Page 9 of Cold Feet
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the decision. "Yes. All parties will sign the NDA tomorrow, and we stick to the terms. Period."
"Agreed." He looked almost relieved. "What about Zayne?"
"No," I said firmly. "Not unless we absolutely have to. You know how he is. He'd never understand. I know Marcus thinks he’ll just tell him to go along and he will, but we both know he won’t"
Cam nodded slowly. "Okay. When do we start?"
"Immediately. The NHL Awards are only two weeks away. That doesn't give us much time to establish a believable relationship." I pulled out my tablet, shifting into PR mode. "We'll need to be seen together gradually. Small appearances, casual settings. Build a natural progression."
"That rescheduling really worked in our favor, huh?" Cam commented. "If they'd held the awards in June like usual, we wouldn't even have had this opportunity."
I nodded. The California wildfires had been devastating, sending smoke drifting all the way to Las Vegas, creating serious health concerns and forcing the NHL to postpone the annual awards ceremony from its traditional June date to October.
"It's certainly convenient timing," I agreed. "We'll need to craft a backstory. How long we've been together, how it started – "
"How about, we reconnected after I was drafted to the Slashers. Started as friends catching up, slowly became more. Been keeping it quiet because of your position with the team and your brother?"
I raised an eyebrow, impressed despite myself. "That's... actually believable. We'll need to agree on specific details though – favorite restaurants, movies we've seen together, little things couples would know about each other."
"I can be creative when motivated," he said with a hint of the charm that made him such a fan favorite. Then, more seriously: "But we'll need more than just a story, right? We need proof. Photos. Social media. Evidence that we've been together for a while, just keeping it private.”
"Yeah, I'm working on that."
He pulled out his phone. "Check your texts."
My phone buzzed, and I opened his message to find a photo I'd never seen before – Cam and me at a team charity event last year, standing close together, both laughing at something off-camera. We looked... comfortable. Happy. Like a couple.
"Where did you get this?" I asked, genuinely surprised.
"Team photographer. I asked for the outtakes months ago." He shrugged at my questioning look. "You looked nice. Happy."
"There are more?"
"A few." He swiped through his phone and showed me another – this one from the Stanley Cup celebration, one from Logan and Coco’s party when she won Nationals, Cam with his arm casually draped over my shoulder as we posed with the team. Another from the holiday party, where I was explaining something animatedly and he was watching me with an expression I hadn't noticed at the time – soft, almost fond.
"These are good," I admitted. "But we'll need more recent ones. And more, you know... couple-like."
Cam nodded, suddenly businesslike. "So what's next?"
I drained the last of my wine and stood up. "Tomorrow, we get these agreements signed. Then we start being seen together – casually at first, more intimate as we get closer to the awards." I hesitated, then added, "And Cam? Outside of the people in that room today, and Logan, obviously, no one else can know. The fewer people who know the truth, the better."
"Understood." He also rose, towering over me even in my heels. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the weight of what we were agreeing to hanging between us.
"This is crazy," I said softly.
"Completely insane," he agreed, a small smile playing on his lips. "But we're doing it anyway."
I nodded, gathering my purse and the agreement. "I'll have my assistant schedule a meeting tomorrow. Nine AM, probably."
As I turned to leave, Cam caught my arm gently. "Lana?"
"Yes?" The way he said my name made me forget what I was going to say next. This was the exact reason I made it my personal mission to avoid him whenever possible.
"Thank you. I know what this could cost you, and I know you don't owe me anything. But I won't forget this."
Something warm and dangerous unfurled in my chest, and I immediately tried to stamp it out. This was business. Professional courtesy. Nothing more.
"Don't thank me yet," I said, sliding out of the booth. "We still have to convince the entire hockey world that you're madly in love with me."
