Page 7

Seven

Ava

I tossed my bag onto the couch and stood in the middle of my living room, arms crossed, staring at absolutely nothing. Logan Bennett wanted me to be his girlfriend. His fake girlfriend. The words sounded ridiculous no matter how many times I repeated them in my head, like they belonged in some over-the-top rom-com and not my actual life.

I exhaled sharply, pacing the length of my apartment. My steps echoed faintly in the small space, bouncing off the scuffed hardwood floors and the white walls I’d never bothered to decorate. There wasn’t much to look at—just the essentials. A secondhand couch I’d scored off Marketplace, a coffee table that wobbled if you leaned on it wrong, and a TV that had seen better days.

It wasn’t fancy, but it was home. Or, at least, the best I could afford on the South Side with a reporter’s salary and bills that never stopped piling up.

I stopped in front of the window, pulling back the thin curtain to glance outside. The street was quiet this time of day, just a few cars parked along the curb and a woman walking her dog across the way. For all its flaws, the neighborhood wasn’t bad. It was the kind of place where people nodded to each other on the sidewalk and minded their own business. And it was all I could manage right now.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table, dragging me back to reality. I’d called Amber at the Chicago Daily Times earlier, letting her know I’d be working from home for the rest of the day. She’d promised to tell Frank I was following up on a Bennett lead, which technically, wasn’t a lie.

But pacing around my apartment didn’t exactly scream productivity.

I sank onto the couch, rubbing my temples. I could still see Logan’s face, the way he’d leaned in at the coffee shop, his voice low and smooth as he laid out his insane proposition. “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

I’d almost laughed in his face, but something in his tone had stopped me. He’d been confident, sure, but there was more to it. A thread of desperation he probably didn’t even realize was showing. He needed this, needed me, to pull him out of the quicksand he’d been sinking into. And, if I was honest, I needed him too. I groaned, dragging my hands through my hair. The thought of fake-dating Logan Bennett was laughable. The man was a walking cocktail of arrogance and charm, the kind of guy who probably didn’t have to lift a finger to get his way. And yet, here I was, actually considering his offer.

Because this wasn’t just about him. This was about me.

My dad’s medical bills weren’t going to disappear. The late notices weren’t going to stop showing up. And Frank wasn’t going to magically start handing me front-page assignments. If I wanted to dig myself out of this hole—hell, if I wanted to prove I deserved more than puff pieces and bottom-of-the-barrel assignments, this could be the way to do it.

I stood again, pacing the room as the pieces began to fall into place. Exclusive access to Logan Bennett wasn’t just a headline; it was a career-maker. A chance to pull back the curtain on one of the NHL’s most talked-about players and write the kind of story that made editors sit up and take notice.

Sure, it was risky. But wasn’t everything in this business? And the truth was, I couldn’t afford to play it safe anymore.

I stopped in front of the couch, staring down at my phone. His number was still sitting there in my call history, waiting like a challenge.

“Fake girlfriend,” I muttered to myself, shaking my head. “What the hell am I even considering?”

But deep down, I already knew. I wasn’t doing this for Logan Bennett. I was doing this for me, for the byline, for the career, for the chance to prove I was more than just another name in the bullpen.

I grabbed my phone, a message from Logan was waiting in my texts… a spark of determination lighting in my chest. If Logan Bennett thought I was just going to play along, he had another thing coming. This was my story, and I wasn’t going to let him forget it.

Trust you? That’s rich.

Have you decided to make my life easier and say yes?

I’m still deciding if this is the worst idea I’ve ever heard or just mildly terrible.

I’ll take mildly terrible as a win.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bennett. If we’re doing this, we’re setting boundaries.

Boundaries. Got it. Let’s hear them, boss.

1: This is strictly professional. No funny business. We control the narrative together. 2: No surprises. If you step out of line or make me look bad, I’m out.

Got it. No funny business. I’ll be a saint.

Somehow, I doubt that.

Okay, my turn.

Oh, this should be good.

We need to look convincing. That means public appearances, actual dates, charity events…none of this hiding-in-the-shadows stuff. And you have to trust me to play my part.

Trust you? That’s rich.

Hey, this is a partnership. Mutual benefits, remember?

First date night is this weekend. Bavette’s. 8pm. I'll pick you up

Fine. But if you mess this up, I’ll make sure every paper in Chicago knows it.

Noted. You’re terrifying, by the way.