Page 14

Chapter eleven

I’m a fucking drama queen when I don’t get my way

Zoe

I rush into the conference room with my tablet, ready to be professional and in control, only for Chase to strut in and lounge back in one of the chairs right next to me.

He stretches out his long legs and drapes and arm lazily over the backrest of the seat next to mine, and the absolute fucking audacity of this man is that he looks so damn pleased with himself.

John and Neil sit down, along with my boss, and the Pulse crew. I tap on my tablet, pointedly not looking at Chase.

Naturally, Chase turns toward me with a huge shit-eating grin, resting his chin on his fist as if he’s settling in for entertainment.

I exhale sharply. We are in a professional setting. I will not let him bait me.

John sits at the head of the table and doesn’t look impressed. “Alright, let’s get through this. This is a professional arrangement.”

No shit.

“Zoe, your job is secure as long as there’s no conflict of interest.”

Fantastic.

“This technically still falls under non-fraternization, but because it’s PR-mandated, there are controlled exceptions.”

I nod sagely and press my palms flat against the table. Clarify, control the narrative, keep this tight.

“So, just to be clear…” I keep my voice as sharp and professional as possible. “This is still non-fraternization. We are not actually together. This is a business arrangement.”

Chase sighs dramatically beside me. “Baby, don’t talk about our relationship like that in front of our friends.”

My jaw locks, and I jab my heel into his foot under the table. He doesn’t even flinch.

Neil clears his throat, flipping through his copy of the contract.

“The agreement states that as long as this remains a strictly professional endeavor and does not evolve into a real romantic entanglement that would compromise Zoe’s ability to perform her job, there is no violation of company policy. ”

I nod once. “Understood.”

Chase hums, tapping his fingers against the table. “Damn, they really covered all the bases, huh?”

I exhale through my nose. “It’s almost like people expect you to be a nightmare.”

His grin is slow, easy, entirely unbothered. “Ouch, sweetheart. Kick me while I’m down, why don’t you?”

I do not look at him. “You’ll live.”

John doesn’t even react to our bickering because he’s already accepted his fate. He moves on, outlining the contract details, but Chase is relaxed as hell, leaning back in his chair like this is the most casual conversation of his life.

Finally, the paperwork slides across the table. The room fills with the quiet sound of pages flipping and pens scratching, and I take the pen, ready to sign, until Chase exhales sharply beside me.

I glance over. His posture is different now. He’s shifted forward, elbows braced on the table, a crease forming between his brows. He’s actually reading the contract.

“Something wrong, Walton?” Neil asks, sounding impatient.

Chase’s jaw tics. He flicks to another page, then looks at John, ignoring Neil entirely. “If this contract is broken due to fraternization, Zoe loses her job.”

A pause.

John folds his hands on the table. “That’s standard protocol, Chase.”

“But I won’t lose mine .” Chase’s voice is light, but something sharp lingers beneath it.

He taps a finger against the document. “You’ve covered all your bases on how this protects the team, how it protects me.

But Zoe?” He looks at John, then Neil. “She’s the one putting her career on the line, yet she’s the one who takes the fall. ”

Neil straightens, lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s the policy we have in place, and she has agreed to it.”

“But I don’t.” Chase’s voice cuts like a blade.

Neil shifts. “It’s just a technicality—”

“It’s bullshit.”

I open my mouth, then close it, because suddenly this is not just a stupid fake dating agreement anymore. This is an important conversation.

“Let’s just clarify how this all started.

” Chase tilts his head, gaze cutting through the room.

“I fucked up. I did. And when shit hit the fan, you guys decided that the best move for optics was to put Zoe in this position.” His voice is easy and conversational, but his grip on the pen tightens.

“So tell me something—how exactly is this fair ?”

John exhales, eyes flicking to me. “Zoe is aware of the risks.”

Chase shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “That wasn’t my fucking question.”

Neil frowns. “Chase—”

“No, let’s be real here.” Chase leans back, gaze steady.

“This was my mess, and if you remember correctly, you are the ones that initiated this fake dating arrangement because we’re already friends and have been for years.

