9. Charlie

The doorbell chimes, and my heart skips a beat. Smoothing out my shirt, I take a deep breath before opening the door. Marissa stands on the threshold, radiating beauty even after her long day at work.

I swallow hard, suddenly feeling awkward around her.

What is wrong with me? Usually, I’m confident with women, but it must be all this recent stress that’s throwing me off balance.

“Hello.” She greets me with a warm smile as she steps inside. “Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. Make yourself at home.” I motion her toward the living room, trying to play it cool.

She glides across the polished hardwood floor, her heels clicking softly with each step. I follow her, cursing myself for feeling so clumsy in her presence.

“Would you like a drink?” I ask, gesturing to the bar cart in the corner. “I’ve got a pretty good selection.”

“Actually, I’ll pass on the alcohol tonight.” She gives me a critical eye, and I suspect I already know what’s to come next. “And maybe we should talk about your drinking habits.”

I raise an eyebrow as I pour myself a cocktail. “Why? I have it under control.”

Her gaze pierces through me, unyielding, as she raises an eyebrow in return. That one look says everything.

“I don’t have a drinking problem,” I argue against her silence.

She lifts her chin. “Let’s look back at all the times you made headlines for unsavory behavior. There’s the most recent fight in the bar. Tell me you weren’t drinking then.”

“I— well, yeah. I had a couple drinks…”

“And when you stole the Hogs’ mascot?”

I blink at her. Shit. This woman did her homework. That incident was all the way back in high school.

“I was underage then,” I point out.

“Uh-huh. And so that means you weren’t drinking?” She puts a hand on her hip, her stare only becoming more intense. “There’s also last year when you were photographed with that married woman. At. A. Bar.”

I look down, unable to meet her eye anymore.

She’s right. I do drink too much, and it’s what got me into this situation in the first place. If I hadn’t been drunk at that bar, maybe I wouldn’t have gotten into the fight.

Sighing, I make a decision that surprises even myself. I march over to the liquor cabinet and begin grabbing bottles by the neck, pouring their contents down the drain. The sound of liquid splashing against the stainless steel is strangely satisfying.

“Charlie?” Marissa says. “What are you doing?”

“Getting rid of temptation,” I reply, my voice resolute.

I can tell she’s impressed by this impulsive gesture, but it doesn’t feel impulsive to me — it feels necessary.

“Here, let me help.” She reaches for a bottle of whiskey and begins emptying it into the sink.

As we pour out the decadent collection, I feel a weight lifting off my shoulders, like I’m actively shedding the mistakes of my past. It’s been too long since I’ve had any fun without alcohol, and just thinking about that alone makes me disgusted with myself.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks, her eyes searching mine as she sets another empty bottle on the counter. “Quitting cold turkey isn’t going to be easy.”

“Easy or not, it’s what I have to do,” I say. “I can handle it.”

“If you say so,” Marissa replies, though I can sense her concern. “I didn’t mean for you to… I mean, if this is what you want, then I support you. But you don’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s not for you,” I tell her honestly. “It’s for me. So I can be someone I’m actually proud of.”

She gives me a small smile, her hands still wet from the liquor we’ve poured down the drain.

“That’s a good reason,” she says, stepping back to let me toss the last empty bottle into the recycling bin.

“Thank you, Marissa,” I say, grateful for her kindness and understanding. “I appreciate it. But I think I’ll be fine. This…” I glance at the row of empty bottles, feeling a mixture of disgust and determination. “This is long overdue.”

“Good for you,” she says softly, giving me a warm smile. “I believe in you, Charlie. You’ve got the talent and the drive to make a real comeback. You just need to believe in yourself, too.”

It’s the nicest thing she’s said to me yet. Hell, it’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time.

For the first time in years, I feel… seen. Truly appreciated.

Which is kind of crazy. I’ve stood in front of thousands of adoring fans, and I thought they saw me.

Yet now many of those same fans have turned on me, and here is Marissa, someone who barely knows me, willing to take a chance.

The unexpected tenderness in her gaze tugs at something deep inside me. It feels like a small flame has been ignited in a furnace that’s been cold for far too long.

“So.” She suddenly claps her hands together, ending the moment. “Shall we get started?”

I clear my throat. “Uh. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

The room feels warmer, the air almost electric as we settle down at the sleek glass table to finally have our meeting. I try to focus on the task at hand, but my gaze keeps drifting to Marissa. Her smile is contagious, and her legs seem to go on forever beneath the hem of her skirt. God, this woman makes it so hard to think straight.

Why am I like this around her? I’ve been with countless beautiful women before, but none of them have affected me quite like Marissa does.

As she tosses her hair over her shoulder, I catch a whiff of her perfume — delicate, floral, intoxicating. It’s enough to make me lightheaded, and it takes all my strength to focus on the words coming out of her mouth.

“Okay, so I have some good news for you,” she announces with a big smile. “We have a handful of meetings with teams lined up, all thanks to the new image we’re pushing.”

“Really?” My heart races, a mix of hope and anxiety welling up inside me. “That’s incredible. Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s my job to help you succeed, remember?” She smiles warmly, and I find myself smiling back, caught up in the genuine happiness that radiates from her.

