Faking it with the Grumpy NHL Alpha

Flora's POV

"Oh...fuck...yeah, Sean." My hand slid down my skirt, eyes locked on the magazine in front of me.

Two of my fingers slid deep into my underwear and the only witness was Sean Ferrars's glossy face staring back at me from the cover of Hockey Weekly.

His jaw was sharp, his smirk was wide and my eyes were lolling as my brain rewound to three weeks ago-his hands yanking my hips back, the low grunt he made against my neck as he slammed his dick into me.

I glanced around the semi-transparent glass wall to see if anyone was coming.

I moved my fingers faster, curling it to touch my G-spot as I chased the feeling, my thighs pressing together as I mentally replayed Sean thrusting hard into me without mercy.

A knock at the door interrupted me but I ignored it.

The memory continued. His voice in my ear, rough and low-"you feel so good, Flora"- and I was almost there, right on the brink of-

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

I yanked my hand out, smoothed my skirt down, crossed my legs, and pressed them together, still chasing the pleasure.

"Come in." I called out finally.

The door swung open and Lucille-my crazy ass bestfriend-walked in, looking like someone who had just hit a jackpot. Her eyes swept across the room and finally landed on the magazine on my desk. Her eyes widened like she had just understood something before darting back to me.

I slid a folder over the magazine immediately, straightening on my seat in an attempt to preserve whatever dignity I had left.

"You were doing it again." She said conclusively, her lips stretching in a wide grin.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said, fake-reading a document on my desk.

"Oh...yeah...truly, there's no way you were jerking off while looking at your HOT BOYFRIEND'S PICTURE-" I stood up immediately, my palm reaching for her mouth.

"Shut up Lucille...I had an itch."

"Oh right...an itch..." She mumbled through my palms in the most sarcastic way possible.

"So did you come here to judge me or what?" I withdrew my palm from her mouth, shooting her a stern look.

"Well...not exactly, but since I'm here now I just might." She teased, scanning my face. "Oh fine." She rolled her eyes as she got the message my face was passing. "Sean's on right now. The television in the lunch-"

I was at the door before she finished the sentence, my legs still slightly unsteady as I felt the moist in my underwear.

The lunch room was already packed when we got there, the big screen mounted on the wall glowing with the broadcast. I felt the shift the moment I walked in-heads turning, a few nudges, the recognition that I had gotten used to now.

"That's Flora Morgan, Sean Ferrars' girlfriend."

I stood a little straighter, my heart pounding in excitement.

Sean was relaxed in his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee like he was made for this, and there-there- spinning lazily between his fingers, was the key fob, with the BMW logo catching the studio light.

My chest tightened with pride.

I had drained a full year's advance from my paycheck for that car.

Thirty days of rice and whatever cheap junk was on sale at the end of the aisle, it was absolutely worth it

The look on his face when I handed him the keys on his twenty-fifth birthday had been worth every single grain of mushy rice.

"So how does it feel?" The interviewer leaned forward, her lips stretching into a flirtatious smile. "Being the name everyone's saying right now?"

Sean smiled, his tongue reaching out, moistening his lips in that sexy way that made my heart flutter.

"Well..." He tilted his head slightly to face the camera. "It kinda feels good."

I could feel Lucille's gaze on me as I grinned widely.

The interview continued-stats, plays, the season ahead-and I let myself bask in it, in the warm glow of watching someone I loved exist at his best.

"Word around the rink is that there's a special someone. Someone by the name of Flo-"

I smiled before she could finish and turned back. Everyone was staring at me, probably waiting to clap or something as I maintained my stretched smile.

"Oh-Flora." Sean cut in, and something in his tone made the smile freeze on my face. "She's just a friend."

The room went quiet, as I felt the weight of every eye stare at me, eagerly waiting for me to give them a reaction.

"It's a joke...it's a joke...Sean jokes a lot." I chuckled, and everyone nodded, chattering lively again as their gaze shifted back to the screen.

I turned around and focused on the screen.

That was a Sean joke-deadpan delivery, waiting for everyone to laugh. I knew his jokes.

"Just a friend?" The interviewer raised an eyebrow. "Her social media page tells a pretty different story."

"Yeah...She just enjoys being all over me and all that shit." Sean shrugged, like he was talking about a problem he wished could be solved. "She's not my girlfriend."

