Chapter 22
HALLIE
“Stop fidgeting,” April said, swatting my hand away from the zipper on my dress. “You look amazing.”
I dropped my hand and stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror.
The dress Frankie had sent over was understated elegance, a deep navy sheath that hit just above the knee, with three-quarter sleeves and a neckline that was business appropriate but still showed I had a figure.
It was something you would wear to a nice dinner, or I supposed church. A daytime wedding.
I didn’t know how the clothes Frankie picked out did it, but they shaved off a good two sizes from my normal figure. Or maybe it was the way they fit. They flattered my curves. Highlighted them and made me feel very womanly. Very Laurenwood.
I needed to hire Frankie to dress me full time. The thought made me stop and chuckle to myself. Now I was thinking like Colt Jesson’s fiancée, ready to hire staff for simple tasks like getting dressed.
But even that wasn’t enough to give me a huge dose of confidence. I needed a dump truck full of self-esteem to feel as good as I looked.
“Do I look nervous?” I asked.
“Yes, because you are nervous,” Hallie pointed out from where she sat on my bed, painting her toenails a violent shade of purple. “You’ve been fidgeting for the last hour.”
“I’m not fidgeting.”
“You’re definitely fidgeting,” April confirmed. She came up behind me and started fixing my hair, pulling a few strands loose to frame my face. “What’s got you so worked up? You’ve spent time with Colt. It’s nothing new.”
“I think there’s something I don’t know about him,” I said quietly. “Something important.”
Hallie looked up from her toenails. “Like he’s in witness protection?”
“Well, no not that. But there’s something.
” I turned away from the mirror. “The way he reacted when I mentioned the drunk driving fundraiser, it was like I touched a nerve. A big one. And touching a nerve on Colt can be dangerous. He’s fine one minute and then he’s suddenly a different man.
I guess I’m a little worried he’s going to be Colt the Dick tonight and not Colt the Decent Guy. ”
“Maybe he lost someone to a drunk driver,” April suggested, still working on my hair. “It’s not uncommon. Thousands of people are killed every year.”
“I know.” I sat down on the bed, careful not to wrinkle my dress. “I just hadn’t thought about it that way. That maybe there’s a reason behind some of his choices. Behind some of his walls.”
“Hallie,” Hallie said gently, capping her nail polish. “Are you starting to care about him?”
The question hung in the air.
Was I?
I thought about bringing him lunch. About the way his face had lit up when he’d laughed. About how I’d felt when he’d apologized for being a dick. About the way my chest had tightened when he’d said nobody had ever brought him lunch before.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe. A little.”
“Babe.” April came around to face me, her expression concerned. “You can’t forget what he did to you.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” I stood up and grabbed my clutch. “But that was a long time ago. Maybe he’s different now. Maybe there’s more to him than I thought.”
“Or maybe,” Hallie said carefully, “he’s just good at making you think that. He’s a billionaire playboy, Hallie. Charm is probably his superpower. Be careful. Tigers don’t change their stripes. Remember, he’s paying you to be nice to him. That tells you everything you need to know.”
She had a point. A good one.
“You’re right,” I sighed.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Colt: Downstairs. Ready?
“That’s my cue,” I said, slipping on my heels. “Wish me luck, ladies.”
“You don’t need luck,” April said. “You need a clear head and a good exit strategy.”
“What she means,” Hallie corrected with a glare at April, “is be careful. Guard your heart.”
“Always,” I promised.
But as I headed down to meet Colt, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was already too late for that.
The fundraiser was being held in a community center in Queens, a far cry from the glitzy venues I’d gotten used to with my agency dates in the past. There were folding tables covered in white paper tablecloths.
A banner made with markers and poster board.
Volunteers in matching T-shirts looking excited and nervous as they set up for their first big event.
It was sweet. Genuine. And when Colt and I walked in, the entire room went silent.
I felt just a little overdressed. They must think we were real jerks, showing up like royalty.
“Um, I don’t think we got the memo about the dress code,” I whispered in his ear.
“It’s fine,” he said, not looking the least bit bothered.
“Oh my god,” one of the volunteers whispered. “Is that Colt Jesson?”
A woman who looked to be in her fifties rushed over, her hands fluttering nervously. “Mr. Jesson? We didn’t—we weren’t expecting—”
“I heard about your organization,” Colt said smoothly, shaking her hand. “The work you’re doing is important. I wanted to contribute.”
He pulled out an actual checkbook, something I hadn’t seen anyone use in years, and wrote out a check right there. He tore it off and handed it to the woman, whose eyes went wide as she looked at the amount.
Then she started crying.
“Mr. Jesson, this is too generous.” Her voice broke. “This is more than our entire projected budget for the year.”
“It’s a good start,” Colt said gently. “Call me if you need more. My assistant will send you my direct number.”
Other volunteers had gathered around now, some of them tearing up as well. Colt shook hands with each of them, asked about their programs, listened intently as they explained their curriculum for schools.
I stood back and watched, my heart doing all kinds of crazy acrobats in my chest.
This wasn’t for show. There were no cameras, no reporters, no society pages documenting his generosity. This was just Colt, making a difference because he wanted to.
Because it mattered to him.
“Thank you for what you’re doing,” Colt said to the group. “Keep fighting the good fight. And seriously, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
We left before they could throw an impromptu celebration in his honor, slipping back into the car where his driver waited.
“That was amazing,” I said as we pulled away from the curb.
