Chapter 15 Chapter 15
Noah's POV
Campus shoots were worse than charity galas. At least the gala had good food.
This?
This was three cameras, a lighting rig, a director with a headset, and a giant banner behind us that read:
WESTVIEW ATHLETICS – HEALTHY ATHLETE LIFESTYLE
Which was ironic considering the fact that I ate leftover pizza at midnight and Emily threatened to confiscate my energy drinks this morning. I stood in the middle of the campus quad while a photographer adjusted his camera lens. Students passed by, whispering. A few recognized me, more recognized Emily. Apparently the gala photos went online overnight.
Great.
Emily stood beside the camera crew holding a clipboard. A freaking clipboard. Of course, she had a clipboard. She looked like the human embodiment of organization, her hair was tied back neatly, athletic jacket zipped up, her posture was perfect like she was about to lead a medical conference. But the thing I had notice most was the expression on her face. She was focused and determined, like she was in control of everything, which meant today was going to be fun, because I had absolutely no intention of behaving.
“Okay,” Emily said as she walked towards me. “Let’s go over the plan again.”
“We have gone over it four times.”
“Then the fifth time will help you remember.” I sighed dramatically. She opened the clipboard. “First we will film the interview segment,” she explained. “Then the walking shots across the quad and then the recovery exercises demonstration.”
I nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “No improvising.”
“Improvising is my personality.”
“Not today.”
“Define improvising.”
“No sarcastic commentary.”
“That’s oppressive.”
“No deviating from the talking points.”
“That’s boring.”
“No flirting with the camera.”
“That’s subjective.”
She closed the clipboard slowly.
“Noah.”
“Yes, Dr. Pink.”
Her jaw tightened.
“Do not call me that in front of the media team.”
“You love it.”
“I do not.”
I grinned. “Ready?” the director called.
Emily inhaled slowly, before she turned towards me. “Please, just follow the script.” she said softly.
I considered it. For about half a second. “Sure,” I said.
She didn't believe me. Well, she shouldn’t.
The camera light turned red. The interviewer smiled brightly.
“So Noah,” she said. “What does a healthy athlete lifestyle look like to you?”
Emily’s clipboard contained a perfectly crafted answer. Something about discipline, nutrition, and recovery balance, but I decided to chime in, “Well, apparently it involves being monitored by a rehab tyrant who wakes me up at six in the morning.”
Emily’s head snapped towards me. The interviewer laughed awkwardly while Emily forced a smile. “Emily,” the interviewer said, “What role do you play in Noah’s recovery?”
Emily answered smoothly. “I oversee his rehabilitation program and ensure he follows the training schedule designed to strengthen his shoulder stability.”
She looked at me, there was a warning. “So,” the interviewer continued, “Noah, what’s the hardest part of the recovery process?”
Emily’s eyes gave 'Follow the script' look. I leaned back slightly. “The hardest part,” I said thoughtfully, “Is surviving Dr. Pink’s grocery regime.” Emily’s elbow connected hard against my ribs. "Ow!" The camera crew chuckled. “That’s Emily Taylor,” I addded. “She replaced my energy drinks with kale.”
“I did not replace them,” she muttered.
“You hid them.”
“That’s not hiding. That’s nutritional intervention.”
The director laughed. “Honestly,” I continued, “She’s terrifying.”
Emily smiled sweetly for the camera. “He exaggerates.”
“I absolutely do not.”
The moment the cameras cut, Emily grabbed my arm and dragged me a few steps away from the crew. “You’re sabotaging this,” she whispered.
“I’m making it interesting.”
“This is not supposed to be interesting.” She whisper-shouted.
“This is a promotional shoot. Interesting helps.”
“You were given talking points.”
“They were boring.”
She stared at me. “You’re impossible.”
“You’re adorable when you’re furious.”
Her glare sharpened. “I am not adorable.”
“You absolutely are.”
She closed her eyes for a moment like she was praying for patience. When she opened them again, her voice was calmer. “Please just cooperate for the next segment.”
“Fine.”
“Do you mean that?”
“No.”
She groaned.
The crew set up for the next scene. Emily and I were supposed to walk across the quad while talking casually about training and recovery.
“Just act natural,” the photographer said.
Emily nodded.
We started walking. “So,” I said loudly, “Did you bring your emergency broccoli?”
She glared. “Stick to the script.”
“What script?” I asked.
“The one I gave you.”
“Oh.” I looked around dramatically. “Lost it.”
“You did not lose it.”
“Misplaced.”
“Noah.”
“What?”
“Focus.”
“On what?”
She exhaled slowly. “Recovery.”
“Oh, right.” We reached the end of the walkway.
“Cut!” the director called.
Emily grabbed my sleeve again. “You are doing this on purpose.”
“Possibly.” I shrugged.
“Why?” She asked.
I shrugged again. “Because your reactions are fascinating.”
“My reactions are frustration.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not entertaining.”
“It is to me.”
She stared at me before shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”
The final segment was a still photo shoot.
Emily and I stood near the athletic building while the photographer adjusted the lighting.
“Okay,” he said. “Just stand close together. Casual couple vibe.”
Emily stepped beside me. But again, she left too much space. “Closer,” the photographer said. Emily shifted slightly. “Closer.”
She looked at me like I personally caused this. So I solved the problem. I slid my arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Her entire body froze. For a split second she looked shocked and then she forced herself to relax.
The photographer beamed. “Perfect! Hold that.”
Emily’s hand instinctively rested against my chest, just enough to sell the image.
The camera flashed. We were standing close enough that I could hear her breathing. Her eyes met mine. And then, suddenly the cameras disappeared, the campus disappeared. Everything disappeared except the look on her face. She was now vulnerable in that soft way.
Flash.
The moment broke. Emily stepped back immediately.
“Next pose,” the photographer said. But I was still thinking about that look.
An hour later, the crew gathered around a laptop reviewing the shots. Emily stood beside me, her arms were crossed. The photographer scrolled through images, walking shots, interview stills, exercise demonstrations and then he stopped on one.
“That one’s great,” he said.
Emily leaned closer to the screen, so did I. It was the photo from earlier. The moment I pulled her closer. Our faces were inches apart. We were not smiling, we’re just… looking at each other intensely, like the rest of the world stopped for half a second. It looked almost intimate.
Emily inhaled softly. “That one works,” the photographer said. “Very believable couple energy.”
Emily didn't answer. Neither did I, because the weirdest part of it all? Neither of us remembered posing like that. It just happened. And for a moment… Neither of us could explain why.
Emily closed the laptop. “Let’s go,” she said quietly.
I followed her across the quad. Students passed by. The campus hummed with afternoon energy, but my mind kept replaying that photo. That look, that moment. And for the first time since this fake relationship started… I wasn't sure which parts of it were actually fake anymore.