Chapter 4
HALLIE
Iwoke up to the distinct sensation of something warm and fuzzy pressed against my face. My eyes cracked open, and I found myself staring directly at Jinx’s butthole, approximately three inches from my nose.
“Dammit, Jinx, we’ve talked about this.” I shoved my cat away.
He let out an indignant meow before padding to the foot of the bed.
“Personal space. Ever heard of it?” I didn’t know why he insisted on putting his ass on my pillow. He had the entire bed and he felt his butt needed to be next to my face. Good thing I loved the little jerk.
My head throbbed, and my face felt tight and swollen.
I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, flipping on the light.
The reflection staring back at me was a disaster.
Mascara smudged under my eyes like a raccoon.
Foundation caked in the creases of my skin. Lipstick smeared across my chin.
I hadn’t bothered taking off my makeup last night. Hell, I’d barely bothered getting undressed before collapsing into bed.
John had been insufferable until the bitter end.
After the gala wrapped up around midnight, he’d insisted on going to some exclusive club, where he proceeded to get absolutely shit-faced on expensive whiskey that tasted like dirt to me.
By three a.m., he was slurring his words and trying to convince me to come back to his place.
“C’mon, Janie,” he’d said, his hand sliding way too far down my back. “Let’s make this worth my money.”
I bailed in a hurry. Called a cab and left him standing on the curb, looking confused and irritated.
The Faux agency might not be happy about that, but I didn’t care.
We were dates, not prostitutes. I would never agree to have sex for money and Della had insisted sex was not a part of the contracts.
Although she did allude to some people falling into bed with their date off the books so to speak. If my date had been someone like… oh I don’t know, Colt… then yeah. I could definitely see how there might be some noncontractual sex.
But there was zero chance I would get in John’s bed. I didn’t care if he paid me a million dollars. I would rather walk into the sea.
I rolled out of bed and stumbled across the hall into the bathroom.
I turned on the faucet and started scrubbing at my face.
I hated wearing that much makeup. And I wore that stupid setting spray that made sure my makeup would stay in place until the end of time.
I used at least ten makeup remover wipes.
My skin felt raw by the time I was done, but I looked human again.
Sort of.
I pulled my hair into a messy bun and shuffled out to the living room, where the smell of coffee already filled the air. Hallie and April, my roommates, were camped out on the couch in their pajamas, both of them perking up the second they saw me.
“There she is!” April called out, grinning. “The woman of the hour.”
“More like the woman of the disaster,” I muttered, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
“That bad?” Hallie asked, tucking her legs under her. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that said, “Bad Decisions Make Good Stories,” which felt painfully appropriate.
“Worse.” I poured myself a generous cup and added extra sugar. “John was a complete ass. Rude, condescending, and by the end of the night, drunk off his ass.”
“Oof.” April winced. “So the Faux gig didn’t pan out?”
“Not exactly.” I settled into the armchair across from them, cradling my coffee like it was a lifeline. “I’ll probably only get a portion of the contract money. I broke the rules.”
“What rules?” Hallie leaned forward, always ready for gossip.
“I danced with another man.” I took a long sip of coffee, letting the warmth seep into my bones. “In front of everyone. Including John. He was pissed.”
April’s eyes widened. “You danced with someone else? At the gala? Who?”
I hesitated, the memory of last night flooding back. Colt’s hands on my waist. His breath against my ear. The way he’d looked at me like I was on the menu.
“Colt Jesson.”
The room went silent. Then both of my roommates erupted.
“WHAT?”
“Are you serious?”
“Colt Jesson? As in the Colt Jesson?”
I nodded, feeling my cheeks heat despite myself. “Yeah. That one.”
Hallie’s jaw dropped. “Colt? The guy who ghosted you and broke your heart? That Colt Jesson?”
“The very same.” I stared down into my coffee. “He caught me when I tripped on my dress going into the venue. The paparazzi were everywhere, and he just… took over. Pulled me onto the red carpet like I was his date.”
“Holy shit,” April breathed. “What did he say?”
I was not going to repeat what he said. “Nothing. He flirts with anyone with a pulse. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Ooh,” April said. “He flirted with you?”
“Wait, he knew who you were, right?” Hallie asked.
I shook my head. “Nope.” The word tasted sour on my tongue. “Not even a flicker of recognition. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger.”
“Wow, what an asshole,” April said, shaking her head.
“So what happened?” Hallie asked. “After he caught you?”
“We danced.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “He was charming. Arrogant. Exactly how I remember him. He hit on me the whole time, said all these crass things about my dress and how tight his pants felt.”
“Gross,” April said.
“Yeah.” I drained the rest of my coffee. “But also… God, he’s so damn sexy. It’s not fair. He should’ve gotten ugly. Developed a beer gut or premature balding or get a limp or something.”