“Where are these meetings? Who are they with?”

“Well, they’re kind of all over the country.” She chuckles and opens her phone to show me a list.

I blow out a long breath. “Holy shit. How did you line up that many meetings? You must be something special.”

Her face turns pink. “Let’s just say I’m persuasive.”

As we continue discussing the details of the upcoming meetings, I struggle to concentrate on anything other than her — the way her fingers dance gracefully across her tablet, the smooth curve of her neck, the playfulness in her eyes.

Maybe it’s just been too long since I’ve been with a woman. Since this whole scandal started, I’ve been living like a hermit.

I should call one of them up and distract myself for a night or two with a good time. And yet… I already know that won’t be enough. None of them hold even a fraction of the allure that Marissa does.

“Charlie?” Her calling my name snaps me out of my reverie. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just… just excited about the meetings,” I lie, swallowing hard. “It’s a big opportunity.”

“Absolutely.” She nods with the eagerness of a bobblehead. “And I’m confident that we can make the most of it. We’re about to show the world a whole new you.”

“A fake me,” I add with a chuckle.

She gives me a funny look. “Was that fake when you poured out all of your liquor?”

“I… No. I meant that. I’m quitting.”

She nods. “Exactly. And this relationship between us might be fake, but your commitment is real. Don’t underestimate that.”

Damn. I wasn’t expecting to receive such a pep talk tonight. The only thing I can do is nod since my tongue is all tied up and my throat is thick with emotion.

Marissa opens a new document on her tablet, revealing a neatly organized list of team names and dates. “Here is the meeting schedule. We’ll need to leave in two days, so you should start packing soon.”

I nod and scan the list, but my mind is racing with anticipation and nerves. This is the break I’ve been hoping for, and it’s all thanks to Marissa’s hard work. It’s a strange feeling to be so grateful to someone who’s become more than just an agent.

“Thank you, Marissa. Seriously, I can’t express how much this means to me.” My voice cracks slightly.

“Of course. We’re a team, remember?” She smiles warmly, and my heart skips a beat.

“Right.” I chuckle nervously. “A team.”

“Okay, so now we just have to attend these meetings and convince everyone that we’re madly in love.” Her tone is light, but I can sense the underlying seriousness. And — maybe — nerves? “Sounds easy enough, right?”

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the knot forming in my stomach. While I’m no stranger to flings and flirting, I’ve never been in love. Hell, I’ve always avoided it, based on how things shook out with my parents.

I’m not sure how to act like I’m in a loving relationship, but I’m certainly ready to give it a go. At this point, Marissa has already done a lot for my career, and so I trust her lead.

“Sure.” I shrug. “How hard could it be?”

“Great!” She claps her hands together, her enthusiasm infectious. “Let’s start by going over some ground rules and strategies to make our relationship seem as genuine as possible.”

“Sounds good.” I force a smile. “I’m just…”

“What?”

I lace my fingers together behind my head. “What if we don’t, you know, look like we’re in love?”

She blinks at me. “I see. Well… what was it like the last time you were in love?”

“What do you mean?”

“How did it feel? How did you act?”

“I’ve never been in love.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and a long moment passes. “Oh.”

“Have you?”

She shrugs nonchalantly, but I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. “Once, a long time ago.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper in the quiet room.

“Didn’t end well, huh?”

She shakes her head without meeting my eyes.

I nod, realizing that we’re treading on shaky ground. Not because of the fake dating or the press dramas. But because we’re both walking around wounded when it comes to love.

Who was this guy who broke her heart? Just thinking about him, even though I don’t have a face or a name to put to him, makes my blood boil. I only just met Marissa, but already I feel an urge to protect her.

“So,” she says, breaking the silence. “Should we start with holding hands? Public displays of affection?”

I don’t want to move on to the details of our fake relationship. I want to hear more about her past, want to find out what roads she’s walked down and what’s made her the person she is today.

But this is supposed to be a professional relationship, nothing more. I don’t have the right to dig into her past, even though she’s given me a small glimpse of it.

“I suppose we could start there.” Holding her hand doesn’t sound so bad, even if it’s all pretend.

“Perfect.” She sits a little straighter. “We have to leave for the first meeting soon, but when we come back, we can arrange?—”

“A date?”

“Um. Exactly.” She looks away, and I can tell she’s flustered again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep it professional. I’m committed. I really am.” A lump forms in my throat. “Like never before.”

Her eyes soften. “I can tell.”

“I…” I run a hand over my head. “I hate what happened. It wasn’t planned. I don’t know what I was thinking. That guy made a comment about the Thunderhawks, and I just?—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” She reaches across the table and touches my hand. “All that matters is what happens next.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “Thank you.”

She smiles softly, her eyes dancing in the dim lighting. Suddenly, she seems to realize what she’s doing and draws back. Her warm touch leaves mine, and a second later she’s sitting prim and proper again.

The moment is over. Not that it was ever really ours to indulge in, anyway.

Marissa is right. What matters most is what happens next. I don’t have time to chase women or make excuses about why I am where I am today.

I only have time to pull my head out of my ass, put in the work, and come back stronger than ever before. And, finally, with someone like Marissa by my side, that truly looks possible.