Chapter 10 Chapter 10
Noah's POV
The pen felt heavier than it should. It’s just a plastic and cheap pen. Probably taken from a stack in the athletic department office. But the moment the tip touched the paper, it felt like signing something bigger than a contract. It was more like surrender.
I stared at the line where my name went. Noah Harris - Participant Agreement. The word participant got to me. Not that I'm the athlete, captain, or scholarship player. I glanced across the table.
Emily sat straight-backed, shoulders squared, reading through every single line of the document like she was reviewing a medical journal. Her brow was slightly furrowed in concentration, her lips were pressed together in that serious way she had when she was analyzing something. She hadn’t looked at me once since we walked into this room. A part of me appreciated that and part of me was strangely annoyed by it.
“Are you going to sign it?” Coach Bennett asked from the head of the table, “Or frame it?”
I sighed and scribbled my name.
There... Done. I leaned back in my chair as I placed the pen on top of the document and continued to watch Emily. She bit her lower lip, and that kinda stirred something inside me. She signed it next. Her handwriting was neat and precise, nothing like my rushed scrawl. When she slid the paper back across the table, she exhaled softly, as if she had just stepped into cold water.
Lauren from PR collected the papers quickly. “Great,” she said with a professional smile. “Now we can begin planning the narrative."
Gosh, I hate that word. Emily closed her notebook.
“Before we begin. Noah and I should discuss house rules.”
House rules?
I glanced at her.
She finally met my eyes. Something in her expression was sharp and determined.
“House rules?” Coach repeated.
“Since we are living together,” Emily explained, “Clear boundaries will prevent misunderstandings.”
That actually made sense. But it still felt weird hearing her say that.
Coach gestured toward us. “Go ahead.”
I shifted in my chair. “Fine. I’ll start.”
Emily nodded. I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking for a second.
“Rule one,” I said. “My bedroom is off limits.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“Unless it’s a medical emergency?”
“Then knock first.”
“Fair.”
“Rule two,” I continued, “No posting anything online without telling me first.”
She nodded again.
“That aligns with the PR guidelines.”
“Rule three,” I said, leaning forward slightly, “We keep this fake relationship public only.”
Her gaze sharpened. “Meaning?”
“No fake affection when cameras aren’t around.”
Her lips pressed together thoughtfully. “Agreed.”
“Good.”
Silence settled for a moment before she flipped open her notebook.
“My turn.” She said. I braced myself.
“Public conduct plan,” she said. That sounded worse already.
She turned the notebook towards me. There was a structured chart that filled the page.
Appearances.
Events.
Photo opportunities.
Interview talking points.
“You made a schedule?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“You made a spreadsheet.”
“Yes.” She answered.
I leaned closer. “You scheduled ‘casual coffee walk on campus.’”
“That’s called organic visibility.”
I stared at her. “You’re terrifying.”
Coach chuckled quietly. Emily ignored him.
“Rule one,” she said, “We maintain consistent body language in public.”
“What does that mean?”
“Not standing six feet apart like strangers.”
“So…?”
“So,” she said patiently, “Normal couple proximity.”
I grimaced. “Next.”
“Rule two,” she continued, “No public arguments.”
“That’s unrealistic.”
“We’re adults.”
“That’s debatable.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Rule three, no flirting with other women.”
Coach coughed. Lauren hid a smile, and I stared at Emily. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“That’s your rule?”
“It’s common sense.” She shrugged.
I shrugged too. “Fine.”
“And rule four,” she added calmly, “We establish a believable relationship timeline.”
Coach leaned forward. “That’s important.”
Emily nodded. “We will say we met during his rehabilitation consultation.”
“Which technically isn’t a lie,” Lauren said.
“Technically,” I muttered.
Emily looked back at me. “Do you have any objections?”
I leaned back again, studying her. She was completely serious and prepared. This whole thing, this... ridiculous fake relationship, she was treating it like a research project.
“You plan everything, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Even emotions?”
She paused for half a second before answering, “Especially emotions.”
Something about the way she said that stuck with me.
Coach clapped his hands together once. “Good. Now that we have established ground rules…”
Uh oh.
“There’s your first public appearance.”
Emily stiffened slightly. “Already?”
“Yes.”
Lauren slid a folder across the table.
“Westview Foundation Charity Gala,” she said.
I groaned. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“It’s a formal dinner,” she continued smoothly. “Donors, alumni, and media coverage.”
Emily opened the folder. “What is the dress code?” she asked.
“Black tie.”
My stomach sunk.
“No.”
Coach grinned. “Yes.”
Emily flipped through the event outline. “We would arrive together,” she said slowly.
“Correct.”
“Sit together.”
“Yes.”
“Be photographed together.”
“Absolutely.” Lauren and Coach said in unison.
I rubbed my face. “This is a nightmare.”
Lauren ignored me. “This event will introduce your relationship publicly.”
Emily closed the folder slowly. “When?” She asked.
“Saturday night.”
“That’s in four days.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“Fantastic.”
Emily turned towards me. “We will need to prepare.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For questions.”
I sighed. “You mean interrogation.”
“That too.”
Coach stood up. “You will do fine.” Easy for him to say.
Emily gathered her notebook. “We should rehearse our story.”
“Our what?”
“Our story,” she repeated. “How we met. How long have we been seeing each other, and the list goes on.”
“This is starting to sound like witness protection.”
Lauren laughed softly. “Think of it as brand management.”
I muttered something under my breath that probably shouldn’t be repeated in front of donors. The meeting ended shortly after.
Emily and I walked out of the building together in silence, she clutched the folder against her chest like it was something sacred. The evening air was cool, the sky was fading into deep purple over the campus.
For a few more seconds, neither of us spoke, and then she exhaled slowly. “That went… better than expected.”
“You have very low expectations.”
She smiled faintly. “Occupational hazard.”
We walked towards the parking lot. Her heels clicked softly against the pavement.
“Are you okay with the gala?” she asked.
I'm surprised she even asked. “No.”
“Good.”
I glanced at her. “You’re not nervous?”
She shrugged. “A little.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s just an event.”
“It’s donors and cameras and questions.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“And you’re calm?”
“I prepare.”
Of course, she always did. I shook my head. “You’re weird.”
She laughed quietly. “You’re reckless.”
“Fair.”
We reached the car.
For a moment, we just stood there. I actually liked to see her with a smile on her face. It makes everything else feel lighter than it should. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly. I studied her for a second. The way the campus lights reflected in her eyes. The way she looked thoughtful even when she was standing still.
“You know,” I said slowly, “I expected you to be different.”
“How?”
“More… influencer.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And what am I instead?”
I thought about it. “Dangerously competent.”
She laughed softly. There's that smile again. “That might be the nicest thing you have said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She opened the passenger door of my car. Before getting in, she paused.
“Saturday night,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“We will survive it.”
I nodded. “Probably.”
She climbed into the car. As I walked around to the driver’s side, something strange lingered in my chest. I was curious, because for the first time since this fake relationship started… I’m not just worried about the PR. I’m wondering who Emily Taylor really is and why the hell I suddenly wanted to find out.