The room was so silent I could hear the fluorescent light buzzing above my head.

Lucille's hand found my wrist. "Sean...that dirt bag." She scoffed.

I didn't move. My eyes were locked on the screen, my palms shaking as my brain struggled to process what was happening.

"As a matter of fact," Sean continued, and he was smiling now-that smile, the one he reserved only for me. "My girlfriend is actually here today."

A woman stepped onto the podium, looking like she just stepped out of a magazine. She was extremely beautiful, more beautiful than I could ever be.

Sean stood, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her closer and kissed her in front of the cameras, in front of the whole world.

I felt every single eye in that lunch room turn towards my face.

The silence pressed down on me.

Lucille's grip on my wrist tightened, my heart racing so fast I thought it was about to blow up.

"Miss Morgan to the boardroom. Miss Morgan to the boardroom, please."

The intercom called out, as if whoever was behind it had seen my despair and decided to do something about it.

*******

My palms were shaking by the time I reached the boardroom door. I pressed them flat against my thighs, my eyes burning with tears that I was forcing back in.

I pushed the door open.

There were four people in the room. Mrs. Calloway from HR, two men I recognized from Legal whose names I didn't know, and a fourth person-a woman in a grey blazer seated slightly apart from the rest, a company laptop open in front of her, her expression perfectly neutral.

The television on the boardroom wall was still running. Sean's voice filled the room before I could fully register anything else.

"-we've actually been dating for three months now," Sean said, his gaze fixed on her like she was shooting stars out of her ass.

Mrs. Calloway reached forward and clicked the television off without looking at it, like she had been waiting for me to hear exactly that much before she did.

"Miss Morgan." She said calmly, leaning forward in her seat. "Please, sit down."

She paused for a moment till I finally settled down.

"We've identified a significant transfer of funds." She opened the folder in front of her. "From the company account directly into yours."

Sean, that bastard. After everything I did for him. How could he? How could-

"Miss Morgan."

"Miss Morgan."

Mrs. Calloway's voice cracked through my mind, snapping me back to reality. I blinked and suddenly the room was very bright and she was staring at me, her face stripped of emotions.

"As I was saying." She turned the folder around and slid it across the desk towards me. "You have been embezzling company funds, Miss Morgan, along with a Mr. Cooper."

Embezzling.

My heart skipped a beat as the words landed like a grenade.

"I -" My voice came out low. "Wait-what?"

"THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS." She held my gaze without blinking. "Transferred into your account, with your signature on the document showing approval."

Thirty thousand dollars. The exact amount I collected as advance to gift Sean a car.

"That's-no." I shook my head, the fog burning off fast now, replaced by panic."No, that's not-It's not-"

"MISS MORGAN-"

"I don't know what Mr. Cooper told you, but I have never touched company funds. I would never-" My voice cracked, and I hated it. I hated that my eyes were filling up right now in front of this woman.

"The documentation is in front of you." Mrs. Calloway's voice didn't waver, not even slightly. "Your signature, your account. The evidence is there."

"The evidence is not-"

"Miss Morgan." She leaned forward, her gaze piercing right into my soul. "I need you to understand the position you are in right now. This is not a conversation." She paused for a moment. "You have three months to return the full sum of thirty thousand dollars to this company." Her eyes didn't move from mine. "And effective immediately -"

She closed the folder. "- your appointment is terminated."

Flora's POV

It's been three good days since the worst day of my life and I was handling it terribly, thanks to no one in particular for asking.

I hadn't cried again, at least not since the past four hours. Every time I thought I'd gotten a handle on it, something would sneak up on me. The notification sound Sean had personally set on my phone. A black BMW on the highway. A song Sean loved humming whenever he was with me.

I'd turned the radio off twice on the drive to the airport.

And here I was now after a very exhausting five hour flight in another state with exactly one agenda. One simple, non-negotiable agenda. Well maybe two-watch the NHL and get back the BMW I gifted Sean so I can sell it and pay back the thirty thousand dollars I was allegedly owing my workplace-previous workplace since I was fired actually.

"Baby, tell me you ate something before you boarded the plane." My dad's voice came out low and calm through the phone.

"Dad, I'm fine-"

"You know how your body gets when you fly on an empty stomach. Remember the ivory trip? You were pale for days-"

"I was nine, Dad, and besides I'm off the plane now, nothing happened-"

"Flora." My mother's voice cut in from the background, sharp and incredibly annoying as always. "I hope you packed good underwear and not the torn, raggedy ones you think I don't know about?"