So, if we’re doing this, if she’s taking the hit for me ”—his voice drops to something quiet, something lethal—“then no one touches her.”

The air is thick now, the usual charming man who waltzed in here barely recognizable beneath this version of him.

I sit perfectly still because I have never seen Chase Walton this serious, and I have no idea what to do with it. Especially when the reason he’s being serious is to protect me .

Neil clears his throat, glancing at John, who looks mildly exhausted.

“Chase,” I murmur, because what the fuck is happening right now ?

But he doesn’t look at me, even though I’ve just used his first name. His focus stays locked on them, voice steady.

“She doesn’t lose her job.” He taps the paper. “Put it in writing.”

Neil looks pissed, but John sighs and runs a hand through his graying hair. “We’d have to revise the terms.”

“Then do it.”

The room is deadly silent. I stare at him, my stomach twisting. He doesn’t have to do this. He should care about his own career first, his own reputation. He shouldn’t be fighting for me like this.

But he is.

Neil’s face is several shades of rage. “You are an NHL—”

“I don’t give a fuck if I’m the damn muffin man,” Chase says coolly, leaning back again. “No one touches her.”

No one says a word. I’m supposed to be the one in control here. I’m the one who fixes things. I’m the one who steps in, takes the heat, and makes sure the optics are handled. But Chase just did that for me with no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just casually put his entire reputation on the line .

And the worst part is, I think he means every word.

John exhales through his nose, adjusting his tie. “No one is looking to ‘touch’ her, Walton.” And then he turns to Neil with a nod. “Let’s add the clause.”

Chase holds his gaze. “Good.”

Silence stretches. The room is waiting for Chase to crack a joke, waiting for him to go back to being the guy who never takes anything seriously, but he doesn’t.

And then, like this entire thing isn’t the hottest display of male attention I’ve ever been on the receiving end of, he leans back again.

“Because I’m telling you right now, Johnny”—he finally grins, stretching his arms behind his head again—“I’m a fucking drama queen when I don’t get my way.”

I feel every single pair of eyes flick to me, and my stomach turns over.

Chase finally turns to me, too, smirking like he didn’t just strong-arm an entire NHL front office into protecting me.

“There,” he murmurs. “Now we’re equals, baby.”

And somehow, this is the moment I know I’m completely, irreversibly fucked.

***

The door to my office closes with a solid click.

I look up from where I’ve been staring blankly at my desk, trying to process the absolute chaos of the last hour, and find Chase leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

My stomach tightens. “Shouldn’t you be skating off your stupidity or something?”

He ignores that. “You good?”

I blink. Am I good? No. I’m not fucking good.

I spent an entire meeting trying to act unaffected while he casually threw his entire reputation on the line for me. Now I’m sitting here, trying to get my brain to compute what just happened. Because what he did was unnecessary. Stupidly reckless.

I shake my head, shifting in my chair. “Why did you do that?”

He lifts a brow. “Do what?”

“ That. ” I gesture vaguely at him, still trying to find the words. “You didn’t need to fight for me like that.”

His face goes carefully neutral. “Yeah, I did.”

I stare at him. My pulse ticks and I search his face, waiting for the joke, the punchline, the Walton-style grin that means he’s about to mess with me.

It doesn’t come.

“No, you really didn’t.”

I watch the muscle in his jaw twitch. “Then why the fuck wasn’t it in writing?”

“Because that’s just how these things work.”

“That’s bullshit.”

The quiet frustration in his voice startles me. I’ve seen Chase smug, cocky, playful, absolutely exasperating, but this? This serious, simmering frustration on my behalf? It wrecks me in a way I’m not prepared for.

I force myself to keep my voice even. “C’mon, Walton—”

“No.” His voice is deceptively light. “You’re telling me that not a single person in that room considered the fact that you were the only one with something to lose?”

I press my lips together because I know that’s what happened. I know that I’m supposed to be grateful that it’s just a “technicality,” one I’m expected to accept without complaint.

But Chase didn’t.

He sat in that boardroom, skimming a contract meant to protect him, and realized that I was the one paying the price, and he refused to let it stand.

