Page 22 of On the Power Play

Jack nodded. "No, I understand that, it's just—“ He paused, his brow furrowing. "I guess I thought there would be more . . . I don't know. Time."

"Time?" Tony repeated.

"Right." He glanced at his sister, then looked up, fixing his gaze on Delia. "I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this. The concert was . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, and something bubbled up in Delia’s chest. The concert was what?

She was suddenly desperate to know the words he would’ve chosen to describe her performance as a revealed non-fan. After her first single hit big, all she heard from her team of producers was how ground-breaking her music was. Delia wanted to believe them, but zero part of her could. Adding French lyrics to repetitive pop songs didn’t constitute trailblazing. If she hadn’t seen her mother’s French birth certificate, she would’ve accused herself of cultural appropriation.

Jack stood, straightened his shirt, and moved toward the door. So many questions she wouldn’t get the answer to. So many stories she was already hoping to hear. But that wasn’t why Delia panicked and jumped from her stool.

“Why not?” she asked. Delia’s mother had just started her night shift. She didn’t like the idea of a publicity stunt any more than Jack did, but ever since Tony brought it up, she couldn’t deny its brilliance. Celebrity couples were making waves everywhere. Mary had shown her an article the other day that estimated a five-hundred-percent increase in streams and record sales for female singers and songwriters who dated famous athletes. Especially if they were beloved or intensely controversial, and Jack was both of those things. Tony could probably find someone else to fit the bill, but they wouldn’t be as hot of a commodity as Jack. And Delia needed to earn out that advance.

Jack stopped in front of the door. His shoulders were tight under his cotton shirt, his coat looped over his arm. “I just can’t.”

Again with the unfinished thoughts. That time, Delia’s mind went straight to her own jugular. He hated the concert. He’d been game over the phone, but now that he saw her in person, he was underwhelmed. Every shit date she’d gone on over the past year and a half coagulated into a wrecking ball that swung and hit her square in the chest. She hadn’t been exciting enough on her own, and now she couldn’t even pay a guy to pretend to date her?

Delia clenched her hands into fists as her cheeks flamed. “Am I not good enough for you? Not enough of the skinny, hot cheerleader type?”

Mary stepped forward. “Delia?—”

“No, I want to hear what he thinks. If he’s going to walk out that door and spread the word that Delia Melise wanted him and he turned her down, I want to at least be privy to his reasoning before it hits the tabloids.”

“I signed a non-disclosure.” Jack’s eyes were dark as he turned to face her.

There it was again. That flicker she’d seen in the ballroom. Delia stared him down. “Well, thank you for that.”

“I’ve got a lot on my plate,” he said crisply.

“What, playing a game? This would require next to zero effort and it would benefit both of us.” Delia folded her arms over her chest.

Jack’s eyes hardened. “Unlike you, my career isn’t exactly solidified at the moment. I need to focus.”

“If the Blizzard want to sign you for another year, this kind of publicity would give you leverage for your pay scale,” Tony interjected.

“If I’m distracted and don’t play well, I won’t get signed.”

Kels adjusted his glasses. “The data shows that having a new girlfriend present at a game can improve your stats by nearly thirty percent.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “How’s the data on fake girlfriends?” Kels pursed his lips, and Jack exhaled as he turned back to Delia. “It’s not personal?—”

“Then what is it?” she asked, and this time Mary put her hand on her arm.

“Dels—”

“I feel like a gigolo,” Jack snapped.

“But there’s not even any sex!” Delia reached for the tablet and held it out to him.

The corner of Jack’s mouth quirked. “You sound disappointed.”

Delia hive-flushed. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant . . . you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Right, which is why I’m walking out.”

“Because you don’t want to meet up with someone at regular intervals for money?” She heard it then. “Okay, I get that it doesn’t sound good, but?—”

“Not someone. You.” Jack clenched his jaw.

Delia slapped a hand to her hip. “I thought you said it wasn’t personal.”

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