Page 3 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

“Are you mad ? Of course you’re going to say yes!” Ella declares.

I groan as I rub Winston’s belly from my position on the living room floor. My corgi looks up at me, and I swear this dog legit grins when his belly is being rubbed.

I stare down at him, distracted for a moment. I wish my life were as simple as Winston’s. Get affection. Chase tennis balls. Eat. Go for walks. Nap. Repeat. Winston doesn’t have to think about crazy things like dating a hockey player to save a business.

“Ella. It seems a bit … well, gross, doesn’t it?” I ask. I take a moment to adjust Winston’s red mistletoe Christmas collar. “Taking one hundred thousand dollars to pretend to date someone? I don’t feel right about it.”

Ella flounces dramatically onto the sofa and lets out a huge “OOOF,” which is something she’s rather fond of doing when she is frustrated with me.

My show is done for today, and thanks to Sofia Bailey West, I ended up making an actual profit for once. Now I’ve returned home to the apartment I share with Ella in the Brickell district of Miami. It’s not cheap, but between the two of us, we can make it work.

Barely.

And the two of us might be a wee bit of an exaggeration. Ella pays a lot more on rent and utilities. She graduated with honors from FSU with a degree in accounting, and she came out of school with a nice job and great paycheck.

As opposed to living on the sale of three jars over a two-day event.

The high rise is extremely nice, and I love the it because we can walk to cafés, coffee shops, restaurants, bars … it’s the perfect location. We live on the fifteenth floor and have an incredible view of the ocean from our living room.

“One. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars,” she repeats very slowly to emphasize her point. “That’s life-changing money. Just to hang out with some hockey player for a month. If you won’t do it, I will!”

I light up at that prospect. “Would you?”

“Ha! Are you conveniently forgetting I have a boyfriend?”

I grin at that. Ella has been dating Jordan since her last year at Florida State. He lives in Miami Beach and works in engineering. They plan to get an apartment together next summer.

I frown. Which makes this proposition even more important for me to consider.

“Georgie, listen, this whole situation is stupid crazy and like something out of the books I love to read”—Ella pauses for a moment, gesturing her hand toward the bookcase in our living room, filled with every single book she has purchased since joining BookTok—“but you are being given a GIFT. A gift! All you have to do is go out with him for a month. You can do the Christmas things you love doing, he’ll get people to your shows, and at the end of it? You walk away with financial security for a long, long time. A check that will let you push on with Georgie’s Jars. You’re not doing anything illegal or gross. It’s a business transaction . They want that Georgie magic that only you can offer. This.”

Ella waves her hand across the living room, gesturing in a sweeping motion. I can’t help but smile at that. Ella loves talking with her hands.

“They want this sparkle. Christmas magic. Pink,” she says.

I look around our living room, which is already decorated for Christmas. I don’t wait for Thanksgiving to be over. As soon as trick-or-treat is finished, it’s Christmas in my world. Just so I can have every extra moment to experience all the joy I can.

I love Christmas so much.

Ella knows this is my favorite holiday, and she lets me decorate however I want. I love the theme of a candy/gingerbread/Nutcracker Christmas and our whole apartment has that theme. A white-flocked tree filled with pink candy-confection ornaments, gingerbread ornaments, and lollipops. LED cluster lights twinkle on it for a magical effect. On our coffee table, there’s a cake pedestal with a cloche over it, and inside is a nutcracker. It’s nestled amongst candy-cane trees. I have some of my jars painted in pink, with LED candles flickering inside, set on the table as well. Our sofa has decorative cushions for the season, and of course I’ve decorated the kitchen, down to hanging wreaths from each cabinet.

“Only you have this magic, Georgie,” Ella declares, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re amazing and special and I can see how you could help Beckham Bailey get his career back on track.”

I hesitate. If I do this, it will solve so many problems. I could even afford to rent a space to do my crafting instead of driving over to my mom and stepdad’s house every day to work in my old bedroom.