“It’s my job,” I say quietly. “I know the risks.”

He exhales sharply, pushing off the door. “Yeah, well, so do I.”

I swallow. This is dangerous. This feeling is dangerous. So I look away, needing to redirect.

“Why are you in my office?”

He blinks once, and the moment shifts. His head tilts, mouth curving just slightly like he’s just remembered who he is.

“Can’t a boyfriend visit his girlfriend at work?”

I groan. “I’m going to pour coffee on your head.”

“Please. Not my hair.” He smirks, stepping further into the room. “Look, if we’re doing this, we need to get our story straight.”

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “Fine. When did we start dating?”

“Wedding.”

I glare. “No.”

He spreads his arms. “It’s perfect.”

It’s not, because it happened. Because it was real.

I cross my arms. “We didn’t start dating at the wedding.”

“Zo.” He exhales, grinning like this is all so funny to him. “Think about it. It makes sense.”

It makes too much sense.

I shake my head. “We could say it was before that. That we kept it a secret and wanted our privacy.”

Chase’s expression is slow and predatory, like a cat with a cornered mouse. “You want our fake relationship to be secretly real?”

I am going to scream.

“ God .” I press my fingers to my temples. “I cannot believe I have to sit here and construct a fabricated timeline of my life with you.”

“Hm, careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

I ignore him. “Fine. The wedding. Whatever.”

He grins, and I regret everything.

“That means our first date was technically—”

“Nope.” I cut him off before he can say it. There’s no way our one-night stand can count as our starting point for this terrifying timeline of events.

“Baby, you can’t erase our history.”

“I actively am.”

Chase just grins wider. “Alright, so we’ve been together since the wedding.” He leans against my desk, like he’s comfortable here, like this is natural. “That means we need to be seen together in public soon. Like… together .”

I sigh sharply because he’s right.

“We can tip the media off,” I murmur. “Make it casual. Make it look organic.”

Chase hums, watching me. “Date night?”

The words send a full-body flush through me, but I keep my face neutral.

“Sure.”

His smirk deepens. “I’ll pick you up Friday night.”

“You’re so fucking proud. Like an actual child.”

“I’m twenty-five.”

I scoff, nodding. “Exactly.”

He leans in slightly, eyes dancing. “Five years isn’t even an age gap.”

“It’s actually four and a half,” I correct. “I’m not thirty yet.”

“I know.”

I ignore the weird little twinge in my chest. “You’re a menace.”

“And you’re completely fixated on something that doesn’t matter. But if it helps, sweetheart… I like my women a little bit older.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I barely resist the urge to throw my stapler at his head.

His voice suddenly drops, turning smooth as he studies me. “You know, you’re really good at this.”

“At what?”

Chase’s gaze coasts over my face. “Lying.”

My throat tightens because I hate the way he says it, like it’s a compliment. A challenge. Like he already knows the truth.

And I know I should laugh. Tell him to shut the fuck up. Say o f course I’m good at lying—I work in PR, dumbass.

But I don’t.

Instead, I just stare at him, skin flushing and brain scrambling, and I loathe that he notices. The air between us feels like a slow-building pressure against my ribs, and I hate it.

Hate how he’s making this feel real with his damn coffees and his damn contract negotiations, fighting for my job like it matters to him. Like I matter.

So, I snap out of it before I get pulled into something dangerous.

“Don’t be late to our fake date.”

Chase chuckles, stepping away from my desk and heading for the door. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

Then he pauses, his hand on the door handle. His head tilts slightly, something unreadable flickering across his expression before he glances back at me, his voice quieter.

“You know I meant it, right?”

My brows crease. “Meant what?”

He doesn’t even blink, his blue eyes turning stormy as he pauses for a beat.

“That no one touches you.”

My pulse stumbles as the words land somewhere deep I can’t reach. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. And before I can stop myself, before I can shove this weird feeling back down where it belongs, I realize I believe him.

He means it.

His jaw tics like he wants to say more, but instead, he taps the doorframe twice and walks out. Leaving me alone in my office with a feeling I have no fucking clue what to do with.