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the taxi window and stared at the buildings sliding past.

"I don't know what you're talking about Mom." I said, rolling my eyes backwards.

"The peach ones with the loose elastic-"

"Mom-"

"I'm just saying, you never know who'll want to get down with you-"

"Leave the child alone." My father interrupted, as if he had read my mind at the moment. "Baby, you're sure you're okay? After everything that happened with that boy-"

My chest tightened. "Dad."

"I never liked him." My mother said even though she was the one always making comments and urging me to go for him. What a quick change of stance. "I said it from the beginning, that boy is trouble."

"You literally asked him for an autograph." I pointed out, heat flooding my veins as I spoke.

"For your cousin, Van." I heard her scoff in the background.

"Flora." My father's voice dropped. "You call us as soon as you get settled. Okay?"

"Okay, Daddy." I said and hung up.

I let out a long sigh, then turned to face Lucille.

She was already facing me, both eyebrows raised so high they were practically in her hairline, lips pressed together, chin slightly tilted. The very expression she always wore whenever she was about to mock me.

"Don't." I said, shooting her a stern look.

"I didn't say anything." She replied, pouting her lips like a lost puppy.

"You were about to."

"Your mom said get down with someone." She broke out of character immediately, slapping my arm. "Flora she said, 'get down.' Your fifty-something year old mother told you to find a man and get your back blown out and you're here being fixated on a car-"

"It's not just a car Lucille, it's the only thing that can save me from ending up behind bars right now-"

"Oh c'mon Flora. We'll definitely get it back, liven up." She threw her hands up. "I mean. Look outside." She pointed at the window with full dramatic commitment. "Chicago, we are in Chicago. Do you understand what that means?"

"That we're approximately nine hundred miles from home." My eyebrows rose as I spoke.

"No...no silly...It means we are in the same city as the Hershey Bears." She stared at me, her eyes gleaming in amusement. "The finest collection of large, athletic, specifically-built-to-ruin-your-life men in the entire country. Sean Ferrars is one small, terrible, ungrateful little piece of that puzzle." She grabbed both my hands.

"Hmm-"

"All I'm saying," Lucille continued, releasing my hands and settling back, "is that the best revenge at this point is we dress you up, we go out, some six-foot-something guy with a pretty face looks at you like the stars shine out of your ass and Sean sees it on your story and realises what he's lost. She paused for a moment letting that settle. "That said-" She continued, already reaching into her small carry-on bag with suspicious purpose, "-you'll be wearing my red blouse."

I felt the smile that just started to crawl up my face fade immediately. "The one with the cutout at the back?"

"Yes." She pulled it out and held it up like an exhibit. "This one exactly."

"No fucking way I'm wearing that, Lucille." I protested.

"Yes fucking way, Flora." She threw it at me. "Loosen up. We are about to have the best nights of our lives."

The taxi pulled up outside the stadium and I understood immediately why people talked about it with gleaming eyes. It was very tall and beautiful, with the Hershey Bears logo carved above the entrance.

I climbed out, tilted my head back, and stared up at it.

"Okay I need a moment." Lucille declared, both hands pressed to her chest, staring up at the building like it was her personal lord and saviour. "This is majestic."

"Can we go inside -"

"I need a moment, Flo-"

I pulled her inside before she could complete the statement.

We were barely three seconds through the entrance when Lucille gasped. "OH my flipping gosh."

I followed her eyeline.

A group of players had just crossed the far end of the lobby with their practice gear, moving like artworks that were meant to be admired and Lucille was doing more of drooling than that.

"I need to take a tour." She said finally, her lips stretching into a mischievous grin.

"We need to sort our accommodation first -"

"I'll be back." She was already moving. "Go sort the keys, babe, I trust you!"

And then she was gone, weaving through the lobby, leaving me standing alone with both our bags and absolutely no idea where to go.

I dragged everything to the seating area near the front desk and sat down.

I crossed my legs, planted my hands in my lap, and stared at the front desk and tried not to think about Sean.

A woman in a sharp blazer stepped into the lobby from a side door after what seemed like ten minutes, with a file tucked under her arm, eyes scanning the seated area.

"Who's Flora Morgan?" She asked, her gaze sweeping the room.

