Chapter 2
HALLIE
My savior’s hand felt warm and steady against the small of my back, and it also felt wildly inappropriate. He wasn’t my date, my friend, or even an acquaintance, and he had some nerve assuming he had any right to my time just because he saved me from rolling an ankle.
If I let my mind wander, I could still feel the press of his lips against my cheek when he’d used me as a prop for the paparazzi. I could smell his cologne now as he twirled me, caught my hand, and pulled me back in. His body was firm and broad and just right for mine.
But this guy? I knew who he was. And nothing about him was right for me.
Colt. Freaking. Jesson.
Asshole billionaire and out of touch womanizer. And he had no idea who I was.
His hand moved an inch lower on my back, warm and possessive, like he had every right to touch me.
Like I was his. His hazel eyes—God, they were even more striking than I remembered—roamed over my face with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole, and despite every rational thought screaming at me to push him away, my body betrayed me.
I kind of wanted him to rip my dress off and have his way with me. There would be no protest from me.
Heat pooled low in my belly, spreading through my limbs like wildfire.
My skin felt too tight, too sensitive. I was acutely aware of every place our bodies touched.
His chest pressed against mine with each step of our dance.
I hoped he couldn’t feel the way my nipples had turned into sharp peaks.
Sharp enough to slice through all my inhibitions.
His thigh occasionally brushed between my legs as he led me in a slow circle. The scent of him wrapped around me, making it hard to think straight. His dark chocolate hair was slicked back, but I could see where it had been mussed.
And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a faint hint of pink on his cheek. Lipstick. He’d been in someone else’s arms just before me. Freaking Colt.
Where was she now? Could she see us? Was I about to get smacked?
Colt didn’t seem bothered about anyone seeing us. He only had eyes for me, and I hated how good it felt.
I hated that after all these years, after all the pain he’d caused me, my body still responded to him like I was that stupid seventeen-year-old girl with a crush she couldn’t control. My cheeks burned.
Get your head on straight, Hallie.
I scanned the ballroom over his shoulder, looking for any sign of John, my actual date for the evening.
But the sea of tuxedos and glittering gowns blurred together, and I couldn’t spot him anywhere. Not good. I needed to get away from Colt Jesson. The boy who’d broken my heart. The man who clearly didn’t remember me at all.
I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid.
But he wasn’t letting go. If anything, his grip on me tightened as he led me toward a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the main crowd. The music followed us, soft and romantic, completely at odds with the tension crackling between us.
“You know,” he said, backing me against a column draped in shimmering fabric. “That dress you’re wearing is doing things to me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Things?”
“Yeah.” His gaze dropped, shamelessly raking over my curves. “It’s making my pants feel uncomfortably tight.”
Heat flooded my core, but I refused to look away.
This was vintage Colt—crass, direct, saying exactly what was on his mind without a filter.
I’d known him in high school, had watched him charm and flirt his way through half the girls in our class.
Back then, I’d found his boldness exciting. Thrilling, even.
Now?
Well, my body still lit up for him, but the man needed to do more to actually impress me. He didn’t seem like he had changed at all since we were teenagers.
“I should go,” I said, trying to step around him. “Are you done using me as a prop for the cameras?”
He blocked my path with that infuriating smirk still firmly in place. “Prop? Sweetheart, you were the sexiest prop I’ve ever had the pleasure of holding.”
“Save it, Romeo,” I deadpanned. “Your cologne already proposed twice.”
For a split second, his expression faltered. Then he laughed—actually laughed. He leaned closer, his breath brushing across my face and the V of my dress. The cool, collected facade cracked, and I caught a glimpse of something real underneath.
Point for Hallie.
But the moment passed quickly, and his confidence returned in full force. “You’re funny,” he said, like he was discovering some rare treasure. “I like that.”
“I’m thrilled.”
“You should be.” He stepped closer, crowding me against the column. “Do you have any idea how many women would kill to be in your position right now?”
“No, but I know one women who would kill to get out of this position right now.”
“All of them,” he said simply. “I’m Colt Jesson. Owner of Valenteen, the most prestigious jewelry company in the world. Women throw themselves at me. And I give them what they want every damn time.”
“How exhausting for you.”
“It can be,” he agreed, ignoring my sarcasm entirely. “But you’re different. You’re not falling at my feet, and I have to say, it’s refreshing.”
I wanted to tell him that I had fallen at his feet once.
But I didn’t say that. Instead, I kept my voice cool and detached. “I think we’re done here, Mr. Jesson. Thank you for the dance.”
“Colt,” he corrected, his hand catching my wrist before I could walk away. “Call me Colt.”
“I’d rather not call you anything at all.”
He laughed again, and damn it, why did he have to be so handsome when he laughed? His whole face lit up, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, and for just a moment, I saw the boy I’d fallen for all those years ago.
Then reality crashed back in. This wasn’t high school.