Hallie laughed. “That would’ve been poetic justice.”
“Instead, he’s a billionaire with perfect hair and a jawline that could cut glass. And he didn’t recognize me. Not for a single second.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” April offered. “You don’t need that kind of complication in your life.”
“I know.” I stood up, heading back to the kitchen to refill my coffee. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again. And I’m about to lose a chunk of money from the Faux gig because I couldn’t keep my distance.”
“How much were you supposed to get?” Hallie asked.
“Five thousand.” I sighed, thinking about the beach house. “I was going to put it toward restoring my dad’s place in the Hamptons. It needs so much work, but it’s—”
“Your favorite place on earth,” April finished, smiling sadly. “We know.”
My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting the moment. I picked it up and saw an unfamiliar number. When I answered, a crisp voice on the other end identified herself as Della’s assistant.
“Ms. Bellrose, Della would like you to come into the office this morning. Are you available?”
My stomach sank. This was it. The official reprimand for breaking contract terms.
“Yeah,” I said, forcing brightness into my tone. “I can be there in an hour.” I hung up and looked at my roommates. “I need to call in sick to work. The Faux agency wants to see me.”
“Uh oh,” April said. “You’re getting called into the principal’s office.”
“Good luck,” Hallie said. “And Hallie? Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”
I smiled, grateful for them. “Thanks.”
An hour and a half later, I sat in Della’s sleek office, trying not to fidget in the leather chair across from her desk. The room was filled with dark wood furniture, expensive art on the walls, and some really weird trinkets on the bookshelves.
Della herself was as intimidating as I remembered from my initial interview. She had the kind of beauty that didn’t fade with age, all sharp cheekbones and perfectly styled hair. She wore a form-fitting dress and stiletto heels that were a very flashy leopard print.
She looked every bit the successful madam of a high-end dating service.
“Hallie.” She smiled, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”
“Of course.” I folded my hands in my lap, trying to look composed. “I assume this is about last night.”
“It is.” She pulled out a folder and opened it, scanning the contents. “John filed a complaint. He says you abandoned your duties to dance with another client, and that you left him at a club at three.”
“He was drunk,” I said defensively. “And handsy. I wasn’t going to let him pressure me into going home with him.”
“I understand.” Della held up a hand, cutting me off. “And between you and me, John is… difficult. This isn’t the first complaint we’ve had about his behavior. I don’t think he understands what our agency is all about.”
I blinked, surprised. “Then why—”
“Money.” She closed the folder. “He pays well, and he’s a repeat client. But that doesn’t mean I won’t blacklist him for poor behavior. I protect my girls first before I worry about a client.”
“So what happens now?”
“You’ll receive twenty-five percent of your contracted fee.” She named a figure that made my heart sink. It was better than nothing, but nowhere near what I’d been counting on. “I’m sorry, Hallie. I know you were hoping for more.”
Twenty-five percent. That wasn’t going to make a dent in the beach house repairs. I’d need to take on at least three more contracts to get close to what I needed, and after last night, I wasn’t sure I had the stomach for it.
“I understand,” I said quietly.
“However.” Della leaned back in her chair, studying me with those sharp eyes. “I have something that might make the disappointment easier to bear.”
I looked up, hope flickering despite myself. “What do you mean?”
“Another contract.” She smiled, her red lipstick looking even redder against what were clearly very white veneers. “A new client specifically requested you. After seeing you at the gala last night.”
My heart started pounding. “Requested me? Who?”
“He’s a billionaire. Well known in the city.” Della’s smile widened. “And he’s willing to pay significantly more than John did. We’re talking like a hundred thousand dollars. Possibly more, depending on how things go.”
A hundred thousand dollars. How many zeroes is that? My brain isn’t working.
I could barely breathe. That kind of money would not only cover the beach house repairs, but it would also give me a cushion. Security. Maybe even let me take some time off from the salon to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life.
“What’s the catch?” I asked, because there had to be one. “That much money for one night? I can’t imagine what the client expects of me.”
“It’s not a one-night contract,” Della said, waving away my worries. “This would be ongoing. Several weeks, possibly months. You’d need to be available for multiple events, public appearances, that sort of thing.”
“Who is it?” I asked again.
It was a lot of money, but if it was an old fart or another version of John, I wasn’t sure I could handle the fake thing for weeks. I couldn’t make it eight hours with John.
“He’s here.” Della stood up, smoothing her dress. “Waiting in the conference room. If you’re interested, we can go sign the papers now.”
I hesitated for only a moment. A hundred grand. The beach house. My father’s legacy.
“I’m in,” I said, standing up. “Let’s do it.”
Della smiled and led me out of her office, down a hallway lined with tasteful black-and-white photographs. My palms were sweating, and I could feel my pulse in my neck.
Please, don’t let the guy be a complete toad.