“We’re not done yet.” He loosened his tie. “We have another stop to make.”
“Another fundraiser?”
“This one will have the publicity you were talking about.” He gestured to a box on the back seat. “There’s a gown in there. And shoes. You’ll need to change.”
“A gown? You guys already sent me this dress.”
“That’s a dress. You need a gown.”
I frowned, not at all happy to know I had to change again. I grabbed the box and peeked inside. The dress was a stunning floor-length gown in champagne silk. I couldn’t get a great look at it given the confines of the car.
“When did you have time to get this?”
“I’m efficient,” he said with a half-smile. “There’s a privacy screen. You can change in the car.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. We’re forty-five minutes out. That should be enough time.”
I stared at him, then at the dress, then back at him. “You’re insane.”
“I’ve been told.”
I changed in the back of the moving car, contorting myself awkwardly while trying not to mess up my hair or makeup. The dress fit perfectly. Colt had somehow figured out my exact measurements.
When I emerged from behind the privacy screen, Colt had changed too, swapping his business suit for a tuxedo that made him look like he’d stepped off a movie screen.
“You clean up nice,” I said.
“So do you.” His eyes traveled over me in a way that made my skin heat. “Ready for round two?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
The second fundraiser was everything the first one wasn’t. Glittering ballroom. Orchestra playing. Women in designer gowns and men in tuxedos. Waiters circulating with champagne and tiny, expensive appetizers.
This was Colt’s world.
Cameras flashed as we made our entrance. People turned to stare. Whispers followed us as Colt guided me through the crowd, his hand possessive on my back.
We made small talk with wealthy donors. Posed for photos. Smiled until my face hurt.
And then I saw him.
John.
Standing near the bar, his face already flushed from too much scotch, his eyes narrowing when he spotted me.
“Oh no,” I muttered.
“What?” Colt followed my gaze. “Ah. Your favorite fake date.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“Relax.”
“Colt, he knows who I am,” I hiss. “What I am.”
John was already heading our way, weaving slightly as he walked.
“Well, well, well,” he slurred. “If it isn’t Hallie Bellrose. Or should I say Hallie Jesson?”
“John.” I forced a smile. “Good to see you.”
“Is it?” He looked me up and down, making my skin crawl. “Didn’t take you long to upgrade, did it? Billionaire hopping. Smart strategy.”
Colt’s hand tightened on my waist. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Colt Jesson. Hallie’s fiancé.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” John swayed slightly. “Everyone knows who you are. The billionaire playboy who’s suddenly reformed. Convenient timing, don’t you think? It’s almost like you thought it would be a good idea to hire someone to help you out.”
“I think you should watch what you say next,” Colt said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Or what?” John laughed bitterly. “I know all about you two. You think I’m stupid? I know you hired her through Faux. I know this whole thing is a sham.”
My heart stopped. Around us, people were starting to notice the confrontation.
But Colt just smiled. Cold and sharp as a knife.
“You think you know something?” He stepped forward, and John actually took a step back.
“Let me tell you what I know. You hired Hallie for an evening because you’re a lonely, bitter man who can’t get a woman to willingly spend time with him.
You treated her terribly. Insulted her. Made her feel small.
And the only reason she didn’t walk out on you sooner was because she’s a professional who honored her contract. ”
“That’s not—”
“I’m not finished.” Colt’s voice dropped even lower.
“You call yourself a billionaire? Please. You’re a bottom-of-the-barrel millionaire playing dress-up at events like this, hoping to rub elbows with people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.
Hallie didn’t upgrade from you to me. She escaped. ”
John’s face turned purple. “I’ll tell everyone. I’ll expose this whole thing.”
“Go ahead.” Colt pulled me closer, his arm wrapped protectively around me. “Tell them whatever you want. I have lawyers who will bury you in lawsuits before you can finish your first interview. And who do you think people will believe? A drunk has-been, or me?”
The words were harsh, but I couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction I felt. Nobody had ever defended me like this. Nobody had ever made me feel this protected.
Colt leaned in with his mouth inches from John’s ear. “And don’t forget that little NDA you signed. You out her, and whatever pennies you have, she gets. And I’ll make sure she has the best lawyers to take every asset you have.”
I heard him, but no one else could have. John opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he turned and stomped off, disappearing into the crowd.
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “That was awesome.”
“Are you okay?” Colt’s hands were on my shoulders, his eyes searching my face. “Did he upset you? Because I can rough him up a little.”
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, smiling and rolling my eyes. “You handled it well.”
“He got too close to you. I didn’t like that.”
The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through me. “Colt, thank you.”
“Come on.” He took my hand. “Let’s find our table. I need to introduce you to some people, and I’d rather do it before I have to deal with any more of your ex-clients.”
He said it lightly, but his grip on my hand was tight. Protective. I found myself not wanting to let go.
Colt introduced me to a small group at our table. Investors, he explained in a low voice. People he needed to keep happy. They were polite, asking the standard questions about how we met, when the wedding was, where we were honeymooning.
I gave the practiced answers we’d agreed on. Colt’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently whenever I hit the right note.
After a few minutes, he excused himself to speak with someone across the room.
This is dangerous, I thought. You’re getting too close. Too comfortable.
But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
Because for the first time since this whole thing started, being with Colt didn’t feel like a performance.
It felt real.
I smiled at the man rattling on about the ring he bought for his wife. It was sweet. And I was totally comfortable with the man.
I could do this.