Chapter 6

Chapter 6: The Number

*Sloane*

I was still fuming by the time I got two blocks from the facility.

*Fake date him. Fake date Rhys Calloway.* The audacity of it kept looping in my head, over and over, like a song stuck on repeat. As if I hadn't spent months getting splashed with mud and insulted about my hair by that man. As if I could just smile for a camera and pretend I didn't know exactly what kind of person he was underneath the expensive jacket.

I walked faster, like I could outpace how angry I was.

*The nerve.* Marcus sitting there so calm, like he was offering me a coupon instead of a lie I'd have to live in for an entire hockey season. And Rhys, standing there the whole time, arms crossed, not saying a single word in his own defense, like he already knew I'd say no and didn't even care enough to try changing my mind.

Good. Fine. Let him think whatever he wants.

My phone rang halfway home. Mateo.

"Hey," I said, working to smooth the edge out of my voice before he could hear it.

"Hey! How was your day?" He sounded upbeat, the way he always does when he's about to ask me for something and is trying to soften me up first, even though he doesn't realize I can always tell.

"Long. What's up?"

"Nothing, just…" A pause. "I know you said you'd handle the school fees, and I trust you, I do. I just wanted to check, since the deadline's next week. I don't want the school calling you about it if I can help it."

"I remember, Mateo. I've got it."

"Okay. Sorry, I know you're dealing with a lot already. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Don't apologize. You're allowed to ask about your own school fees."

"I know, I just..." He trailed off. "Never mind. Thanks, Sloane."

We talked for another minute about nothing important, and then he let me go, and I stood on the sidewalk feeling worse than I had five minutes earlier, which I hadn't thought was possible.

*One week.*

And that reminded me of the other date circled in red on the calendar taped to my fridge. Mom's dialysis. Three days from now. Three days, and I still didn't have the full amount, not even close, no matter how many times I'd run the numbers hoping they'd magically add up differently.

By the time I got to my apartment, I didn't even bother turning on all the lights. I just sat down on the edge of my bed, still in my coat, and pulled up my banking app, because apparently I enjoy torturing myself.

$2,340.17 had become $1,890.42. Rent had come out. A few smaller bills too. My paycheck wasn't due for another eight days, and even when it landed, it wouldn't cover the dialysis payment, the school fees, and everything else waiting behind them like a line of dominoes ready to fall.

I sat there in the dark, staring at the numbers, feeling the walls of my life close in a little tighter than usual.

Then Marcus's voice came back to me, calm and easy. *If there's anything we can do to change your mind, you know where to find us.*

I made myself think about it like a story instead of a favor, strip out who was involved and look only at the terms. A season of pretending, in exchange for enough money to end three separate emergencies at once. That was the whole equation. Everything else was noise.

If I did this, I wouldn't walk into it empty-handed. I'd set the terms myself. Real money, enough to cover Mom's treatments and Mateo's fees and then some. A contract length I controlled. My family kept completely out of it. My actual job protected, untouched. This wasn't romance, and it didn't need to pretend to be one in my head either. It was a business arrangement with a man I couldn't stand, and if I was smart about it and I am always smart about it, I could walk out the other side of that season with my family's problems solved and my life finally steady under my feet.

I picked up my phone before I could second-guess it and called the number on the card Marcus had pressed into my hand on my way out the door.

He answered on the second ring. "Miss Reyes. Change your mind already?"

"I have terms," I said, skipping straight past whatever satisfaction he wanted to feel. "If you can meet them, I'm in."

There was a short pause on the other end, like I'd actually managed to surprise him. "You're serious."

"I'm in," I said again, flatter this time.

"Are you sure about this?"

I looked around my dark apartment, at the bills stacked on the counter, at the reflection of my own tired face in the window.

"No," I said honestly. "But I'm still doing it."

Another pause, shorter this time, and then I could hear the smile creeping back into his voice. "Alright. When can you meet to go over details?"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow works."

I hung up before he could say anything else, before the small, stubborn, sensible part of my brain could remind me exactly who I'd just agreed to fake-date.

I set the phone down on the table and sat there in the quiet, the full weight of what I'd just done settling slowly over me.

I had just agreed to fake-date Rhys Calloway.

I dropped my head into my hands and let out a long, unsteady breath.

*Good going, Sloane.*