“And Georgie? Quite frankly, after I looked up what he makes, you should negotiate for more money.”

My jaw drops. “You looked up what he makes?”

Ella quirks a brow. “Yes, because I knew you wouldn’t. Care to know?”

I nod.

“Ten. Million. Dollars. A year, ” she says triumphantly.

“What?”

“Believe me, he can afford to give you a hundred grand to fix up his party-boy image. Georgie, have you even googled him yet?”

“Um, in case you don’t remember, I just got home from the craft show,” I remind her.

Ella looks gleeful. “Oh, you’re in for a treat.” She leans forward and retrieves her phone off the coffee table. “I saved my search for you.”

“Are you planning on becoming an agent, Ella Bella?” I tease. “Because that is how you’re acting for me right now.”

“I’m your twin. I’m going to make sure you get what you deserve if you take on this dude. Because he’s a mess, Georgie.”

She gets up and hands me her phone. I scroll through it, seeing a mix of articles about what a good forward he is—like I even know what that means—along with articles about Beckham arriving late to practice. Nearly missing team charters. Right before the trade, he was scratched for showing up five minutes late for a training session.

“Wow. He is a mess.”

“Yep.”

I study his face for a moment. Beckham is good-looking, there’s no denying that. Thick, dark hair. Those large brown eyes that look oh so innocent. The slight scruff shading his jawline. The playful smile that tugs at the corners of his full lips.

I see his Connectivity Story Share, and he’s shown partying with friends. Or with beautiful women surrounding him.

A new Taylor Swift song comes to mind.

“I Knew You Were Trouble.”

I’m willing to bet Beckham Bailey is all kinds of trouble.

“He’s the biggest project you’ll ever have,” Ella says. “You’ll have to get him on time. Out of clubs. Appearing cheerful and on track with a sweet, steady girlfriend.”

“This is crazy. Who does this? Who? ”

“You,” Ella says cheerfully. “If you’re brave enough to take him on.”

I groan again.

“Just go meet with them. See what they have to say,” she encourages. “If nothing else, you’ll get an amazing dinner out of it at Hotel Fredrico.”

I sigh. This is surreal.

Nutters.

Stupid?

It’s definitely all of the above.

But as I stare down at Beckham’s image on my phone, I can’t help but feel he holds the key to my future.

And I owe it to myself—and my business—to see if that is truly the case.

* * *

“Tell me this is insane and to go home right now,” I say into my phone as I walk through the opulent lobby of Hotel Fredrico. It’s nearly seven o’clock, and I’m on my way to have dinner with Sofia and Beckham. I’m talking to my bestie—Chloe—and I can tell she still doesn’t quite believe what I’m telling her.

Chloe and I have been friends since preschool, so I’d trust her with any secret. She’s a vault when it comes to that kind of stuff. So I can completely trust her with this proposition I have received and know it will go no further than her ears.

“Georgie, this is … this is …” Chloe’s voice trails off as she can’t come up with an apt description.

“Oh, I have a few words to help you. Completely insane? Something off BookTok? Utterly mad?” I fill in for her.

“Yes, it’s that, but I still can’t believe this is actually happening,” Chloe declares. “Not that I’m calling you a liar. I’m not. But this is … just crazy!”

“I know. I can’t believe I’m here,” I say, pausing and looking around the lobby for directions to the hotel’s posh restaurant. It’s already the holiday season at Hotel Fredrico. A massive tree is the focal point of the chic lobby, twinkling with white lights and ornaments in gold and red. There’s also a glass table filled with lush arrangements of flowers in red and white.

I can appreciate how beautiful it is, but it’s definitely missing some original charm as far as Christmas goes.

And some pink , I think with a grin.

“I still agree with Ella,” Chloe says. “You have to consider this.”

“I keep thinking I’m dreaming this whole scenario.”

“I would believe that over the real one, but I can confirm you are awake and talking to me.”

“This is so unsettling, Chloe! What am I even considering? This seems so wrong!”

