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Chapter ten

That’s art, Zoe. That’s poetry.

Zoe

A s soon as I step inside Pulse, I don’t even attempt to go to my own office. Today, we’re having a contract discussion and signing for this fake dating nonsense. But it’s also the day Charlie is back from her domestic as fuck family vacation, and I have needs .

I barrel into my best friend’s office like I’m running from the FBI, slam the door shut, and press my back against it like it might hold back the sheer force of my absolute goddamn crisis.

Charlie, very pregnant and very unimpressed, pauses mid-sip with her sad decaf she clearly hates, and lifts a brow. For a split second, all I can see is a hospital room I barely remember. My mom. My sister. All the things a pregnancy can take. I blink it away. Now is not the time.

“Should I be worried, or just entertained?”

I point a finger at her. “Before I say anything , I need you to swear on your unborn child’s future that you will not tell Jake.”

She blinks. “Zoe.”

“Charlie, I’m serious .” I push off the door, pacing. “The man is a human megaphone.”

She makes a doubtful noise. “He can keep a secret.”

I snort. “He literally spoiled your gender reveal because he was too excited to keep it in for two hours.”

Her lips press together. “That was different.”

“Was it?”

There’s a long pause where Charlie seems to be running through every instance of Jake’s absolute inability to keep his mouth shut when it comes to anything remotely exciting. The man is a gossip whore, and by the way her expression shifts, I know the exact moment she realizes I’m right.

“Fine,” she mutters, setting her mug down and gesturing to a chair. “Sit. Spill.”

I drop into the chair like my bones have given up, and then I divulge everything.

The sex tape. The PR nightmare. The fake dating agreement. The godforsaken game of pool that somehow landed me in a situation I still don’t fully understand.

Charlie listens in silence, brows arching, lips twitching, looking way too entertained as I lay out the entire disaster. By the time I finish, her expression has morphed from neutral concern to pure delight, fingers pressed to her mouth like she’s physically holding in a laugh.

“I’m sorry, but you fake dating Chase Walton is the greatest thing to ever happen to me.”

My eyes narrow, and her grin widens.

“God, I cannot wait to tell—”

I lunge forward, gripping the desk. “CHARLIE!”

A laugh bursts out of her. “Okay! I won’t tell Jake. Even though, for the record, this is the kind of thing he lives for.”

I groan, slumping back in the chair. “I already regret coming in here. Should’ve kept this to myself.”

“Oh, no, this is the best part of my morning,” she says, not even trying to hide how entertained she is.

“This is better than coffee. Better than sex. You, a rational, independent, career-driven woman, just got hustled into a fake relationship by Chase Walton over a game of pool. That’s art, Zoe. That’s poetry.”

“I know it sounds insane.”

“That’s because it is insane.”

I drag a hand down my face. “Charlie, this is my job . I need to handle this flawlessly. There are rules, and I need to follow them, because if I get fired over this—”

“Okay, but real talk.” She props her chin in her hand. “Have you considered the fact that he’s in love with you?”

All brain activity pauses.

“Come again?”

Charlie shrugs. “I mean, Chase has been in love with you for years, so this is just the universe helping him out.”

I am actively malfunctioning. “What are you even talking about?!”

Her expression is almost too casual. “He’s obsessed with you.”

I lean forward, hissing, “He’s obsessed with being an irritant .”

“Is he?”

“Charlie, he’s the human equivalent of pulling a girl’s pigtails.”

Her brows lift. “Right. And you’re the human equivalent of pretending you don’t like it .”

The words knock something loose inside my chest because I don’t like it. I don’t.

It’s infuriating.

I straighten, preparing to stand and leave this traitorous conversation.

Charlie sips her decaf, flapping her hand at me. “Okay, okay, serious question.”

“What?”

“Do you think you can fake date Chase Walton and not fall for him?”

My stomach lurches, and not for the obvious reason. It’s the way she says it.

Not “can you fake date him without it being a PR nightmare?” or “can you survive this without losing your job?” Not even “can you pretend to be in love with him without ripping your hair out?”

No. She went straight for the jugular.

Fall for him . Like it’s a real possibility, something that could actually happen.

A sharp, involuntary laugh leaves my mouth. “Charlie.” I shake my head. “Don’t be fucking absurd.”

She doesn’t blink. “I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying.” I cross my arms. “This isn’t some rom-com. We’re not in a fake-dating-leads-to-real-feelings scenario. We’re in a PR-mandated nightmare that I need to survive with my career intact. That’s it.”

