Page 36 of Power Play

I don’t want to do this to Duke, but what choice do I have? It’s either my job or my integrity, and never before have I been so torn between the morally right and the morally wrong.

You’re better than this.

I am better than this. But I’m also struggling to get by, and while Duke has millions of dollars at his disposal, I have a one-room studio and a Prius that took me three years to save up the funds to purchase.

“Jesus, you look like crap,” Casey exclaims, waltzing into our shared office with bagged lunch for the both of us. “What the hell happened when I was gone? You look like someone stomped on your cat.”

“I don’t like cats,” I point out weakly, nearly breaking into tears when she hands me a Dunkin’ Donuts Styrofoam cup, as well as a bagel and a chocolate donut. I plan to eat the donut first, you know, for emotional support.

Casey takes a seat at her desk, swirling around so she can look at me. “Yeah, I know,” she says, falling back into our regular rhythm, “otherwise we could be lesbian lovers and marry.”

I don’t have the energy to play the game.

Instead I stuff my face with the donut and plot my next move.

A move that, no matter how much I wished it wouldn’t, includes the NHL’s golden boy, Duke Harrison.

Chapter Eleven

“Stop moving, Charlie.”

I freeze under the onslaught of Jenny attacking my eyelids with a makeup brush. She swirls more eyeshadow onto my right lid, and I do my best not to blink. “Are you almost done?”

“Almost.”

“How much longer?”

Jenny snorts, and suddenly I don’t feel bad about the way my knee is digging into her stomach. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, head tipped back as my best friend tries to . . . prettify me, I guess.

If such a word actually exists.

“All we need is some mascara, blush, and you’re good.”

Thank God. I’d texted her in a panic two hours ago because, lo and behold, I’m attending a charity event with Duke tonight.

I know. I can barely believe it myself. Pinch me, please.

After messaging him earlier with the SOS, “BOSS WANTS MORE INFO,” he reluctantly agreed to meet me. Only catch? He’s attending an event tonight, and thanks to my looming deadline, I had no choice but to agree to this shindig.

I’m pretending to be a whole lot more put out about these turn of events than I am. In reality, butterflies have broken free in my belly and I’ve smoothed my hands over my dress no less than three times since I put it on an hour ago.

Another gift from Jenny, bless her heart. While our frames are completely different, we do wear the same size, something I’ve never been so happy about until now.

“Okay, done.”

She steps back, admiring her handiwork with a tilt of her chin. Her hair is pulled back in one of those sharp hair claws, and a few strands fall loose to frame her face. Jenny has always been the “pretty” one out of the two of us, while I’ve always been the athlete.

Eagerly, I straighten off the bed and head for my full-length mirror, which is precariously attached to the wall.

Wow.

I barely recognize myself. My dress—or, rather, Jenny’s dress—is a deep, cobalt blue that swirls around my ankles in varying lengths. The neckline plunges down between my breasts, giving a tantalizing preview of what’s to come if I mistakenly lean forward too far. As for my face . . . It’s me, and yet it isn’t. My freckles are hidden under layers of foundation, concealer, and bronzer. The eyeshadow, however, I love. It’s smoky and dangerous, and makes me feel a lot more edgy than I do in my daily life. To complete the look, Jenny has painted my lips a vampy burgundy, which I thought would clash with the dress but doesn’t at all.

“You like?” Jenny asks, coming up beside me to stare at my reflection. Her hand lifts to my head. “Your hair . . . ”

With the time constraint, nothing could be done to tame my mane. That’s okay. It’s proof that the woman staring back in the mirror is indeed Charlie Denton, and not some blonde seductress out to steal my identity.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my hand finding Jenny’s. I squeeze, just once, and then let her go.

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