“What?” I gasped, leaping up and sucking in air. Maybe I was having a panic attack. Or a heart attack. Or some type of attack where you can't breathe and you consider throwing heavy objects at someone.

“Hailey, a fresher image isn't going to hurt.” She eyed my yoga pants and shook her head. A sad attempt at calming me down.

I wasn't going to fall for it. This was more than just an image update or charity event we were talking about. One night out even I could live through. Probably.

“Catherine, please stop side-stepping into this and just…spill it.”

Another sip. Another sigh. Dead silence. And then, "Fine. But, sit down for goodness sake.”

I eased into the chair, inspecting the door to make sure I still had a clear path for a quick escape.

“I made a bet at the APC. One I thought I couldn't lose.” Catherine glanced around her office as if the answers might be there for her. “A straight flush. I shouldn't have lost.”

“But?”

She leaned back away from her desk, away from me and for the first time since I’d known her, I watched Catherine unable to meet someone’s gaze.

“I lost.” She rolled her eyes as if this was obvious. Which, it was, but still not a plot twist I wanted to admit was coming.

“Yeah, I'm getting that.” I paused, taking a moment, trying to piece it all together. “But since there's no longer such a thing as indentured servitude, I'm wondering how you think you're handing me off to another agent. Especially a sports agent. He didn't look like he'd read a book this year, let alone knew where to sell one.”

Catherine snickered and filled her glass again. “Dex is, luckily, smarter than he looks. He's the best in his field.”

Which shouldn't have been a surprise considering how many deals I was betting he'd gotten Connor Ryan.

“What exactly does he think he's going to get from me?” Because the dating thing had to be a red herring.

Catherine glanced away as if she was afraid to admit how ridiculous this was. “Your reputation.”

“What is this, 1811?” I laughed at my own joke, because the day I was having, someone had to. “What does my reputation have to do with anything?”

“I'll be honest, he suggested Jenna Drake first. But then he heard about her lovely lawyer-boyfriend. You were next and had what he was looking for. The stats, a certain level of success, a new book coming out in a few weeks, and your very strong following of young women between the ages of fourteen and twenty-six. Which would be exactly the group Mr. Ryan's new, ah, adventure has managed to alienate. It also happens to be the group his latest sponsor is trying to reach. You see the problem?”

I had no idea what Connor Ryan had done to tick off girls fourteen to twenty-six, but I didn't see how anyone might think I'd be able to help. I was just…me. They wanted Taylor Swift.

Where was Tay when you needed her?

Of course, I should have known Catherine would have an answer.

“He needs to be seen with someone nice. Someone smart. Someone who shows he's turning over a new leaf, treating women well, and that he's a good guy.”

“He's a rude, egocentric womanizer.”

Catherine smiled at me, an odd little smile as if she knew something I didn’t. “Maybe you'll have fun being pampered in public by a rude, egocentric womanizer.”

“No way. I'm not going out with him.” It was pretty much my worst nightmare. Being forced to live in public scrutiny, pictures, people, attention. I just wanted to sit in my apartment and write or hang out with my girls. “He wants arm candy who probably doesn’t talk in public.”

“Honey, I'm pretty sure he doesn't care if they talk in private either.”

Of course she'd think this was funny.

“But, here's the problem.” I crossed my arms, digging my metaphorical heels in. “I won't do it.”

I know a lot of girls dream about the popular jock in her school waking up and realizing she's secretly gorgeous and awesome. But I'd never been attracted to that type. I'd grown up with that type—or grown up with that type sending alimony to my mom—and didn't need a repeat of the last generation.

My dad had been a Division I college football quarterback. Mom had been his hometown sweetie. Or, so she’d thought. But, with the fame, popularity, and potential big career came the ego to match.

Dad may not have made it to the pros, but he managed to keep the ego and drop the sweetie.

Catherine studied me, a long look that even after knowing her five years I couldn't read.

“Oh, you'll do it.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the roughed leather of the chair's arm. “You'll do it because if my career goes, yours goes too. It's not a threat. Dex put us both in a bad place. It’s a high-stakes world. And so, if you want to keep publishing with a house who prints more than two-thousand copies at a time, you'll do it.”

She wasn't kidding. I could even see she was sorry. But she'd do whatever it took to get both of us on the other side of this ridiculousness.

“There's self-publishing,” I challenged. “I have enough of a following to make the jump. A lot of my readers would follow me.”

“That's true. You do. And, I wouldn't blame you. Your work is universal enough to do well.”

It was as close to a blessing as I was going to get in this situation. Not that I felt I needed it at this moment.

“But," she continued. “One book to hit it big is all you need. We've always said a breakout would raise your boat high enough that it would stay there. And this...this mess I walked us both into, it could be the tide that does it. Free publicity, your face out there to go with your name, young women dreaming of living your life not just your characters’ lives. This could be the thing that bumps you over the edge. Look at all the celebrity YA books over the last decade.”

And isn't that what we all wanted? The magic bullet?

If there was one thing I'd learned from Catherine, it was never sign a contract without three sets of eyes.

“What's the fine print?”

“You date for four weeks and act like a real couple. A settled couple. The kind of couple where everyone who sees you goes, Oh, they're so sweet. He cleans up his rep and saves his contract with his sponsor, and you get a month of free publicity.” She crossed her arms, finishing off the deal. “You'll go on public dates. Hands will be held. Autographs will be signed. From the sounds of it, you'll be getting a makeover.”

I rolled my eyes. Yes, I knew she could see me do it.

“Hailey, a makeover wouldn't kill you.”

“I'm not paying for a makeover. Or the clothes to play this part. If he's unhappy with my wardrobe, you're all going to have to find a way to make me have clothes everyone’s happy with.”

Which wasn't a bad deal. I needed some new things for the conference I'd be speaking at next month.

“Fine. I'll have Meg open you an expense account. One-thousand dollars should do it.”

Geez, I could buy six of everything in my size at Target for that much money.

“You," Catherine pointed her pen at me like it was a weapon, as if she knew what I was thinking. “You will shop at socially acceptable stores for a Page Sixer. Actually, you will go with the personal shopper I hire for you to whatever stores she brings you to.”

“Fine.” It was her money.

I closed my eyes, picturing the woman he'd flirted with in the elevator. Then the look he'd given Dex when Catherine had introduced us. I knew the type. Maybe I’d be more excited about this if I hadn’t watched my mom deal with my mostly-missing jock of a father for two decades.

I had a rough time equating them with anything less than untrustworthy.

“This isn't going to work. No one is going to buy this.”

Catherine took my hand and squeezed it. “It is going to work. And it's going to be good for you to get out there too. Everyone knows how sweet you are under all that sarcasm. He's turning thirty-two. That's like sixty in ballplayer years. He's settling down. With a nice, smart girl. Someone who makes him laugh and doesn't drain his time and energy. And he's exactly what your book sales need. I almost wish I'd thought of this myself.”

It could work. That was the problem.

“I have a few demands of my own.”

“Of course.”

“One, this is not to cost me a penny. Two, he is to understand what my deadlines are and how they are to be treated.”

“Okay. Those are reasonable.”

“And finally, he's not to humiliate me. If he does, I will take this whole train down. Him. Dex. You. The mythical Agent Game. Everyone. I'm not becoming a laughing stock because you can't count cards.”

“Sweetheart, if he humiliates you, I'll take him down myself.”