Charlie hums again, way too knowingly.

I glare and stand. “Good talk, Charlie. Thanks so much for your support.”

She chuckles and gestures down at her bump. “You can’t be angry at me, not while I’m like this.”

“Says who?”

“Jake Brooks.”

The corner of my mouth lifts because she’s goddamn right, and I love that for her. That man wouldn’t hesitate to run straight into battle to defend her honor. And the best part is, she knows it.

I make my way back to my office, planning out how this is going to go down in my head. I’ll act normal. Business as usual. Like this is any other contract I’m delivering for a client.

Paperwork. Logistics.

I get everything prepped for the upcoming meeting, making sure the conference room is set, and actively try not to spiral over the fact that in approximately ten minutes, Chase is going to be in this building, in this office, in my professional domain, looking way too pleased with himself over his stupid lucky win.

As I’m weaving my way back through the open plan section of Pulse Marketing, I feel like I’ve finally got a handle on things. I can survive this day.

A junior waves to me from one of the desks, calling me over to look at a proposal she’s working on, and I stroll over, bending down to look at her computer screen. This is good. This is work. This is a distraction.

“BABY! Look what I got you!”

I cease to exist.

The entire floor stills, and the rhythmic tapping of keyboards stops. Every single Pulse employee within earshot turns to look, because of course they do.

I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second, like maybe when I open them, this won’t be happening. Because I already know who it is. Loud and far too familiar.

I turn and stand slowly, already bracing for the absolute nightmare I know is waiting for me.

Chase Walton, standing in the middle of my office like he didn’t just disrupt an entire floor’s workday, grinning like an asshole.

And worse, he’s holding a coffee. My coffee. Or at least one that appears to be the same one I get every day from my favorite café. The one I go out of my way for and never shut up about because it’s that good.

Charlie, emerging from her office, chokes on her decaf and covers her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking. Oh, she is having the time of her life.

The open office space is dead silent, filled only with a hundred variations of one single thought: Did Chase Walton just call Zoe Carlson baby?

I inhale sharply, striding toward him and snatching the coffee, dragging him towards the hallway of the conference rooms by his arm.

He chuckles, and I feel the vibration in my hand. “Good morning to you, too, sweetheart.”

“Why the fuck have you got me a coffee?” I hiss under my breath.

He just smiles, so damn pleased with himself.

“Thought you might want one. And I know you never turn down a cup. ”

A flicker of unbidden heat and rage pulses through me. His voice is so fucking obnoxious, especially when he remembers everything.

The silence behind me is unbearable, only punctured by Charlie’s muffled laughter coming closer as I grab it from his hands and slowly take a sip.

Chase turns his attention to her, still the picture of insufferable cockiness. “Hey, Mama. Welcome back.” He presses a quick kiss to her cheek. “You look good.”

Charlie leans in to return his peck. “Liar.”

“You look better than Zoe, at least. She’s going through it.”

I stare at him, deadpan. “I will end your bloodline.”

Chase tuts, completely unfazed. “Babe, violence? This early in our relationship?”

“Don’t call me babe.”

“Sweetheart, you need to be a little more affectionate if this is gonna work.”

“Oh, I’m affectionate,” I say sweetly. “Just not toward you.”

Chase makes an mmm sound, and smirks at me like he’s remembering exactly how affectionate I can be.

I prod a finger into his chest so fast he barely has time to react. “Don’t finish that thought.”

He looks down and grins at my finger on him, eyes dancing with mischief as I dig it in deeper. And unfortunately, that’s when John Raines chooses to make his entrance.

“Carlson. Walton.”

I whip my finger away, my heart slamming into my ribs as I turn, because standing right there by the conference room doors is the Storm’s Head of PR and Neil Murphy—the kind of corporate man who signs his emails with Best Regards and has a firm handshake competition with every man he meets.

They look deeply unimpressed at the scene they’ve just witnessed.

They’re accompanied by a handful of execs from the Pulse side, including Rachel Cohen, my direct boss. They all stand there, watching this circus, surely trying to determine whether we’re mature enough to be in charge of our respective careers.

Chase doesn’t seem to care.

“Johnny,” he greets cheerily, like this isn’t the most mortifying moment of my entire fucking career. “Good to see you.”

The GM eyes him like he’s actively considering a trade. “Boardroom. Now.”

I nearly throw myself through the conference room doors just to escape this conversation.

Charlie wipes under her eyes as she watches us go. “Godspeed, babe .”