“Well, that’s because not only is this a freaking weird proposition, but it’s beyond out of your character to do something like this.”

“It’s amazing what selling three jars a weekend will drive you to do,” I say dryly.

“Well, if you want to put it into positives and negatives, Beckham Bailey is hot . Being paid to kiss him would not be a chore.”

I feel my neck grow hot, an embarrassed flush quickly rising straight up to my chin. “Would you stop? I’m not kissing him! He’s not even my type!”

“How are you going to avoid that? You have to kiss him in public. You’ve got to be convincing!”

Shit, shit, shit! I never thought of that!

I draw my lower lip between my teeth, then silently curse myself for doing so, because now I’m sure I have red lipstick on my teeth.

I can’t kiss Beckham! He’s a womanizer. A playboy.

This man is an experienced kisser.

Which is something I’m definitely NOT.

I grow mortified from the thought. I’ve had sex exactly three times. All with my longtime high school boyfriend. I lost my virginity on prom night, and we had—sorta—sex twice that night. I turn red as I think about it. I have no regrets about losing my virginity to Luke, I was in love—or so I thought. But it turned out to be an awkward, embarrassing, fumbling experience that quickly led to our breakup out of sheer embarrassment on both our parts.

In short? It wasn’t a great experience for either of us. Once I got to the University of Miami, I wasn’t interested in college-aged dudes, because the ones I met were more interested in drinking and hooking up rather than relationships.

And I’m a one-hundred-percent believer in love and relationships kind of girl.

But how did I let it slip my mind that I might have to kiss freaking Beckham Bailey? HOW? Oh wait, I know.

It was the vision of one hundred thousand dollars.

“Ughhhhh,” I groan into the phone. “I don’t see how this is going to work.”

“Hmm, I bet Mr. Bailey could show you how some other things work,” Chloe teases. “He’s pretty good at handling a stick. Makes you wonder what he would do wi—”

“You are not my best friend,” I interrupt.

She laughs. “Message me all the details when you’re done.”

Then she hangs up.

I exhale and make my way over to the restroom. I need to check my teeth before I meet Beckham.

I push open the door, entering into a plush ladies’ room that has nicer furniture than my apartment and smells like the hills of Tuscany.

Not that I’ve ever been to Tuscany, but I’m pretty sure it would be aromatic like this.

I wash my hands and dry them. Then I stare at my reflection in the large mirror, doubts swirling through my head. Beckham and I sound like complete opposites. He’s a professional athlete known for partying. I’m a woman who sits home and paints Mason jars. Beckham is a grump—at least according to Sofia—and I’m called Christmas Sparkle by my friends. If we agree to this partnership, it’s not going to be easy.

It’s going to be beyond hard.

Maybe even impossible.

I stare back at my reflection, taking in my blue eyes and red-painted lips. My hair is done in loose waves, tumbling down my back. I wasn’t sure how to dress for tonight—is this a business meeting? I don’t know what to even call it. But I opted for dressy due to the location alone. I pulled out my satin A-line J. Crew dress. The color is champagne, which looks fantastic with my hair. The hemline is modern—falling above my knee—and the bodice is fitted.

But my favorite bit is my necklace. It’s a pearl necklace adorned with a fabulous black bow on the side. It’s interesting and classy and I absolutely love it.

Can I do this? I think, staring at my reflection. Can I really change Beckham Bailey’s career just by pretending to be his girlfriend?

And can he save mine in return?

I peer at my teeth, removing the offending streak of red lipstick, and then gather a deep breath of air for courage.

It’s time.

I leave the ladies’ room and follow the directions to the hotel restaurant, my stilettos clicking against the marbled floor. I feel nerves attack my stomach as I reach the hostess stand.

“Good evening,” a young woman dressed in black says to me as she moves a stack of leather-bound menus. “How may I help you?”

I swallow. “I’m here to meet the Bailey party.”

She nods. “Yes, of course.”

As I follow her, a new Taylor Swift song echoes through my head: “…Ready For It?”

And I don’t know if I am.