on his elbows, his long, lanky frame looking familiar and wonderful, and I question my decision all over again. “This is beginning to sound like the kind of speech Danny Jones gave Karen because he was going to NYU and didn’t want to have a long-distance relationship.”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” I rub my forehead. “It’s...this job requires me to do something you’re not going to like.”
“Are you starring in a porno?” His eyebrows are all the way to his hairline.
“No, W, God.”
“Just spit it out, V.”
I release a frustrated breath. “I can’t say more until you sign this.” I hand him the one-page contract that states W can be told some but not all of the particulars.
He pushes the paper to the side. “I’m not signing anything. What the hell, Vaughn?”
“Don’t swear,” I say automatically.
“Don’t channel your sister,” he grouses. He and Paisley aren’t fans of each other. She thinks he pressures me, and he thinks she’s too uptight.
“I know this sounds crazy, but if you don’t sign it, I can’t tell you any details and it sounds worse without the details, trust me.”
“Then trust me.” W grabs the paper and tosses it on the bed behind him. “You can tell me anything. You know I’m a vault.”
It’s not that I don’t trust W, but this is my entire family’s future on the line.
“If it was just me, then yeah, I’d tell you, but I already promised the agency I wouldn’t say anything unless you sign this.”
His eyes narrow. “What agency?”
“Where Paisley works. Diamond Tal—”
“Diamond Talent Management?” he exclaims. “They’re the ones giving you this job? Why didn’t you say that in the first place? Of course I’ll sign it. Where do you need my signature?”
I watch as W rushes to his desk to grab a pen. He’s practically buzzing with excitement.
He doesn’t look up as he scrawls his name across all the lines, even the ones I think Jim is supposed to sign on behalf of Oakley. He dots the last i in his last name with a flourish. “All right. Lay it on me.”
I get up and drag W back to the bed so I can sit beside him and hold his hand while I explain this bit of insanity to him. “Okay, this is all I can say—I’m doing something for the agency, sort of like a social media campaign.” It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but that’s all the NDA allows me to reveal. “They know that you and I are dating, and—”
“They know about me?” His eyes are shiny and eager. “Did Paisley tell them about the show? I thought she hated it! Which episode did they like? The one where we rated the end zone celebrations? Or the one where we dressed up and pretended to be the dogs playing poker picture? We got so many hits for that one even though it’s not on brand.”
I wrinkle my forehead. “Uh, no, it’s not about the show.”
“It’s not? But you mentioned it, right?”
“Not exactly.” I wince. It hadn’t occurred to me that W’s first thought would go to his show, and now I feel bad I hadn’t brought it up to Jim Tolson.
“Why not?”
There’s a note of betrayal in his tone. W and his roommates started up a YouTube channel back in September, where they post videos of themselves talking about sports highlights. Their show is called the Bro Hards, and it’s...argh, okay, it’s kind of dumb.
But because I’m a supportive girlfriend, I diligently watch every video and make sure to leave an encouraging comment even though I don’t find it at all entertaining.
“I don’t know. It didn’t come up,” I answer, suddenly wishing I’d bargained for that.
After all, it would’ve been easy enough and it would go a long way toward making W more comfortable with my deal with Oakley. I make a mental note to talk to Jim the next time I see him.
“Anyway, our relationship is a bit of a problem for the agency. It interferes with some of my...duties. I can’t have a boyfriend that people know about, so they want us to break up publicly—” when he frowns, I hurry on “—but not for real. For real, we’ll still date. Except...” I grimace. “We can’t be seen together in public.”
W stares at me blankly. “You want me to break up with you but not really?”
“Yes.” Oh, gosh. It sounds monumentally stupid.
“Is this you wanting to break up with me, V? Because I didn’t even know we were having problems. If you don’t want to go out anymore, just tell me.” He says it so matter-of-factly, like breaking up wouldn’t kill him.
It would kill me, though. “Do you want to break up with me?” I blurt out, frantic with worry.
W’s my anchor. We started dating before my parents died, and through that grief-stricken summer, he’d stood by me the whole time, despite my tendency to burst out in tears at random moments. Like when we were at the mall and I saw the Father’s Day advertisement in the Hallmark store window. I’d gone home that night and resolved to be the fun girlfriend again, and I haven’t cried in front of him since.
I was so worried he’d break up with me once he started college without me, but he didn’t. He told me he loved me and that he was going to stick with me, even if it meant dialing back some of the plans he’d made for both of us.
“Of course not.” He pulls me down on his lap, another frown creasing his face. “But how’s this supposed to work?” His hands run up under my shirt. “We’re supposed to be having fun together this year.”
“I know,” I say miserably. “But it’s a lot of money.”
W frowns. “You and Paisley are doing fine. Didn’t you say she earns enough now not to have to work two jobs?”
“Yes, but—”
“And didn’t you delay coming to school this year because you had to work?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you don’t need this one,” he says with the confidence of someone who’s never worried about a bill in his life.
W’s family has money. They even sprang for him to have a dorm room at De Neve Plaza, where he has a two-room suite and a private bathroom he shares with only three other guys. When I looked up how much this suite costs each semester, I nearly swallowed my gum.
“I do, W. I need this job. My family needs it.” I take his hands, the ones he’s using to try to take my shirt off, and press them between mine.
“Is this Paisley’s idea? Because you know she hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
W
