Page 33 of Role Play (Off the Books #1)

I trace a new pattern in the condensation on my cup.

“Growing up, I was always trying to get his attention. He was so…absent. Bored of me and my mom. Even when he was physically there, his mind was somewhere else—lost in the worlds he was creating. I used to smuggle his manuscripts from his office and read them, just to feel connected to him somehow.”

Forrest’s expression is thoughtful. “And now you write, hoping he’ll finally see you.”

I take another sip of my tea, buying time.

“My dad could help me if he wanted. Think about it. Every agent, publisher, and even Hollywood studio is after J.P. Cooper’s rights because they are guaranteed to turn a big profit.

If he wanted to work me into a deal, he could, easily . But he refuses. And you know why?”

“Why?” Forrest asks.

“Because to him, I’m that unworthy. I don’t know if it’s me, or the fact I write romance, or what.

But there’s something about my essence that Dad thinks is so detrimentally embarrassing that he doesn’t want to be attached to it.

Maybe I’m trying my hardest to prove him wrong…

Except all I’ve been doing for the past few years is proving him right. ”

“Sora—”

“You don’t have to pity me or anything. I’m just trying to be honest. It’s pathetic, right?” It sounds like a question, but it’s not. The accuracy of my words makes my chest ache. “Twenty-seven years old and still desperate for Daddy’s approval.”

“Not pathetic,” Forrest says firmly. “Human. I want my dad to be proud of the man he raised. It’s natural for a kid.”

“Is he?” I boldly ask. “Does he know what you do for a living?”

His eyes drop to his lap as the corner of his lips turn down. “No.”

Forrest is a talker. It makes sense when considering that charm and charisma are two essential elements of his current job, and his almost-job as a lawyer. So, when he answers my heavy question with a single syllable, his message rings through clearer than freshly Windexed glass: Leave it alone.

“Anyway, I think that’s why I care so much about what readers think,” I continue, shifting back the focus to my skeletons instead.

“If my dad won’t validate me, maybe strangers on the internet will.

But it’s become impossible to guess what everyone wants.

The right tropes, the right personalities.

Too much spice, not enough spice. The things one reviewer praises, the next reviewer is disgusted by.

It has sent me into a total mind spiral.

I can’t write lately. I second-guess every plot twist, every character arc, every word choice. ”

“You’re writing by committee,” Forrest observes. “Trying to please everyone.”

“And pleasing no one in the process.”

“Except you, right? Because why are you doing this if you don’t love your stories?”

I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I can’t keep crying in front of this man. He’s going to start throwing on a rain jacket anytime I’m within arm’s reach.

“Great question,” I mutter. “Anyway, enough about my daddy issues. You must be bored.”

“Not at all. Daddy issues pay my bills.” He grins mischievously. “Or ex-husband issues, or occasionally virgin issues.”

I drop my jaw, momentarily distracted from my woes. “Women hire you to take their virginity?”

He cocks a brow. “You really want me to answer that?”

I decide to change the subject before I spiral further into aggressively investigative questions about Forrest’s double life. “I’ve spilled my guts. Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Share something vulnerable,” I command. “To even the score.”

“You’re bossing me around now?” He’s looking at me like a puppy trying to roar.

“Um, if you’re open to that.”

“Sora, for ten thousand dollars, I’m open to a lot of things.”

I point at his chest. “We’re not done talking about you returning my money.”

He hums with laughter. “Okay, your choice. One or the other. You want me to share something vulnerable, or you want to argue about the money you’re not getting back?”

I pout, not trying to be cute, but he still looks amused. “Fine. Vulnerable. Share your secrets.”

Forrest leans back in his chair, watching me for a long moment. I half expect him to deflect or offer some sanitized version of his life, the kind of story he might tell a client.

Instead, he surprises me.

“I met Hannah—Dakota’s mom—in college,” he begins, his voice quiet but steady. “Fell hard and fast. She came from money. Old money. The kind of wealth where you never check price tags and summer is a verb.”

I nod, encouraging him to continue.

“I was supposed to go back to Wyoming after undergrad. My dad’s ranch was struggling, and he needed the help.

But then I got into Columbia Law, and Hannah…

she had certain expectations about the kind of life we’d live.

” His lips twist in a self-deprecating smile.

“I was young and in love. I would have done anything to make her happy.”

