the brake lights flared red. He shifted into reverse and backed up until the vehicle was aligned with where I stood in the driveway. He rolled down the tinted window.

“What is the deal?” he asked, his voice sharp and suddenly businesslike.

“Can I come in?” I asked, nodding toward the passenger seat.

The locks clicked open.

I didn't hesitate. I pulled the door wide open, threw my suitcase into the back seat, and climbed into the front passenger seat. The moment the door clicked shut, the scent of his cologne filled the car.

He stared at me, looking impatient to hear my offer.

“Be my boyfriend just for tonight,” I said, turning slightly to look him straight in the eye. “And you'll be two thousand dollars richer.”

He didn't blink. His face remained blank for a few seconds as his dark eyes assessed me. Then the corners of his mouth twitched, and he let out a short, mocking chuckle.

“Two thousand dollars?”

“I'm damn serious,” I snapped, keeping my voice steady.

The amusement faded from his face as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a calculating look. He leaned back against his headrest, his hands resting loosely on the steering wheel.

“Alright. What's the plan?”

“Come with me to a party tonight at 9:00 p.m. Act as my real boyfriend. Put on a show,” I explained, laying out the terms. “After the party, I'll transfer the money directly into your bank account. Strictly business, no strings attached. Do we have a deal?”

His eyes scanned me from head to toe, taking in my casual sneakers, my slightly rumpled clothes from the train ride, and the anger barely concealed beneath my desperation. Then he extended his right hand across the center console.

“It's a deal. I'm Edward Oxford.”

I reached out and took his hand. His grip was firm, and his skin was soft.

“I'm Courtney Martinez.”

“I already know your name,” he said calmly.

I blinked, caught off guard. “How?”

“Who wouldn't know the most famous sports journalist in town?” A knowing smile touched his lips.

“I see...” I managed to say, my voice cracking. I had spent months writing columns on local athletics, but I hadn't realized the governor's son actually paid attention to my work.

He didn't let go of my hand. Instead, he shifted his grip, slid his palm against mine, and lifted my knuckles toward his lips. His dark eyes remained fixed on mine as he brushed a soft kiss against my skin.

“You look so gorgeous, girlfriend.”

The word hit me like a splash of ice water. I quickly yanked my hand away, my heart racing as I pressed my back against the door.

“Don't cross boundaries,” I warned. My voice cracked slightly at the end, undermining the cold, professional tone I was trying so hard to maintain.

A slow smirk crossed his face. He was completely unbothered by my reaction. He turned his attention back to the windshield.

“Just practicing, Courtney. 9:00 p.m., right? Let's go.”