PLAYING FOR KEEPS: MY FAKE ALL AMERICAN QB BOYFRIEND

Sienna Blake pov

I blink twice, staring at the ceiling rather than the paper in my hand.

Am I seeing things?

Is my brain playing games on me?

My doubts fade into obscurity as I stare at the horror in front of me.

I try to process its content whilst I feign the unease that is budding in my stomach.

FINAL NOTICE: FORECLOSURE IN 5 DAYS.

The bold, brutal words seal my fate. In five days, the only home I’ve ever known will be gone.

This isn’t just any house—it’s my childhood home, the last piece of stability I have left, where I made memories with my late mom until she knocked it.

My father’s debts have finally caught up to me. Years of unpaid loans, all taken to feed his addiction after “the love of his life was too lazy to breathe.”

His words, not mine.

My mother died in her sleep when I was sixteen, and ever since, he’s been drowning himself in cheap whiskey and bad decisions.

I take a shaky breath and clutch the bank notice tighter. My modest salary as a ballet dancer barely covers groceries, let alone thousands of dollars in unpaid mortgage payments.

I have scraped by for years, doing side gigs, teaching classes, and even performing at private events just to make ends meet. But it’s never been enough.

And now, the only home I have ever known is about to be taken from me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing my tears not to fall. Crying won’t pay the bills. Crying won’t save my home.

Unless I find a miracle!

Shoving the paper into my bag, I grab my keys with a determination I don’t fully believe in. There’s only one person who might be able to help me—the highly powered Russell Vaughn, my agent. If anyone could pull strings, it was him.

The sleek glass doors of Vaughn Talent & Sports Agency tower above me, an intimidating reminder of the world I am barely scraping by in.

Mustering up some courage, I push through the entrance, my feet squeaking at the shiny floors that gleam under the soft morning light.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee infused with that of expensive Arabic waft into my nostrils reminding me how this is so out of my league.

I barely make it past the lobby before a familiar voice stopped me. “Sienna! Just the woman I wanted to see.”

I turn to see Scarlett Monroe, Vaughn’s secretary and my long-time friend, sauntering toward me in her signature six-inch heels. Scarlett’s auburn curls bounce as she lean in with a conspiratorial grin.

“Girl, you will not believe who just signed with the agency.” she purrs

Sighing, “Scar, I don’t have time for—”

“Jaxon Carter.”

I furrow my brows, not that I know the saw called Jaxon, but the name sounds vaguely familiar.

Scarlett’s eyes gleam, “You know, Jax? The quarterback? The one who made headlines for throwing a Super Bowl party that ended with three arrests and a wrecked penthouse?”

“Oh,” I mutter.

That Jaxon Carter.

Of course, I know him, everybody knows him, he is bad news.

Scarlett smiles wryly, “And let’s not forget his many public scandals—bar fights, cheating rumours, illegal car racing, that video of him snorting coke in Miami.”

She let out a dreamy sigh. “God, I’d let him ruin my life.”

Rolling my eyes,“I’m sure you would.”

“Apparently, rumors have it that he is trying to clean up his act, you know, look more respectable for the Titans, who are ready to give him a $200 million contract. Actually, the contract is the only reason Vaughn agreed to sign him with the agency.” she blurbs, throwing her freshly long, manicured nails like a maniac.

“And Vaughn thinks he can magically turn a walking PR disaster into a role model?” I let out a scoff.

Scarlett shrugs, “For the right price, anything is possible.”

“Whatever,” I sigh, rubbing my temples.

I have enough of my own problems to worry about instead of thinking of some spoilt bastard’s problems.

“Is Vaughn free? I need to talk to him.”

“Mmh, go ahead, don’t bother knocking; he is probably in his morning yoga session.

"Good luck, babe.”Scarlett waggles her fingers on my direction before sauntering towards God knows where.

I push open the door to Russell Vaughn’s office, and, as expected he is not at his desk.

Instead, he he is in the middle of his morning wellness routine.

My boss is balancing in a perfect tree pose on a yoga mat in the corner of the room, his toned arms stretched above his head, his breathing slow and controlled. His smartwatch chimes softly, tracking his steps and reminding him to hydrate.

On his sleek glass desk sits a neatly arranged tray of vegan exotic fruit bowls, his green smoothie already half-finished.

Vaughn believes in longevity, clean eating, and inner peace—which, in his world, means morning meditations, matcha shots, and absolutely no processed sugar and animal products.

Immediately he senses he has company he releases a low, calm breath through his nose and slowly lowering his arms, eyes still closed.

“Sienna, darling, you are interrupting my chi,” he says, finally opening his sharp, cat-like green eyes.

“I need an advance,” I blurt out before he can brush me off. “Or a loan. Anything.”

Vaughn finally moves, stepping off the mat and walking to his desk, where he checks his chia seeds-infused water bottle before finally looking at me.

“Honey,” he sighs dramatically, “we have talked about this. The agency is not a bank.”

I grit my teeth. “But you helped Scarlett when her mom was sick.”

Vaughn pinches the bridge of his nose, already exasperated.

“That was one time, and I knew she would pay me back in Birkin bags and bottomless brunches.” He sighs, crossing his arms.

“Look, kid, you are talented. But talent doesn’t pay the bills.”

My throat tightens. “It’s my home, Vaughn. The bank is taking it.”

Immediately his expression softens subtly—for half a second, and I am almost convinced that he will change his mind and help me out-but he shakes his head.

“Then maybe it is time to let it go.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. I had anticipated resistance.

Maybe even hesitation. But not outright indifference.

I swallow the lump in my throat and turn on my heel, storming out before he sees the tears burning at the corners of my eyes.