Chapter 79 Chapter 78
Harper POV
I tell myself the date idea is dead.
Buried.
Gone.
Filed under stupid things rich donors suggest when they think women are props.
That’s the only way I survive the next twenty-four hours.
I throw myself into work.
Emails. Seating charts. Bid paddles. Vendor confirmations. Lila and I argue over centerpiece budgets. I sign off on programs. I rewrite the auction schedule for the third time because someone decided the dessert bar needs its own spotlight moment.
Anything to not think about Logan.
Anything to not think about the way he wouldn’t look at me in that meeting.
Anything to not think about how easily people decide things about you instead of with you.
By the time I’m walking across campus toward the student union for my next logistics check-in, my brain is buzzing and my patience is already gone.
That’s when I see Daniel Myers.
He’s standing outside the conference room like he’s been waiting for me.
Which means I’m about to hate my life.
“Harper,” he says, smiling like we’re friends.
My stomach drops.
“Please tell me this isn’t about the date idea,” I say flatly.
His smile tightens.
“…It’s about the date.”
I stop walking.
Students stream around us, laughing, talking, living normal lives while mine slowly catches fire.
“I already said no,” I tell him.
“I know.”
“So did Logan.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you standing here?”
He exhales and gestures toward the empty room. “Can we talk for a minute?”
“No,” I say. “We can talk right here.”
He studies my face, then nods. “Okay. Right here.”
He lowers his voice. “Coach and the athletic department signed off on it.”
Something cold slides into my chest.
“They what?”
“They agreed the publicity is too good to pass up. Especially with draft scouts starting to pay attention to Shaw.”
My jaw tightens. “That’s not my problem.”
“It kind of is,” he says gently. “You’re the other half of the story.”
“I’m not a story,” I snap. “I’m a person.”
“I know. But this event needs buzz. And whether you like it or not, you and Logan have it.”
I laugh once, sharp and humorless. “We said no.”
“And they overruled you.”
The words land heavy.
Final.
I stare at him. “So you’re telling me this is happening.”
“Yes.”
My hands curl into fists. “You can’t force me to go on a date.”
“We’re not forcing you,” he says. “We’re strongly encouraging you in a way that involves donors, the athletic department, and about twelve people who can make your life very difficult if you refuse.”
I feel sick.
“You already forced Logan,” I realize.
He doesn’t deny it.
“He wasn’t exactly thrilled,” Myers admits. “But he understands what’s at stake.”
Of course he does.
Logan always does what helps his career.
I swallow. “When.”
“Friday night.”
Three days.
My chest feels too tight to breathe properly.
“And this is… what? Dinner? Cameras? Smiling like we don’t want to murder each other?”
“Dinner. A public place. Photos. Maybe a short clip for social.”
I shake my head. “This is humiliating.”
“It’ll be great for the auction,” he says.
“I don’t care about the auction right now.”
He softens his tone. “Harper… this doesn’t have to be miserable.”
I look at him. “Yes. It does.”
Because I know Logan.
Because I know myself.
Because pretending nothing happened between us is going to feel like ripping open a wound and calling it publicity.
“Does he know you’re telling me this?” I ask.
“He will,” Myers says. “I’m meeting him after practice.”
Of course.
Everything is always clean and scheduled and controlled.
Unlike my heart.
“I said no,” I repeat quietly.
“And it was ignored,” he says, just as quietly.
We stand there in silence for a moment.
Students pass.
Life keeps going.
Mine just took another hit.
Finally, I nod.
“Fine.”
Relief flickers across his face.
“But I’m not pretending,” I add. “I’m not playing girlfriend. I’m not holding his hand. I’m not selling a fantasy.”
“That’s fine,” he says quickly. “Just… be pleasant.”
I laugh again. “You don’t know us very well.”
He gives me a weak smile and steps back. “I’ll send details.”
When he walks away, I just stand there for a second, staring at nothing.
They say sex changes things.
It did.
Now I’m being paraded on a date with the man who won’t even acknowledge me in daylight.
Perfect.
I pull out my phone without thinking.
Almost text Logan.
Stop myself.
Because what would I even say?
Congratulations, we’ve been scheduled like livestock.
I shove my phone back into my bag and start walking.
Anger burns under my ribs.
Not just at them.
At him.
At myself.
At the part of me that knows this date is going to wreck me and is still, stupidly, terrified of what it might mean.
Because I don’t want to sit across from Logan Shaw and pretend I don’t still want him.
And I definitely don’t want to find out if he still wants me.