Chapter 3: The Playbook Pitch

Eve stopped breathing. The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in on her as her father’s words echoed in her ears.

"Absolutely not," Eve said, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You cannot be serious."

Terry let out a loud, mocking bark of laughter. "Me? Fake date the spreadsheet nerd? Mr Brooks, with all due respect, I’d rather take the suspension."

"Then you’ll take it while sitting at home without a paycheck, Terry," Vance Brooks said, leaning back in his expensive leather chair. He looked completely unbothered by their mutual disgust. "And Eve, you can pack up your tablet and find a new career. Because without my funding, your precious data department ceases to exist by five o'clock."

Silence stretched across the room, heavy and suffocating.

Eve clenched her fists at her sides, her fingernails biting into her palms. Her father knew exactly how to trap her. He knew she had spent years studying, working eighty hour weeks just to break into a male dominated sport on her own merit. He was using her entire life's ambition as leverage to force her into a neat, traditional box.

"This is insane," Terry muttered, pacing the length of the office like a caged predator. He shoved a hand through his dark, messy hair. "The media will never buy it. Look at her. Look at me. We don't even like each other."

"That is exactly why it works," Marcus, the PR director, chimed in, suddenly finding his courage. He stepped forward, his eyes bright with frantic excitement. "Think about it. The bad boy captain falls for the brilliant, serious front office executive. It completely rewires Terry's image. It makes him look mature, grounded, and reformed. The league will eat it up. The sponsors will love the romance."

Terry stopped pacing and glared at Marcus. "I don't do romance."

"You do whatever it takes to save your career," Vance said coldly. He stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. "The contract is already being drafted by legal. You will hold hands for the cameras, you will attend the Heritage Gala together, and you will convince the world you are a couple. If either of you slips up, the deal is off."

Vance walked toward the door, pausing just before he exited. "You have until tomorrow morning to sign. Don't disappoint me."

The heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving Eve and Terry alone in the massive executive office.

Eve turned on her heel, her chest heaving as she tried to process the disaster. She needed to get out of here. She needed to think.

"Hey," Terry’s voice growled from behind her.

She ignored him, marching toward the door.

A heavy, calloused hand gripped her upper arm, turning her around. Terry didn't squeeze hard, but the sheer strength in his grip made it impossible to move. He loomed over her, his stormy grey eyes dark with frustration.

"Let go of me, Terry," she warned, staring directly at his hand.

"Not until we talk about this," he said, his jaw tight. "Your dad is holding my contract over my head because you can't find a boyfriend to please your billionaire family. Just go find some generic guy to take to your gala and leave me out of it."

Eve let out a bitter, humorless laugh. She looked up at the golden boy captain, the man who had everything handed to him because he could slide a piece of rubber across the ice. He didn't understand anything.

"I can't just go find a boyfriend, Terry," she said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

Terry rolled his eyes. "Why not? You're not ugly. Just put on a dress and go on a date."

"Because I am a lesbian," Eve snapped, glaring at him. "I don't date men. I don't want a boyfriend. And I certainly don't want a fake one who drops his gloves and punches people for a living."

Terry froze. His grip on her arm loosened, his fingers dropping away completely. His mouth opened slightly, his arrogant expression entirely vanishing as he stared at her in utter shock.

"You're a..." Terry trailed off, blinking rapidly.

"Yes," Eve said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "So you see, your famous charm is completely wasted on me. I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man on earth."

Terry stared at her for three long seconds. Then, slowly, a strange, wicked smirk began to spread across his face. The shock in his eyes replaced by a sharp, calculating gleam.

"Perfect," Terry said.

Eve frowned, taking a step back. "What do you mean perfect?"

"Think about it, Brooks," Terry said, stepping closer into her space, though this time the hostility was gone, replaced by pure athletic ambition. "Every girl I’ve ever dated has tried to turn a real relationship out of it. They want the fame, the money, the drama. But you? You actually hate me. You have zero interest in my bed."

"Less than zero," she clarified.

"Exactly," Terry said, tapping his knuckles against her desk. "Which means this is a foolproof business deal. We fake it for the media, we save my captaincy, we save your job, and we don't have to worry about messy feelings. It's a clean playbook."

Eve looked at him, her mind racing. As much as she loathed his ego, he was right. If she had to fake date a man to save her life's work, it might as well be a man who knew exactly what the rules were. There would be no mixed signals.

"There are conditions," Eve said, her analytical brain immediately taking over. "Strict boundaries. We only do this for the cameras. No unscripted touching. And you stay out of my personal life."

"Deal," Terry said, holding out his massive, wrapped hand. "But if we're going to convince your dad and the paparazzi that we're madly in love, we have to make it look real."

Eve looked at his hand, then up at his smug face. She extended her hand, shaking it firmly. "Don't make me regret this, Captain."