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Fake Dating The Famous Hockey Captain Novel Cover

Fake Dating The Famous Hockey Captain

To rescue her career, Evelyn Monroe must interview her college crush, the now-reclusive hockey star Bruce Roccaforte. But four years after their passionate night, Bruce feigns ignorance of their past. Cold and deeply suspicious, he links Evelyn to his father's manipulative plots. As old desires clash with bitter doubts, their forced proximity ignites a high-stakes tension that threatens to consume them both.
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Chapter 5

“Get in.” The man ordered.

“What the hell!? Let go of me!” I struggled and panicked. He didn’t speak until the car turned two corners and parked in a quiet alley.

I gasped for breath. “Are you crazy?!”

The man looked back at me, cool and calm. Tall, lean, sharp-jawed and undeniably handsome. Oh God! He was old enough to be my father.

“I just saved you from those girls. I think you should be nicer.”

“You kidnapped me! This is literally daylight kidnapping.”

“I just need to ask you a favour.”

“By kidnapping? I don't even know you.”

I tried screaming and gaining attention but the car was obviously sound proofed. He was some wealthy man!

He held up a magazine, flipping it so I could read the cover.

“A famous international hockey player is back in Maldives. Mystery guy, who is he?”

“What…what are you doing?” I mumbled. This was the hockey guy I was supposed to get to have an interview with.

The man smirked. “Now, let’s talk about that favour.”

I snatched the magazine from his hand, my eyes immediately locking on the bold headline. “Famous International Hockey Player is Back in Maldives”

Reading it again only made my blood run cold. What does everyone have to do with a hockey player who no one knows literally nothing about.

“Give me that,” the man said calmly, taking it back before I could read further. He folded it with precision and tossed it into the passenger seat.

I turned to him, still breathless. “Okay, what is this? Who are you?”

He looked at me, his gaze unbothered. “Let’s just say I’m someone with more power than your boss, and better offers.”

I frowned. “Offers? How do you know where I work?”

“Does that matter right now?” He asked. I tried to remain calm and listen to him even if I knew it'd be hard to do.

He adjusted the watch on his wrist. “Get this guy to my house. Within a week. If you succeed… I’ll give you a quarter of what I own.”

I blinked and let out a small laugh. “What?”

He nodded toward the window. “Look around. You’re in a Bentley, Eve. Think carefully. I have my riches and you don't. You can get me what I don't need and I can give you what you need.”

I glanced outside and only now noticed the luxury of the car. The leather seats, the polished dashboard, the quiet engine hum, it screamed money.

“You’re joking,” I muttered, but I didn’t sound convinced.

“I’m not.” His voice was as calm as ever. “But there’s a catch.”

“Of course there is.”

“You don’t get a second chance. I won’t be like your boss, dangling your job over your head. Even if you get that interview he asked you, you’ll still be disposable to him.”

My heart dropped. “You… you know about that?”

“I know everything,” he said simply. “Your job. Your boss, and probably the desperate email you sent last night.”

“Are you stalking me?” I whispered. “How did you find me?”

He turned the wheel slightly, eyes fixed ahead. “Well you wouldn't find out if I didn't want you to. Don't make it a big deal and let's get straight to the point.”

I stared at him. “I’ll think about it,” I said after a long silence.

He nodded, satisfied. “I’ll send the address. You’ll come if you want the deal.”

The car pulled up outside my apartment. I stepped out slowly, still dazed. He didn’t wait for a goodbye. The car disappeared down the street like a ghost.

I dropped onto my bed the second I got inside. Everything spun in my head. Three years at The Daily Pulse. I’d missed birthdays, holidays, even Dad’s funeral prep because of that job. I worked my ass off, pitched stories, ran around chasing tips… and yet, I was still just a junior reporter.

No promotion or recognition. And now they wanted to fire me over Stella’s mistake? I walked to my desk, opened my laptop, and stared at the screen. After a long pause, I began typing.

*Subject: Resignation Letter.*

I didn’t stop overthinking it. Didn’t let fear hold my fingers. When I was done, I hit send and leaned back in my chair. The rush of freedom came quickly… and with it was fear.

The moment I sent the text, my heart began to race. “If I’m going to get your job done, I’ll need an upfront payment. Resources, connections, equipment. You said you don’t like second chances. I don’t take risks for free.”

I stared at the message for a second before hitting send. Not even a minute later, my phone pinged. A bank alert.

*$500,000.00 credited to your account.*

I choked on my own breath. “Vivian!” I screamed, running out of my room.

She came rushing from the kitchen, toast still in hand. “What? What happened?”

“He just sent me five hundred thousand!”

Vivian blinked, slowly lowering her toast. “Dollars?”

I nodded frantically. “Five. Hundred. Thousand.”

She dropped the toast. “Who is he, your sugar daddy?”

I sank onto the couch, dazed. “What? No! He just gave me an entire fortune to drag a hockey player to his house.”

Vivian raised a brow. “You’re really in now.”

That night, I checked my inbox and saw it.

A response from the manager I’d emailed.

*Subject: RE: Interview Request*

*Hi Miss Eve. My boss has a tight schedule but he’ll be available in three days. The meeting will be held at his suite, The Pearlview Hotel. Time: 3PM. Please come alone.*

My stomach tightened. This was it. Everything was going as it should be. Smoothly and I felt like it was my time. Probably in a week time my mum would change her mind about having a new family.

The next day, I took myself shopping. For the first time in forever, I didn’t check price tags. New clothes, better equipment, a new laptop, even a fresh pair of heels that didn’t pinch. I ate a proper meal, let myself breathe, and finally prepared for the meeting.

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