This was Colt Jesson, notorious playboy and heartbreaker, who’d built his reputation on one-night stands and meaningless flings.
His family’s jewelry empire was supposed to represent eternal love, but the world only saw him as a man who couldn’t commit past breakfast.
And he still didn’t recognize me.
Just as he opened his mouth to say something, probably something filthy, judging by the heat in his eyes, a throat cleared behind him.
“Excuse me.”
I peered over Colt’s very broad shoulders to find John standing there, his expression tight and irritated.
He was shorter than Colt, with thinning hair and a pinched face that made him look perpetually constipated. He wore an expensive suit, but it didn’t quite fit right around his shoulders, like he’d bought it off the rack and hadn’t bothered with alterations.
“I believe you have my date,” John said stiffly.
Colt’s grip on my wrist tightened fractionally before he released me. I watched his expression shift. Surprise flickered across his features before he schooled them back into cool indifference. Colt Jesson wasn’t used to being interrupted.
Colt’s gaze slid to me, one eyebrow raised. “Your date? Aren’t you popular?”
“Yes, my date.” John stepped forward, his hand landing on my elbow in a grip that was just a bit too tight. “Come along, Hallie. We have a table waiting.”
I recognized him from the picture that had been provided. It wasn’t like I got to pick my dates based on their looks. I went where Della had told me to go, just like all the women who were lucky enough to clear the Faux agency’s extensive background and compatibility checks.
I glanced back at Colt as John pulled me away. His hazel eyes were locked on mine, intense and unreadable, even as his sister, Frankie, appeared at his side. I recognized her from photos. She grabbed his arm and hissed something in his ear, her expression urgent.
But Colt never looked away from me. He slid his hands in his pockets and his jaw muscles fluttered with tension.
The moment we sat down, John rounded on me.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes. I didn’t pay Faux the kind of cash I did for a flaky fake date.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying to keep my tone pleasant even as my stomach sank. “I tripped on my dress coming in, and—”
“And you decided to dance with Colt Jesson?” John’s eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how that looked? I hire you to be my date, and you’re off cozying up to a billionaire?”
“He caught me when I fell,” I explained, my patience already wearing thin. “The cameras were there. It would’ve looked worse if I’d just walked away.”
“Right.” John’s gaze raked over me, cold and assessing. “Well, for future reference, I expected a certain caliber of date when I hired you.”
I stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“You’re not exactly what I had in mind,” he said bluntly.
“I was hoping for a model. Someone who didn’t need this much fabric to cover her ass and tits.
” He grumbled about the bread on the table and shoved it out of my reach.
“Let’s keep it classy, please? You’re on thin ice and I expect you to play damage control and make it up to me for that asinine display. ”
Asinine? The only asinine display was this grown-ass man’s crude behavior and his harsh words. I hated how they cut into me and made my chest bloom with shame. I could barely look at the others seated at our table who’d overheard his comments about my body.
I was no size four, six, eight, or even ten.
I’d spent years hating my curves, wishing I could shrink myself down to fit society’s impossible standards.
But I’d finally—finally—gotten to a place where I liked my body.
Where I felt comfortable in my own skin.
And moments like this made me wonder what I’d done all that work for.
Pull it together, Hallie. Don’t let him see it hurt.
I wanted to walk out. To tell him to shove his contract and his money up his pinched asshole that probably resembled his pinched face.
But I’d signed paperwork with the Faux agency.
I’d agreed to see this night through. He saw my picture.
He chose me. It wasn’t my fault he couldn’t get his own model.
I didn’t want to say it, but hello, he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt.
Della, the owner of Faux, had recruited me months ago.
She’d come into the salon where I worked as a hairdresser, sat in my chair for a cut and color, and spent the entire appointment studying me.
By the time I’d finished blow-drying her hair, she’d handed me a business card and told me I had potential.
“Wealthy men need companions for events,” she’d explained during my interview. “They’re often lonely. Most of them just want someone charming and beautiful on their arm. No women would willingly spend time with them otherwise.”
I thought it sounded easy enough. Make some extra cash, attend fancy parties, smile and nod. Nothing physical at all.
I hadn’t expected John, but I guessed he was the walking and talking example of the kind of man women didn’t willingly want to spend time with. No wonder he had to buy my time. If one of us shoud be feeling shame and worthlessness, it was him, not me.
Asshole, I decided.
As the lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the stage at the front of the ballroom, a smooth voice crooned through the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the new CEO of Valenteen, Mr. Colt Jesson.”
The room erupted in applause as Colt strode onto the stage, his long strides eating the distance, his devilish smirk exuding confidence and ego in all its glory.
He looked completely at ease under the spotlight, his broad shoulders filling out his tuxedo perfectly, his dark hair slicked back to reveal those devastating hazel eyes that shined like jewels.
And then those eyes found mine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.