Chapter 6
HALLIE
Iheld my pen over the signature line, the tip hovering just above the paper like it might burst into flames if I made contact.
Was I making a huge mistake? Was I really about to sign my life away for the next six months to a man who’d already broken my heart once?
I could hear my heartbeat in my ears, like I was holding two giant conch shells to the side of my head. The conference room felt too small, too warm. I could feel Della watching me expectantly, waiting for me to commit.
And Colt.
I glanced up, and my stomach dropped.
He was staring directly down my sweater shamelessly. The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide it. His hazel eyes were locked on my cleavage, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was doing and didn’t care that I’d caught him.
Heat flooded my face, part embarrassment, part anger, and a tiny, traitorous part that felt something else entirely. Pride.
Still got it, baby.
I gritted my teeth and looked back down at the contract.
Take his money. Break his heart. Get even.
The words crystallized in my mind, sharp and clear. That’s what this was really about, wasn’t it? Yes, I needed the money for the beach house. But the real prize, the thing that would make all of this worthwhile, was watching Colt Jesson fall for me the way I’d fallen for him all those years ago.
And then I’d walk away.
Just like he had.
Take his money. Break his heart. Get even.
It would be my mantra. My North Star for the next six months.
I could do this. I could play the part of the loving fiancée, the blushing bride, the devoted wife.
I could make him believe every word, every touch, every smile.
And when July came around and the contract dissolved, I’d collect my final payment and disappear, leaving him with the same hollowed-out feeling he’d left me with on that beach.
The plan was perfect. Simple.
All I had to do was sign.
How hard could it be?
I thought about his type. The endless parade of women he’d been photographed with over the years. Models. Actresses. Instagram influencers with impossibly tiny waists and perfect skin. He went through them like tissues, fucking them and leaving them without a backward glance.
But that was the key, wasn’t it? He only left because he got what he wanted.
So I just wouldn’t give it to him.
No sex. No matter how much he pushed. He could turn on the charm and look at me with those hazel eyes that promised me pleasure I probably shouldn’t even be imagining.
I’d keep that line firmly drawn, and it would drive him crazy.
Men like Colt weren’t used to being told no. The chase would consume him.
And I’d have all the power.
He might think he was in control, that because he was paying me, because he’d set the terms, because he was Colt fucking Jesson, that he held all the cards.
But he was wrong.
So long as I kept my legs closed and my heart locked up tight, I’d be the one calling the shots.
“And you understand this is a marriage in name only, correct?” I said, looking him straight in the eyes. “There will be no perks.”
Della pointed to one of the pages that outlined the boundaries.
“The touching and kissing for the deal have been outlined,” Della said.
“Anything else is up to you. If the client attempts to violate the contract, it must be paid in full and the contract will be terminated. And the client will no longer be welcome at my agency.”
I stared at Colt, waiting for his response. “But if it’s a mutual thing, that’s okay, correct?” He asked the question while staring directly at me.
“Of course,” Della said.
He really thought I was going to fall into his bed. Not a chance. This was business. Revenge wrapped in a lucrative contract.
I pressed the pen to paper and signed my name in one smooth motion.
Hallie Bellrose.
There. Done.
Colt leaned forward and added his signature below mine, his handwriting bold and confident. Of course it was. He thought he was running this show.
“Congratulations,” Della said, practically glowing. “This is going to be a wonderful partnership.”
Partnership. Right.
I stood up, suddenly needing distance from the table and Colt’s penetrating gaze. “When do I need to make my first appearance with you?”
“Right now,” Colt said casually, like he’d just asked me to pass the salt.
I blinked. “What? No. I’m not—I’m not ready. I’m wearing jeans, I don’t have any makeup on.”
“I came prepared.” He gestured to a garment bag hanging on the back of one of the chairs. I hadn’t even noticed it when I’d walked in. “Everything you need is in there.”
“You brought me clothes?” My voice came out higher than I intended. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you.”
“I like to be prepared for success.” He stood and pointed to the contract we’d just signed.
“Section four, paragraph three. You’ll wear what I choose to all events, within the standards of polite society, obviously.
And you’ll appear at all events with at least two hours’ notice.
I will of course provide you with a suitable wardrobe.
And of course, you’ll keep the clothing after the contract is over.
Consider it a perk.” He looked up, his expression hard and businesslike.
“Except for this first one. This one is mandatory. No notice required.”
Gone was the flirty playboy from the gala. This was CEO Colt, all sharp edges and no-nonsense authority.
The shift was jarring.
And kind of hot.
No. Stop it. Down girl.
“Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “Is there somewhere for me to change?”
Della showed me to a private bathroom down the hall. I grabbed the garment bag and locked myself inside, my hands shaking slightly as I unzipped it.
The outfit inside was beautiful. Expensive.