“So you went to law school instead of going home,” I say, filling in the blanks.

“A law school I couldn’t afford,” he confirms. “Hannah’s father had connections. One of them was Sean Colt, a partner at a prestigious firm and the ex-husband of my favorite professor, Rina.”

Understanding dawns. “Rina… Rina … Wait, you’ve mentioned her. Your current boss, right?”

Forrest nods. “Sean offered me a deal. The firm would pay for everything—tuition, apartment, living expenses during school—and in exchange, I’d work for them for fifteen years after graduation. The salary was insane, more than enough to give Hannah the life she wanted.”

“And you signed.”

“I signed.” He drags a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m learning to be a sign of discomfort. “Then Hannah got pregnant during my final year of law school. It felt like confirmation I’d made the right choice.”

“But something changed,” I prompt, sensing the second act of his story.

“I interned at the firm that summer. Saw what they really did—who they represented. Corporations that poisoned water supplies and called it a business expense. Landlords who let children live with toxic mold and lead paint. Executives who sexually harassed employees, then threatened them into silence.” His jaw tightens.

“I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be part of that world. ”

“Good for you.”

That earns me a teensy smile. “I went to Rina for help. She found a loophole: I couldn’t practice law and fulfill my contract if I never took the bar exam.”

I blink, putting the pieces together. “So you deliberately failed to become a lawyer?”

“I never even took the test,” he confirms. “I graduated, but I walked away from the profession. Sean was furious, of course. The firm demanded repayment of everything they’d invested in me—over half a million dollars.”

“Jesus,” I breathe.

“Hannah was equally furious. We broke up right before Dakota was born.” A shadow of hurt crosses his face. “She’d signed up for a wealthy corporate lawyer, not a…” He gestures vaguely at himself. “Whatever I am now.”

“She’s a money-over-love kind of girl?”

He nods. “Took me a long time to get that through my head. And when I was at my lowest, Rina threw me a lifeline. She’d started this high-end ‘companion service’ as a side business after her divorce from Sean.

She needed male escorts who were educated, well-spoken, capable of blending in at society events.

I was desperate, drowning in debt with a newborn daughter to support. The rest is history.”

I try to imagine Forrest in that moment—newly graduated, dreams shattered, relationship crumbling, with a baby depending on him. The weight of it must have been crushing.

“So that’s how you ended up where you are,” I say. “And you’re still paying off the debt to Sean’s firm?”

“Every month. Plus Dakota’s tuition at that ridiculously expensive prep school, plus helping my dad keep the ranch afloat.

” He shrugs. “The official escort work is completely legal, and pays well, but not well enough to dig out quickly. Which is why Rina turns a blind eye when me and the guys, um…offer additional services off the books. ”

“And Hannah has no clue what you do?”

“She’d try to take Dakota from me for good. Simply out of spite for destroying our relationship.”

“Destroying?” I ask, incredulous. “So you make a noble decision about your life and now you’re the bad guy?”

“I could’ve sat down, shut up, and played the part she wanted. Hannah and I would be together, we’d own a yacht, have a penthouse on the Upper East Side, Dakota would be a pretentious little punk, and I could’ve pretended I was okay with all of it.”

“Except you couldn’t.”

“Right.” His expression clouds. We’re silent for a beat, and then he proceeds to bare his soul like we’ve been friends for ages.

“Hannah’s boyfriend, Henry, just got a job offer in Tokyo.

They’re moving there for at least six months, and Hannah was planning to send Dakota to boarding school while they’re gone.

” His voice hardens. “A four-year-old. At boarding school. Alone, without her family.”

“That’s awful,” I say, earnestly appalled.

“I put my foot down. Told her Dakota would stay with me instead.”

“Good.” I nod encouragingly. “You’re a really great dad.”

“The problem is,” he continues, “my current living situation isn’t ideal for full-time parenting. My roommate, Taio, is supportive, but our apartment is tiny. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and Dakota’s at the age where I shouldn’t be cramming her into a bro apartment, you know?”

I nod along. “Sure, sure.”

“I could move, but that would be costly. I wouldn’t be able to afford her private school anymore, where she’s thriving, by the way. I’d have to send her to a questionable public school where she’d be mercilessly bullied for being tiny…and admittedly, a little bit of a know-it-all.”

“That’s hard,” I add.