I looked up.

That must be her-the person who was supposed to assign us to our room keys.

I raised my hand. "That's me."

"Come with me, please." She said and I grabbed my bag and followed behind her.

She led me past the front desk, then past the corridor that I assumed led to the rooms.

We went through another door, then down a shorter hallway before we got to a bright, mirror-lined room where two women were waiting with brushes and a ring light on.

I stopped in the doorway. "I think there's been a-"

"Sit here, please." One of them gestured to the chair in front of the mirror.

"I was just here for room-"

"We'll be quick."

I sat in the chair and watched them transform my face into a better version of what it was two minutes ago.

I have genuinely never needed this much makeup just to collect a room key, I thought, watching the woman blend my cheekbone.

When they were done, the woman in the blazer reappeared, looked me over, gave a small nod, and gestured toward a door at the back of the room.

"Right through there."

I stood, looked at my reflection one more time still confused about what was happening, then I pushed the door open and walked through.

Instead of a room, it was an office, a pretty large office with someone standing at the window with his back to me. He wore a white body-hug, with grey joggers sitting low on his waist and a short towel draped around the back of his neck.

His biceps were really huge, doing entirely too much and the tattoo that wrapped around his left arm caught the light as he turned and I caught my gaze following it, up his forearm and past his elbow.

Then he faced me fully and I had to physically redirect my eyes upward because they had traveled down south without my permission.

The joggers were not helping, they were too fitted, perfectly displaying the shape of his-

Oh gosh.

I was doing my absolute best to be a normal, composed person about it.

His jaw was sharp, his earrings caught the light-small, silver, one in each ear-and his chest pressed against the fabric of the singlet every time he breathed.

He turned around and my eyes widened in surprise.

Holy freaking airball.

I knew that face, I had seen it on three separate billboards on the drive from the airport. Tyler Sinclair. The Devil on Ice. The man the entire internet had collectively decided was a deity, and from where I was standing it really seemed plausible.

We stared at each other for a moment, neither of us saying a word.

I waited for him to explain why I was here but his eyes were just hovering over me like I was something he wanted to purchase.

"Don't you speak?" He said finally, his tone very condescending and rude.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

He tilted his head, studying me even further. "You look different from what I imagined." He paused. "Not as pretty, at least...but that works."

"What-" I stopped, my mind reeling in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"I don't have time for long conversations." He moved toward the desk, settling into the chair behind it and stretching his legs on the desk. "Here's my offer. Fake date me for three months."

I stared at him, my eyebrows raising slightly. "I don't-I'm sorry, I don't understand, I was just here for-"

"You attend dinners with my family." He continued, as though I hadn't spoken. "Sit in the stands during games, act like you're deeply in love with me." He pulled his legs off the desk. "My parents are in town for the season, they're arranging a fiancée, I need them to believe that position is taken. In return-"

"I genuinely don't understand what's happening right now-"

"- fifty thousand dollars, per month, for three months-"

"I came here to get my room key -"

"-one family dinner per week, you'll be expected to-"

"I don't understand -"

"-maintain a visible social media presence, nothing excessive, and arrive on time to-"

"STOP." The word came out louder than I expected. Tyler Sinclair stopped talking and looked at me, his eyes widening in a way that suggested that he wasn't accustomed to being interrupted.

"What," I said, pressing my fingers to my temple, "are you even going on about?"

He looked at me for a moment like he hadn't even heard a word I said. "I see...the pay is too small for you."

I opened my mouth.

The door flew open.

The woman in the blazer stood in the doorway, file clutched to her chest, her eyes widening in surprise. She looked at me, looked at Tyler then looked back down at her file.

"We got the wrong Flora Morgan, sir."

Flora's POV

The woman in the blazer looked like she had sprinted the entire length of the building to get here. Her chest was heaving, file clutched, her eyes wide like she had just seen a ghost.

Tyler's gaze shifted to her, his face contracting into a frown.

"What are you talking about?" His voice dropped, disappointment very evident in his tone.

The woman sucked in a breath. "I didn't-the one contracted for the arrangement was Flora Gina Morgan, not-" she gestured at me with her file, briefly and unapologetically, "- this one."

"Well." I raised my hand slightly. "That's certainly not me."

