by Ellie Hall
Chapter 2
Will
When Will Wheaton entered the room, people stopped and stared. It wasn't anything new. He'd be lying if he said he was used to it, but he tried to ignore it. Some people thought he was arrogant. But he'd challenge them to act differently with dozens of eyes on them, day after day. Year after year. He wasn't used to it by a long shot. Numb might have been the better word to describe how he felt. Making himself numb was the one thing that worked lately—it took away the sting, the glare, the ache.
The snarky question about people going to the gym on Christmas rubbed against him like salt on snow. "Working out is an act of self-improvement for the body and mind. Are there days you don't eat? Drink water? Sleep?" There was no such thing as a day off as the owner and operator of a health and wellness empire.
The girl who'd asked, snug under a knit hat topped with a pom-pom and scarf, shrugged. "Christmas is a time for family, for celebration not working on your six-pack." She held a brown box tied with string.
He glanced up at the branding in the gym, his own familiar abs—captured on film and glistening with sweat—, and out the window to his face advertising a luxury brand on a billboard. He stifled a sigh. He'd attained. He'd crushed. For what? He couldn't answer that question anymore. Something was changing inside him and he feared that meant the outside might change too: he'd built everything on his appearance and if he didn't have that then who was he? But he didn't have the time to think about it. He'd just arrived at the Manhattan location, had an agenda, and a new assistant.
"Six-pack? More like—" He was about to give a snappy retort about his well-earned muscles when the girl tugged off her hat, revealing bob-length brown hair and bangs that stuck out in all directions from static. His lips lifted toward a smile as the tendrils took on a mind of their own.
He approached the desk in several long strides as he evaluated the franchise. He'd given attention to every detail right down to the exact shade of gray tile for his high-end fitness centers. With his name attached to it, he knew, and the quarterly reports proved, that anyone who wanted to work out, look good while doing it, and associate with celebrities in the fitness world would flock for a membership.
The employee behind the desk opened and closed her mouth a few times, flustered. "We weren't expecting you until—"
"Wanted to keep you on your toes," Will said in his low British accent.
"I'm Melody." She batted her eyelashes. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person. I feel like I already know you—" She glanced at the photo print on the wall.
He felt like rolling his eyes. They were all the same: goggling after him, longing for what he represented. He turned from Melody to the girl with the static-crazed hair. Customers first. What was she doing there if not to work out on Christmas? "Welcome to Apex, can I help you with—?" He pointed to her hair.
Emma's hands flew to her head and her cheeks turned pink. "Actually, I work here too."
Clearly, she didn't have any idea who he was and the thought was refreshing like a cool glass of water. She was kind of adorable. He'd be interested, but she'd probably turn out like every other girl who applied to work there: hoping to get five minutes with him or if he could get them five minutes with his agent, to pose with him in the next spread, be seen with him to boost their career, or more intimate, personal interests. He'd had it with shallow, self-serving… Then again, he didn't do much to keep them from staring. He supposed it was an occupational hazard.
Melody pulled him from his musings. "Actually, Mr. Wheaton—"
"You can call me Will."
Melody cleared her throat. "Of course, Will." Her voice went all dreamy. "Will, um—" She gestured at Emma and lowered her voice. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name."
"Emmaline Jones," she whispered back and passed Melody a brown box tied with a string. "Those are for everyone who works here. Merry Christmas."
"She's new, just starting today… and she's your assistant while you're here." Melody's voice tinged with jealousy.
Emma's mouth fell open but it didn't seem like it was because she was impressed or filled with desire. The hardness in her eyes suggested dislike or perhaps even loathing.
Confusion plagued Will. He wasn't used to the frosty reception, but he was ever polite. "Welcome to the team, Emmaline."
"You can call me Emma," she echoed. Her eyes darted to the door as if she wanted to leave but then thought better of it.
"Right. Well, let's get started." Will waited for the customary tour of the gym anytime he visited new properties. This was the ninety-ninth franchise, one of many in the US and the last one to visit over the last six months. Still waiting, Will looked to Emma.