A cream-colored cashmere sweater that probably cost more than my share of rent, paired with tailored black pants that looked like they’d been made for me specifically.
There were shoes too—designer heels that were somehow exactly my size—and a small makeup bag with high-end products.
How did he know my size? Had he guessed? Asked Della?
I stripped out of my jeans and pulled on the new clothes, watching my reflection transform in the mirror.
The sweater hugged my breasts while somehow diminishing my waistline, the V-neck dipping low enough to show a hint of cleavage without being trashy.
The pants fit perfectly, making my legs look longer and my waist smaller.
As simple as the clothes were, I looked high class in them. Put together. Like someone who belonged on Colt Jesson’s arm.
But as I stared at myself, insecurity crept in.
I wasn’t used to wearing things that clung like this.
I preferred looser, comfortable clothes that let me blend into the background.
Clothes that didn’t draw attention to my body, to my size, to all the parts of me I’d spent years learning to accept but still sometimes struggled with.
This outfit didn’t let me hide. It put everything on display.
And Colt was going to look at me like he could see everything.
I took a deep breath and turned to look at my ass in the mirror. Big butts were in these days, but they hadn’t always been. I liked my butt, and unlike the round asses that were trendy in Laurenwood, mine was all natural.
That made me smile a little.
I applied minimal makeup, just enough to look presentable. Then I and stepped out of the bathroom. Colt was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand. When he looked up and saw me, hunger flickered in his eyes.
“Perfect,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get moving.”
He led me out of the building and into a waiting black car. The driver pulled away from the curb without a word, whisking me away into the great unknown.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Valenteen.” He glanced at me. “My flagship store in Manhattan. We need to pick out your engagement ring.”
Right. Of course. Because this was all about his image. None of it meant anything unless other people were seeing us.
The drive was short, and before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of a stunning storefront on Fifth Avenue.
A blacked-out SUV was already parked across the street, and I spotted a photographer with a long-lens camera pointed directly at us.
“Paparazzi,” Colt said, following my gaze. “Just smile and stay close to me. And don’t answer any of their questions.”
The driver opened my door, and Colt was there immediately, offering his hand. I took it. It would look good for the cameras and I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me if I tried to stand on my own.
We were doing this. This was really happening. The train had left the station.
Colt pulled me in close as we walked toward the entrance, his arm sliding around my waist in a possessive gesture that made my breath catch. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my temple in what looked like an intimate moment.
“Sell it,” he murmured against my skin.
Then his hand dropped lower, grabbing a handful of my ass.
I gasped, jerking slightly in his hold.
“Easy,” he said, loud enough for the photographer to hear. “You’re being dramatic.”
“You just—”
“I know what I did.” His voice was low, amused. “Now smile for the camera and let’s find a ring that suits you.”
He opened the door, and we stepped inside.
The store was immaculate. Pristine white walls, polished marble floors, and more diamonds than I’d ever seen in one place. Employees in crisp black suits immediately rushed toward us, their faces lighting up with recognition.
“Mr. Jesson,” a woman said, extending her hand. “What an honor. We weren’t expecting you today.”
“Surprise visit,” Colt said smoothly. “I’m here to find an engagement ring for my fiancée.”
The word fiancée sent a jolt through me. It sounded so real when he said it like that.
The employees’ attention shifted to me. I felt like a specimen under a microscope. They smiled and congratulated us, their voices warm and professional, but I could see the curiosity in their eyes.
Who was I? Where had I come from? How had I managed to snag the most stubbornly single bachelor in New York?
“This way, please,” the woman said, gesturing toward a private room in the back.
We followed her into a space that was more luxurious than the main floor.
Plush velvet chairs, champagne chilling in a bucket, and case after case of engagement rings that sparkled under carefully positioned lights.
A security guard stood at the door of the room.
Several other guards stood around the store.
They blended in with the scenery, but there was no missing the massive men, guns at their hips.
I was a fish out of water. Completely and utterly out of my depth.
Everyone was watching us. Watching me. The employees hovered nearby, ready to cater to my every whim. Through the window, I could see more photographers gathering outside, their cameras trained on the storefront.
This was insane.
Colt pulled out a chair for me. I sank into it gratefully. He sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched, and gestured for the employee to start showing us rings.
She pulled out tray after tray, each one featuring stunning pieces. Emerald cuts. Princess cuts. Cushion cuts. Solitaires and halos and three-stone settings. The diamonds caught the light and threw rainbows into my wide eyes.
“What do you think?” Colt asked, watching me closely. “Are any of them calling to you?”
“They’re all beautiful,” I said honestly.
“Pick one.”
I gave him a look. “You’re the expert. You tell me which one to choose.”
“Stop overthinking it,” he said quietly. “Just pick one you like.”
That was a lot easier said than done.