"Exactly." She nodded, grateful someone was helping her explain. "The confusion was caused by the matching names, and the hair-they're both blonde and of similar height. Except-" She glanced at me, then back to Tyler. "The other Flora is more-" She shaped something vague in the air with her hand.

"Curvy." She finished.

I stared at her. "I'm sorry, did you just -"

"They looked alike too at first." She glanced at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Though looking at her again, she does look rather different from the other Flora. A bit dehydrated, honestly."

Tyler made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He pressed two fingers to his mouth, eyes briefly bright with something could be mistaken for amusement.

"The real Flora Morgan," the woman pressed on, "called twenty minutes ago. She's been in an accident. She's been hospitalised and won't be able to continue with the contract." She straightened her file. "I'm deeply sorry for the confusion, Mr. Sinclair. I'll reach out to the agency to source an alternative-"

"Get out." Tyler said.

The woman blinked. "Sir-"

He raised two fingers toward the door without even looking at her.

She went out, and the door clicked shut leaving just the two of us. Tyler's eyes moved to me slowly, and honestly in that moment, I felt like I was standing in the same room as a predator.

I crossed my arms. "Well...this has been a very weird afternoon. I'm going to go find my room now-"

"SIT DOWN." His voice echoed through the room.

"I'd really rather-"

"SIT. DOWN." Something in his tone pulled at the back of my knees in a way I deeply resented.

"You," he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at me with his chin slightly lowered, "are going to take the offer."

I let out a short laugh. "I really, genuinely am not-"

"I've already told my parents what my girlfriend looks like." He continued, as if he had already made a decision and was just filling me in. "Blonde, light eyes." His gaze moved over me briefly. "You share enough physical similarities to pass as her." He tilted his head. "And you're already here."

"I'm here because I thought I was going to get my room key, I didn't sign up for whatever this is-"

"Are you always this dramatic?"

"Are you always this insufferable?"

"You're stubborn," he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It thrills me."

"And you're a jerk, but here we both are." I picked up my bag from the floor. "I appreciate the very strange afternoon, Mr. Sinclair but I'm leaving now."

I crossed the room quickly, and when I got to the door, I stopped and turned back. "By the way-I don't even find you attractive." I said, glancing over him. "So whatever you think you're doing with the whole-" I gestured vaguely at him, "- this. It's not working, you're not my type."

Something shifted in his expression and he stood up. He came around the desk without any urgency whatsoever, crossed the room, and stopped directly in front of me.

The heat came off him in waves, and it was like I was standing next to a furnace that had been running for years and had no intention of cooling down.

His scent hit my nose a half second later.

He raised his hand, the back of his fingers touching my jaw. He dragged them along the line of my face, tracing down to the curve of my throat.

I made a particularly embarrassing sound, low and wanting in a way that bypassed every sensible thought I had ever had.

His eyes followed his hand the entire time. The heat from him was everywhere now. My fingers were trembling against my bag strap and I could feel my pulse increasing with every passing second.

I still didn't move, I stood there and let him trace the line of my body like I had forgotten every reason I had for being unmoved by men with pretty faces-

His hand dropped and his eyes came back up to mine, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Not your type." He said softly, a mischievous grin on his face. "Indeed."

I jerked back so fast I nearly knocked into the chair behind me. I took a full step backward, straightened my bag on my shoulder, and turned toward the door, my heart pounding loudly, while my gaze dropped again for the umpteenth time to the irresistibly huge bulge on his joggers.

"Auren Beauty." He said and I stopped dead in my tracks. "One of the top three cosmetics brands in the country. I'll get you a twelve month modelling contract on top of the monthly payment." He paused for a moment. "Which remains at fifty thousand."

I stared at the door in front of me.

Auren Beauty. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but somehow I couldn't get myself to agree.

I heard him move, then something landed softly in my open bag. I looked down, it was his card.

"You have two days to decide." He said, turning back to his desk.

I stared at the card sitting in my bag.

I thought about what it would mean to come back from this-on the arm of the most recognizable face in the NHL, with an Auren campaign behind me and enough money to clear my debt and rebuild everything from the ground up.

I thought about Sean seeing it, then I remembered his face, denying me and kissing that girl in front of the whole world.

But I was done, done being moved around by men with pretty faces, done making myself useful to people who had already decided what I was worth before I walked through their door. Tyler Sinclair could keep his fifty thousand dollars and his Auren contract for all I care.

I tossed the card and I walked out.