Three days after the breakup, my phone rings and Ethan's name on the screen, making my stomach clench.
I almost didn't answer. After everything—Marcus, the hospital, the screaming match that ended my relationship—the last thing I need is more complications.
But I'm still his manager. Ignoring his calls isn't an option. "What?"
"I need you to come to a meeting." His voice is careful, measured. "My agent flew in. Contract stuff, but it involves you, apparently. He wants you there."
"Why would your contract stuff involve me?"
"Just come. Please… I'll explain everything when you’re here."
He gives me an address downtown. A hotel conference room. I should say no. I should hang up and go back to the silence I've been drowning in for three days.
Instead, I write down the address.
The hotel is sleek and expensive—the kind of place where people close million-dollar deals over sparkling water. I find the conference room on the third floor and push through the door without knocking.
Ethan sits at the long table, his injured ankle propped on a chair, crutches leaning against the wall. Across from him is a man I don't recognize—polished suit, perfect hair, the kind of smile that belongs on a magazine cover.
He stands when I enter, extending his hand. "Miss Calloway. I’m Daniel Vance, thank you for coming."
I shake his hand, keeping my expression neutral. "What's this about?"
"Please, sit." He gestures to a chair. "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"
"I'm fine. Just tell me why I'm here and let’s get over it already."
Vance settles back into his seat, folding his hands on the table. "I'll get straight to the point then. I've been Ethan's agent for two years now. He's extremely talented—lottery pick potential, the kind of player brands fight over. But there's a problem."
I glance at Ethan, mentioning how tight his jaw is, and eyes won’t meet mine, fixed entirely on the table before him.
"His public image," Vance continues, "is too closed off, guarded even. Scouts love his game, but sponsors want more than stats. They want a story. Warmth and relatability. Romance."
He pauses, waiting for my reaction, searching it on my face, but continues his tirade when find nothing.
"And now with the injury… The narrative is even worse—an injured player with no personality, no human interest angle. Trauma and ankle braces don't sell sneakers."
My stomach drops. "And what does that have to do with me?"
"Apparently, you two have history. Chemistry that cameras pick up from across a room."
Vance leans back in his chair, studying me with calculating eyes. "I did my research on you two—high school sweethearts, inseparable for three years, the whole fairy tale romance before it ended. That kind of history has serious marketing potential."
"Should we also include the part where he dumped me in front of the entire school?" I keep my voice flat. "I'm sure public humiliation will really boost his image."
"Actually, it might." Vance's tone stays pleasant, unbothered by my sarcasm. "A relationship—even a strategic one—would benefit both of you. Exes who never stopped loving each other, redemption arc, all that."
"You want me to fake-date him?"
"I want you to consider a mutually beneficial arrangement." He slides a folder across the table. "Six months of public appearances. Social media posts, team events, a few interviews. At the end, you break up amicably. No drama, no mess."
"And what exactly do I get out of this performance?"
Vance's smile widens and I don’t fucking like where it’s going.
"Access to my network. Agents, PR contacts, management opportunities at firms that don't interview candidates without industry connections."
He leans forward slightly as if proximity makes his offer more appealing.
"I know you're studying sports management and I also know you want to build a career in this industry on your own merit, not your family's name. One phone call from me, and you're interviewing at agencies that would never look at a college junior otherwise."
My heart stutters.
Sports management isn't just a career goal—it's my lifeline. The thing I've been building toward since I decided I wouldn't be defined by the Calloway name or the money that comes with it.
Every late night at the office, every thankless task, every moment I've spent proving myself—it's all been for this. A real career. My own path.
And Vance is offering me a shortcut that could take years off that journey.
I look at Ethan and now he's watching me, with an unreadable expression. "This was your idea?" I ask and he hesitates before answering.
"Vance brought it up. But I agreed because..." He stops, runs a hand through his hair. "Because it's the only way you'll let me near you."
The honesty of it catches me off guard.
"I'm not trying to trick you into anything," he adds quietly. "If you say no, I'll respect that. But this could help both of us. And maybe…"
He stops himself and somehow it irritates me even more. "Maybe what?"
"Maybe we could figure out how to be around each other without it being a war."
I stare at him. Three days ago I told Marcus I didn't want either of them.
I meant it. I still do.
But this isn't about wanting Ethan. This is about my career. My future. The doors that could open if I play this right.
"Six months," I say slowly. "That's it?"
Vance nods. "Six months. Then a clean, amicable split. You walk away with industry connections that would take a decade to build on your own."
I think about the internship applications sitting on my laptop.
The rejection emails that pile up because I don't have the right connections, the right last name in the right context. The glass ceiling I've been beating my head against since I decided to do this without my family's help.
I think about spending six months pretending to be in love with the man who broke me.
"Rules," I say finally. "We do this my way."
Vance spreads his hands. "Name them."
"No touching without an audience. No private conversations about the past. This is professional—nothing more." I look at Ethan, making sure he understands. "You don't get to use this as an excuse to dig up old history. We perform for the cameras, and that's it."
Ethan's jaw tightens, but he nods. "Okay."
"And I want everything in writing. The connections, the introductions, the opportunities—all of it documented before I sign anything."
"Done." Vance slides papers across the table. "I'll have contracts drawn up by tomorrow. We start slow—coffee dates, study sessions, a few Instagram posts. First official public appearance will be the alumni fundraiser next Saturday."
I stare at the papers. Six months of proximity. Six months of pretending. Six months of touching him and looking at him and remembering what it felt like when we were real.
Six months of pretending to be in love with the man who broke me.
I pick up the pen and sign my name.