Page 19 of The Fake Play

The place is massive, withsleek surfaces and masculine undertones, black leather couches, chrome finishes, and pricy minimalist art on the walls. It screams bachelor, which, to be fair, is exactly what Luke is. This is his world, and I’m just a temporary guest.

I wonder how many temporary guests have been here before me.

Luke headed out while I was exploring the condo’s gym downstairs. He left me a key in the bowl by the door. Thoughtful of him. His absence gives me a chance to look over his space and decided where I want my work area to be.

His home office has memorabilia from his time in LA—family photos, childhood trophies, that kind of thing. I don’t want to risk damaging anything irreplaceable so I opt for the beautiful kitchen.

My laptop and files litter the large marble kitchen island, making it the unofficial headquarters of my work. Since the car fire incident had thrown Luke into the media spotlight for all the wrong reasons, I need to redirect them to his charity work.

I start a blog dedicated to the team, plucking choice nuggets off the internet to highlight each of the players, with Luke’s name coming up more often than the others. Then, I jam into the team’s social media to make him shine.

Being new to all of this isn’t helping. I may not know much about hockey or anyone on the team, but I know social media. I grab a few shots of him from Happy Harbor’s website and post them to the team’s accounts as a first volley. It’s a start.

I’m finding it hard to stay focused. After last night’s bedroom debacle, I’m not sure how I’m going to look him in the eyes when he gets home. And then there’s the other part of the night to contend with.

The paparazzi at Smokey’s. They’ve been relentless, following him everywhere since that fire, like vultures circling a wounded animal. I couldn’t say anything and knock him off his game. If I did, he might overreact, and I don’t know him well enough to be able to control that.

I drove Luke home to prevent him fromgetting a DUI, merely a simple act of doing my job, yet it feels like a storm brewed around it. If anyone saw us leave together, we could be smoked.

I’m opening up a meeting in Zoom when I hear the door click open. The sound immediately sets my nerves on edge, Luke isn’t due back for another few hours. I pull a knife from the nearby knife block only to turn around and face Whitney, her expression tense.

“Keke,” she greets me as she enters the kitchen, dropping her designer bag on the counter next to my laptop. “How are things going? Any fires I should know about?”

“Not yet, but the day is just getting started,” I reply, trying to keep things light. The look on her face tells me this isn’t a casual drop in. Something is up. “I didn’t know you had keys to his place.”

“I don’t.” She gives me a tense smile and holds up a lock-picking tool. “The only way to help them get rid of women the morning after is to show up at their condo with an NDA and a coffee, then send her on her way. You should pick one of these sets up if you’re still with us by the end of this chat.”

I gulp. “And why wouldn’t I be?”

“I need you to tell me about last night.”

I stiffen. Does she know I walked in on him? That doesn’t seem like something he would tell her. “What about last night?”

She pulls out her phone, her expression a mixture of exasperation and concern. She swipes through several photos before holding her phone up for me to see. “This.”

On her screen is a paparazzi photo of Luke and me from Smokey’s last night. Not one of him attempting to kiss me in the bar, but one showing Luke draped over me like dead weight as I guide him to my car. His arm is slung around my shoulders, his face slacken from too many drinks.

I hadn’t spotted anyone outside taking pictures when we left. Sneaky bastards. To anyone looking at the photo, it appears intimate.

“It's not what it looks like.”

“You know I have to ask. Did you sleep with him?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. “What? No, of course not,” I blurt out louder than I intended. My face burns and I feel a defensive edge creeping into my voice. “I drove him home because he was drunk. That was it. I wasn't going to let him get behind the wheel and end up with a DUI on his record. You know how that would look for the team.”

Whitney lets out a long breath and nods, sliding her phone back into her pocket. “I believe you. Breathe.”

Relief floods me as I try to breathe, but the gravity of the situation quickly tempers it. Other than the sigh Whitney is still clearly uptight. Why isn’t she relieved?

“But?”

“I had to ask. You know how this business works. Lines get blurred all the time, especially when you're working this closely with someone.”

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “I know but I'm not like that. I'm not going to let myself get caught up in some fling with a player. I'm not risking my job or my reputation over Luke or anyone else. And I don’t want to make his situation worse. Nothing good would come of a stupid fling.”

“I know you're smart, Keke, but this isn't about you.” Her voice softens as she sits down on one of the barstools across from me. “Luke isn't just another player. He's got a history.”

“I know that. He’s had a string of high-profile hookups and breakups, and themedia love to sink their teeth into them. He was the Golden Boy of the team, the one who had name recognition before he ever stepped foot on the ice because he was born into a Hollywood royalty family. And that attracts the paparazzi to him. But the media loves a fall from grace, too, and they’ve been eating him up. I am very aware of his past.”

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