Page 4
Bree
"Matthews will be the next CEO," Dad says without looking up.
I grip the chair's armrest, knuckles white. "Just like that?"
"It's time to be realistic, Brianna." Now he meets my eyes. "You're brilliant. Always have been. But you frighten people. You frighten men."
"Good. They should be frightened. I have access to chemicals that could dissolve their golf clubs."
As usual, I deflect with humor. But the truth is, the words hit like a blow—echoing the same criticism I’ve heard since childhood. Too loud, Brianna. Too competitive. Boys don't like girls who always have to win.
"Excuse me?"
"Your mother knew how to balance strength with grace." He adjusts his perfect row of fountain pens. "She understood the value of... softness. Femininity."
My throat tightens. Every dance recital, every science fair—he'd always found a way to compare me to her. Your mother made it look effortless. Your mother knew how to smile more, compete less. Your mother was a ballerina, not a chemical engineer–that’s a man’s profession.
“I don’t scare men.”
"When was your last relationship?" he continues. "That Trevor boy. We know how that ended."
My cheeks burn. "You don't know anything about my personal life."
"Exactly my point. You're thirty, successful, beautiful. Yet somehow always alone. Always pushing men away with your... intensity."
Intensity. When I beat Tommy Williams at debate. When I chose Chem Club over cheer.
I swore I'd never grovel for his approval again. Never fake it for a man. And yet—
"Actually," the words spill out before I can stop them, "I've been seeing someone."
Dad's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh?"
"Yes. Someone you'll like." My heart pounds against my ribs. "He's a professional hockey player."
Dad straightens. Hockey. His weakness. "One of Ashton's teammates?"
“Yes." Oh God, what am I doing? "He's... coming to dinner tomorrow night. To meet you."
"Tomorrow?" A smile tugs at his lips. "What's his name?"
Shit.
"I'll let him introduce himself. He's... very modest about his accomplishments."
"A hockey player who's modest?" Dad chuckles. "Now that I have to see."
"Seven." I stand before he can ask more.
"Brianna—"
"Give me one week, Dad. Delay your decision until after the anniversary gala. That’s all I ask to show you exactly what balance looks like."
I'm halfway to the door when his voice stops me. "You know, your mother gave up dancing for something better."
"No." I turn back. "She gave up dancing because you made her believe that was love."
“One week, Brianna. One week.”
The door clicks shut behind me and I lean against it, heart racing. What have I just done?
The door clicks shut behind me and I lean against it, heart racing. What have I just done?
I pull out my phone with shaking hands.
Me: Fine. I'll do it. Bring your friend to Dad's tomorrow at 7 for dinner.
Three dots appear immediately.
Ashton: You sure?
Me: No choice now. I just told Dad I've been dating him.
Ashton: Wait, what?
Me: Just make it happen. And Ash?
Ashton: Yeah?
I stare at my phone, reality sinking in.
Me: What's his name?
Ashton: Ken Branch
Me: Great. Tell Ken Branch to be ready at 6:30. And... tell him to shower.
I slide down the wall, letting my head fall back. Ken Branch. I don't even know what he looks like. For all I know, he could be another Trevor waiting to happen.
My phone buzzes.
Ashton: He'll be there. Clean and everything.
Let's see how comfortable Dad feels when his precious hockey player turns out to be just as intense about my dreams as I am. Even if I have to coach him every step of the way. Fake it. Script the whole damn thing. Games have winners. I don’t lose.
Me: Ashton, one more thing.
Ashton: What now?
Me: If this blows up in my face, I'm taking you down with me.
Ashton: Wouldn't expect anything less, sis.
One week to prove Dad wrong—to save my projects, my team, my future.
One week to pretend to be in love with a man I've never met.
What could possibly go wrong?