Page 20 of The Fake Divination Offense
And wearing a Hellhounds jacket?
Roesia waves him in. “Please have a seat, Mr. Warden. I believe you know Orok Monroe?”
Alexo snaps his mouth shut. Shoulders stiff, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, he clocks Drach’s Urzoth insignias.
His face goes the tiniest bit slack before he considers the closed door behind him.
But he makes a decision, throwing his head back, and defiance gleams in those midnight black eyes. He rounds the chairs and lowers himself to sit on the far end of the couch.
As I sit back down, there’s one full cushion between us.
He’shere.
“Hi,” I can’t help but say, breathy and desperate andidiotic.
Alexo looks at me in surprise. And confusion. Yeah, my tone was weird. Shit.
“Mr. Warden is an intern in our cheerleading department,” Roesia says. That demands all my attention—he’s an intern here? But when I face Roesia, she’s talking to Alexo. “Are you aware of your sudden stardom?”
He stiffens, the muscle pull of preparing to run, and when his mouth opens, he doesn’t respond. I stop myself from reaching out to him; he looks in desperate need of comfort suddenly, apprehension gleaming in his eyes.
Roesia carries on without his answer. “I’m sure you’re aware last night’s event was photographed? The internet was quick to sleuth out your identity after Mr. Monroe rescued you. It didn’t take long for eager fans to go through our rosters and figure out who you are, since apparently the Silver Hound is rather popular among the team and staff.”
That’s how I had heard of that bar, through the grapevine of people talking about the best places to have a fun evening. Is that why Alexo was there, too?
Alexo’s lips roll shut. But he stays quiet.
Roesia gives him a longer beat to say anything, but when he doesn’t, she makes a softhmbefore continuing. “I believe the correct term is that the internet isshippingyou two.”
“I—shipping?” I ask, numb.
“Yes. I’ve been told it’s when two people make a cute couple.”
“I… I’m familiar with what it means,” I stammer. “I’m—what does this have to do with—” I point at Drach.
Who grins at Alexo, and my hackles rise.
Fuck this possession. Alexo isn’t mine in any sense of the word.Down, boy.
“Given the reaction fans are having to your rescue of Mr. Warden,” Drach says, “and the positive spin it’s putting on Urzoth, our proposition is that the two of you enter into a PR relationship for the season.”
My jaw plunges open.
“Excuse me?” I demand at the same time Alexo goes, “I beg yourfinestpardon?”
I dig my fingers into my knees to stop myself from looking at him. I don’t need to see what his dark eyes are doing, don’t need to watch for anger or hurt.
“It would only be for the season,” Roesia says before Drach can jump back in. She flips through her tablet again, this time showing both Alexo and me what’s clearly a contract. “You’d both sign a standard NDA, along with stipulations we’ve worked out for event attendance, appearances, dates, PDA—”
My brain stalls out.
PDA.
“I—ma’am, this is all—but can we—” Form a sentence, gods,any sentence.
It’s Alexo who leans forward. “I was told this meeting was about advancing my career, but this? This isn’t—no. I can’t do this.”
I wait to feel offended that he’s so quickly shutting down the idea of pretending to date me, but all I feel is a swell of pride, and I throw him a smile. Good. Don’t let them fuck you over. Don’t letanyonefuck you over.
