Faking it with the NHL'S Golden Boy

Flora's POV

"I'll go with the red lingerie, the extra spicy one, please," I whispered, smiling at the saleswoman. "My boyfriend just got signed to the Hershey Bears... and red is his favorite color."

The saleswoman took the hanger without looking at me, eyes already drifting to the next person in line. "Will that be all?"

"Yes...well." I leaned in a little. "He's been working so hard for this. I can't wait to see the look in his eyes when he sees it on me."

She scanned the barcode, still not meeting my eyes. "Cash or card?"

"Cash." I said and counted a few bills, placing it carefully on the counter. I took the black bag and walked out of the store, still smiling to myself.

I'd come straight from home in my work clothes-blazer, skirt, the usual-and now I was cutting it close.

I was about to open the rideshare app when my phone buzzed.

Congratulations! Your booking is confirmed.

Cedar Lake Getaway – check-in next week.

A soft laugh slipped out of me. I'd booked the little vacation house the second Sean told me he'd be back in L.A. after the match.

I could already feel his arms around me again.

By the time the car dropped me at the company building I was still smiling.

"Morning, Flora!" James from reception called out, waving a coffee cup like a flag. "You look like someone who just won the lottery."

"Something like that," I called back, already turning toward the elevators.

"Hey, Morgan!" It was Selene from accounting, falling into step beside me for a few paces. "Save me a seat at lunch if you're free. I need someone normal to complain to about the new interns."

"Deal," I said, and we parted with a quick wave.

I pulled out my phone. The Hershey Bears had just posted new photos of the team in their smoking hot jerseys.

"Sean. Sean. Sean. Where are you?" I kept scrolling until I paused at a familiar face.

Tyler Sinclair. Captain of the Hershey Bears team.

Urgh! Too much hype for real.

I was tired of seeing his face everywhere.

SWIPE!

I scrolled quickly and my eyes gleamed the moment it landed on Sean.

God, he looked delicious!

The jersey clung in all the right places, that half-smirk I knew by heart.

I could almost feel the weight of his hands on my waist, the low sound he made against my neck when he pulled me closer. One more week, just one more week and I'd be in those arms again.

The door flew open.

"Where have you been, Flora?" Lucille burst in, eyes wide. "The new interns have been waiting for your opening speech for ten minutes." Her gaze dropped to the black shopping bag clutched against my side. She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

"Anyway-just thought you should know. Your Sean is on a live interview in the lunch room right now."

I bolted fast before my mind could even catch up.

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.

The look on his face when I handed him the keys on his twenty-fifth birthday was 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 bag slipped from my fingers and the red lingerie spilled out to the ground.

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.

"Damn...she's delusional as hell," someone muttered from the back and a few people laughed.

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, laughter erupting in stages.

I bowed my head.

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 just as I bent down to pick up the lingerie, 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 but didn't know by name, and a fourth person-Mr. Dan, the CFO-staring intently at me with his legs crossed.

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." One of the men from Legal added, his tone flat.

Sean. That bastard. No... he wouldn't. He couldn't-

"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." Mr Dan 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-" Mr Dan shouted.

"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-"

Mrs. Calloway's eyes dropped to the red lace in my hand, then to the blank screen where Sean's face had been.

"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."

"What are you going to do now, Morgan?" Mr Dan-the man who had spent the last year asking me to fuck him-said, his mouth stretching into a sly smile.

Flora's POV

The sound of my phone notification drew my gaze from the blurry road to the screen. It was a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Hey, Flora. I can't stop thinking about you, especially in those tight skirts you wore to work. It's a pity you got fired. I'm going to make you an offer. Be my side chick, open those pretty legs whenever I want, and I'll pay your debts.

-Dan

Mr. Dan.

I cringed at the thought of those wrinkled hands touching me or those dry lips. I'd rather work four shifts a day than let Mr. Dan touch me.

Go to hell, you asshole.

I hit send and quickly blocked him.

It's been three good days since the worst day of my life.

I hadn't cried again, at least not since the past four hours. But I'd kept texting Sean. He never answered even after viewing them. Instead he posted a picture of him and his girlfriend on snap.

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 to Chicago with exactly one agenda. One simple, non-negotiable agenda. Get back the BMW I gifted Sean so I can sell it and pay back my debt.

"Baby, tell me you ate something before you boarded the plane." My dad's voice came out 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, with someone standing at the window, his back to me.

He was shirtless, grey joggers sitting low on his waist, with a short towel draped around the back of his neck.

The tattoo wrapped around his left arm caught the light as he turned slightly. My gaze followed it up his forearm and past his elbow.

Then he turned around, and my eyes widened.

Holy freaking airball.

I knew that face. I'd seen it countless times-on billboards, on television, even in newspapers.

Tyler Sinclair. The Devil on Ice.

The man the entire internet had collectively decided was a deity.

His dark, messy hair fell over his forehead. And those eyes...

God. He was...

No.

Hot wasn't the word.

The same Tyler I'd seen in photos and swiped past without a second thought didn't look like this.

The photos had flattened him.

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. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink, not bothering to look at me.

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, settled into the chair behind it, and put his feet up 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 fiancee, 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 stared at me for a moment, as if he hadn't heard a word I'd 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, raising an eyebrow. "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 and stopped directly in front of me.

I had to tilt my head slightly to look up at him.

"I said you're not my type," I reminded him.

"I heard you."

He didn't move. Neither did I.

His scent reached me, clean and warm, and suddenly I was far too aware of how little space there was between us.

"Then why are you standing so close?" I asked, my fingers clutching the hand of my bag.

The corner of his mouth lifted.

"You're the one who said I wasn't attractive."

"I did."

"So you shouldn't be bothered."

His hand came up, the back of his fingers brushing my jaw before tracing slowly along the line of my face.

A humiliating little sound escaped me.

His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, then returned to mine.

"Still not your type?"

I swallowed. "Absolutely not."

A cocky smile tugged at his lips.

"Indeed."

I took a full step backward, straightened my bag on my shoulder, and turned toward the door.

My heart was pounding as my gaze dropped, once again, to the irresistibly huge bulge in his joggers.

"Auren Beauty."

I stopped dead in my tracks.

"One of the top three cosmetics brands in the country. I'll get you a twelve-month modeling 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 at his feet.

"Fifty thousand dollars still won't make me your girlfriend."

Then I walked out.