"Oh, you're to give him the tour, Ella," Melody said.
She swallowed and smoothed her hair. "Emma."
Will turned to Emma. "Since you're new, we'll postpone it for now. Melody, please direct us to the office we'll be working out of and we'll get settled in." He'd have to talk to the manager later about suitable training for his personal assistant while stateside. Surely, she should at least know where the locker rooms were located.
"Right. You'll be on the third floor. The room on the right. It has a lovely view." Melody winked.
Emma turned in a circle, looking for the elevator.
Melody rolled her eyes and pointed.
Will's phone beeped as soon as they stepped inside. Yet another message from his agent, urging him to call. He tucked the phone in his pocket, ignoring it for the fifth time that morning. Talking to Jared Wilcox, most likely about the recent blemishes to his brand and image, was the last thing he wanted to do on Christmas morning.
Jared worked strictly with Will and his modeling career. Jared took time off for several months earlier that year, but now that he was back, dogged Will about getting modeling jobs even though the gym mogul had other responsibilities now.
The elevator opened to a wide hall with several doors. The office was at the end, complete with a wall of windows, framing the billboard with his image. He snorted. "Nice view indeed."
His gaze landed on Emma, standing in the doorway. She was petite and her skin held onto its summer tan. A faint smattering of freckles dotted her nose and her dark eyes reminded him of something savory, rich, delicious.
"Am I supposed to agree with you or—?" She gazed from the window to him.
He swallowed and realized he'd been the one staring, at her and not the billboard.
Emma stood in the doorway. "I'd like to talk to Joe."
"Joe?"
"The manager. I didn't realize—"
"There you are. I see you've both met. Wonderful." Joe pressed past Emma and into the vast office. He extended his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wheaton."
"Will."
"I see you've met your assistant. Remind me your name." Harried, he didn't let her answer and continued. "My apologies for not being at the front desk when you arrived, Sir."
"No worries. I was early."
Joe rocked back on his heels. "Has everything been suitable so far? To your liking, Sir?"
Will started to nod, but Emma cut across him. "Actually, Joe, I was wondering if we could talk for a sec."
The space between Joe's eyebrows creased.
They stepped into the hall. Will sat in the chair, tucked his hands behind his head, and kicked his feet onto the desk, tired from the night before.
From the hallway, Emma and Joe's voices rose and fell. He caught snatches of the conversation, including Emma requesting a different position.
His head jerked back. That was a first. Who wouldn't want to be with him? His chest tightened. That was the wrong question to ask. He knew the answer well enough. He got to his feet and met the pair in the hall.
Joe, red-faced, wrung his hands.
Emma, red-faced, clenched her fists.
"Is there a problem?" Will asked.
"No, of course not," Joe said.
"Right. It's just a job," Emma said through gritte
d teeth.
Will turned back into the office and resumed his position in the chair. He closed his eyes, dozing.
Moments later, the door slammed. He opened his eyes slowly.
Emma stood opposite him in the Apex gym tank top but not with the accompanying friendly or flirtatious smile most of the girls wore who flocked to work for him.
"How can I help you, Emmaline?"
"You're the gym owner. I'm your assistant. Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" Her tone was mildly harsh as if she tried to hold back anger. He had to admit it was cute.
"I would, but I have everything I need."
"Then you don't need my services?" Her eyebrows lifted as if she'd just received a get-out-of-jail-free card.
"Do you need a job?"
She shifted from foot to foot as though reconsidering. "Yes."
He nodded. "Then, yes, I'll need your assistance." He closed his eyes again and settled back into the chair.
"Can I get you a blanket then, perhaps a pillow?" She scoffed.
Will smirked. She was feisty. Not a first, but usually it came with flirtatiousness and she definitely wasn't flirting. He wasn't in the mood for either. In fact, he'd like her to go to the corner and pick up a burger, fries, and milkshake. However, he hadn't allowed himself that particular kind of indulgence since he'd signed his first modeling contract. The thought made him hungry and angry but he'd built the gym and health supplement line, including protein shakes—his empire—on his face, his abs, and charm. Oddly, all of which were failing him right then.
"Have you had breakfast?" he asked. Maybe she'd break the rules and get him a doughnut at least.
"Ice cream and cookies." Her voice came alive at the mention of two of his favorite things in the world, foods he could only taste in memory given his strict diet and workout regime.
"What?" he asked, confused and wondering if she mocked him.
"Breakfast. I had two gingerbread cookies and finished off a carton of vanilla ice cream. It had freezer burn. My sister probably had it in there since last year." This was the most she'd said so far, at least to him.
"Who has cookies and ice cream for breakfast?" He was suddenly afraid he sounded condescending. Sydney had cautioned him about it often enough.
"My point exactly. Who wants to workout on Christmas?"
He was about to answer when his phone rang. He looked from her to it and back again.
"Do you want me to get you something to eat? Bagel? Croissant? There's a bakery down the street but I'm not sure if they're open today."
He exhaled sharply. "Uh, no. I'll have a protein shake."
With a sharp shake of her bob-length hair, she whisked from the room.
He answered the phone. His agent blasted him for a full five minutes, proceeded to ask him rhetorical questions the way an angry father would for another five—not that he ever knew his own— and then said, "So what are you going to do about it?"
"Jared, even though you're older than me, you remember what it's like to have a little fun. You're just worried your paycheck is going to get smaller."
"We're going to lose the next deal. Nexxiss wants a clean and sexy health and wellness guru: the epitome of style, luxury, and desire. Not a scruffy, just rolled out of bed after a long night partying schlub recently dubbed the billionaire playboy."
His phone beeped with incoming texts from Jared: photos from the night before compromising his squeaky-clean image. Just because the paparazzi took photos of him, didn't mean they were necessarily accurate.
Will inhaled sharply. He'd forgotten about the dare with the whipped cream, not that he'd eat the stuff. Everly Corbett hosted a Christmas party in the city and he didn't want to be rude and decline. However, he hadn't been there long before the odd sense of loneliness, even in a room full of people, sent him on a long walk to clear his head.
Jared stepped into the office and slid his phone into his suit pocket.
"What are you doing here?" Will asked, but not entirely surprised. Will was one of Jared's few clients and he'd built his agent career around him.
"We have to land this account, Will," Jared's voice was more nasally in person than on the phone.
"I don't understand why this is a big deal."
"Nexxiss wants you to rep their brand but they care deeply about their customers who value a clean and committed image. We can't have you hooking up with a new girl each night—"
"I don't hook up with—" He was about to defend himself, but had stopped caring about how the media slanted his image. It was as if they were trying to make him look bad. Everyone had cameras and photo editing software. It was a losing battle.
Jared ran his hand down his pale face. "We've all seen the photos. Stop partying and clean up your act. Listen, I can call Veronica. We can patch things up."
Will's voice went cold. "I'll clean up my image. You will not call Veronica."
"Fine. What's your plan?" Jared asked.
"I don't—"
"Well, I do. Find a nice girl here in New York. Sweet. Wholesome. One without any baggage. Someone you can be seen in public with and not those—" He exhaled, shaking his head. "Go on a few dates. Make it look like the last few reports were blown out of proportion, mistakes you made while in the big city. You need a girl like—"
Emma reappeared just then with a protein shake in one hand, a muffin in the other, and a scowl on her face.
Jared pointed. "Someone like her." He looked her up and down.
"Emmaline?" Will asked, shocked by what his agent was suggesting.
Chapter 3
Emma
"I said you can call me Emma." She was already tired of correcting him but more concerned about the strange conversation she'd walked in on.
Jared plucked the muffin from her hand. "You're the new assistant? I'm the agent. Jared Wilcox. And this is a no-no for him." With his free hand, Jared pointed at Will. "No muffins, cookies, cakes, or pies for our man Will. I'll email you his diet plan. The protein drinks and supplements are disgusting, but—"
Will cut across him. "We've had them third party tested. They're the highest selling in the nutrition industry. What do you mean they're—?"
Jared brushed Will off. "Emma, do you have a criminal record?"
Her eyebrows squished together. "No?" What kind of question was that? In fact, she'd already answered it on the application.
"No with a question mark as in yes but you're afraid to tell the truth or no as in no, I do not have a criminal record," Jared asked around a mouthful of the chocolate chip muffin.
"I most certainly do not have a criminal record." She liked this guy even less than she liked Will.
"Are you married? Single?"
She huffed. "Single. I filled out the application. I don't see how these questions pertain to my job—?"
"Excellent. What do you like to do? Hobbies? Interests?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "I like to bake."
"Please refer to the diet guidelines only. What else?"
Earlier that morning, she'd gone from sad, to relieved to have a job, to disgruntled because she wasn't pleased that her employer was a rich, arrogant party boy. Now she was perplexed. "I like dogs, um, reading and running. I'm very organized, sensible. I aspire to—"
Jared threw his arm around her shoulders and shoved her toward Will. "She's perfect. A little short, but she can wear heels." He stood back as though taking a photograph of them. "It's all about the image. You look good together. A handsome couple. I am a genius if I do say so."
"I don't understand," Emma said. She glanced at Will. He was undoubtedly attractive. Model material for sure. The broad planes of his face hid under scruff. He wasn't bulky like a bodybuilder but sculpted with strong muscles under his suit. Penny would swoon. She recalled a photo spread featuring him from a magazine she'd posted in her college dorm room. Emma glanced at him again to be sure. Yes, it was he, only he was shaven, paler, and younger then. The thought flitted through her mind that she preferred t
his version. He was slightly more rugged and had a healthy glow to his skin. But she tossed the idea out of her mind as questions about her current reality resurfaced.
Will turned to Emma, matching her expression of confusion.
Jared pinched the bridge of his nose. "Try to keep up. I'm suggesting we stage a fake relationship to keep Will's career from veering off the rails. Act like a couple, like you're falling in love for all the world to see. It'll be easy. Only a kiss."
Emma balked.
"Sweetheart, it's all smoke and mirrors." Jared turned to his client. "Will, the health and wellness guru thing is just a fad. But you've had a successful modeling career for a decade. Let's keep it that way."
"I work hard to help other people feel good and look good."
Jared waggled his finger at him. "You know that I know what's best for your career. I've been doing this longer than you've been alive. Now, make it seem realistic for the next month while you're in the US. Then you'll break it off because long distance relationships are hard to maintain. We just have to make sure we get it on camera. Fake. Simple. Done."
This time protests did rise to Emma's lips. "This is absurd. I applied to work at the gym. This morning I find out I'm an assistant to a man-child who can't conduct himself in public and now you're suggesting—"
Will's hands flew to his hips. "What do you mean man-child?"
"Melody told me all about you."
"They're rumors."
"Are they Will?" Jared waved his phone, streaming with photographic evidence of Will's alleged partying.
"I was a guest at a party. I left early and was here early because this is my job." Will's voice turned icy. "Perhaps I've been out more fun than you'd like, Jared, but—"
"Will, my job is to make sure you uphold your image so we don't lose—"
"It's not like money is in short supply, Jared."
Emma huffed. It must be so easy for these men and their money. She just needed a job to get back on her feet.
Jared leaned in and hissed. "Yes, but money doesn't buy trust and that is what your image is built upon. The public buys your products and goes to your gyms because they believe in the good British boy with the tousled brown hair and abs of steel. I created you and that's why your whimsical little health fetish took off. Have you ever asked why people think you're a hero? Who they aspire to? In a time when parents shield their children from celebrities because their lives are disastrous or they merely follow because they enjoy a good train wreck, you're a beacon. Digital media can make or break a career, Will. What goes on the internet stays on the internet. Think hard about your direction."
