Chapter 28
HALLIE
Istood outside Colt’s building with sweaty palms and actual heart palpitations. Four loaded grocery bags cut into my fingers, not getting any lighter.
This was stupid, so incredibly stupid. But I was doing it anyway.
If Colt wanted to establish boundaries and keep things professional, fine.
I could do professional. I could do wifey shit that would make him question every single one of those boundaries he was trying to establish.
I was going to show him how good it could have been between us.
But he chose to abandon me like yesterday’s trash. It was all part of my master plan.
At least, that’s what I told myself as the doorman recognized me and waved me through with a knowing smile.
“Good evening, Miss Bellrose. Mr. Jesson is expecting you?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But I think he’ll be happy to see me. Assuming he’s hungry.”
The doorman chuckled. “He’s a lucky guy. You two kids have fun tonight.”
“Thanks.”
The truth was, I had no idea if Colt would be happy to see me. For all I knew, he was up there with a woman right now. I doubted he would do that, though. Not out of loyalty to me but because it was too much of a risk.
He wouldn’t want anyone knowing he was still sleeping around. I supposed that was one way to keep him honest.
The elevator ride up felt eternal. I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls. Jeans, a soft sweater, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. Nothing fancy. Just me, showing up with ingredients for pasta carbonara and homemade garlic bread.
It was the most domestic thing I could think of. I liked cooking, and honestly, without a job, I was really getting bored. I spent my mornings online looking for recipes and watching cooking shows. It gave me the idea to try this with him.
I let myself in and looked around. Maybe he wasn’t home. It was dead silent. I walked into the kitchen only to find it spotless. I knew he had a housekeeper but damn, my kitchen never looked this clean. There was always something on the counter or a coffee cup or a fork in the sink.
I put down the bags and quietly walked through the penthouse. I felt him before I saw him.
The door to his study was partially open. I paused, peering through it without opening it any further. He was sitting at a drafting table by the window. Sketches were pinned to the walls.
Ring designs. Dozens of them. And they were beautiful.
Elegant. Classic with modern touches. Rings that would make someone cry when they opened the box.
I didn’t even realize I was moving until his head popped up. “Hallie!”
“Surprise!”
He looked confused. “How did you get in here? Did we have something on the schedule?”
He closed the sketchbook he’d been working in.
“Sorry, security said I could come up. I couldn’t find you. I didn’t mean to intrude on you in your lair.”
He shook his head. “It’s fine. And this is a study, not a lair.”
“If you say so.” I took a closer look at the drawings on the table. “Did you do all these?”
He shrugged. “Yeah.”
“I had no idea you were an artist.”
He shifted uncomfortably. “They’re rough sketches. I’m not a designer. Not really.”
“Are you kidding?” I moved closer to the drafting table where his current sketch lay. It was a stunning solitaire with an unusual setting that made the diamond look like it was floating. “This looks like art to me.”
“My father was the artist.” He came to stand beside me, looking down at the sketch. “I used to sit with him while he worked. He’d sketch and I’d do my homework, and he’d explain what he was thinking. Why this curve instead of that one. Why platinum worked better than gold for certain designs.”
I could hear the love in his voice. The grief.
“Sounds like you learned from the best,” I said softly.
“I picked up some trade secrets. But I’m nowhere near his level.” He reached past me and flipped the sketch over, hiding it. “I’ve been tinkering with the idea of designing my own signature piece. Something one of a kind to release for Christmas. Really make a statement.”
“Why hide it? This is gorgeous.”
“Because some idiot will blow all his money on it.” His voice turned cynical. “And I need to make sure it’s a Valenteen he’s buying.”
I clicked my tongue at him. “You’re such a pessimist.”
“I’m a realist.”
“No, you’re a pessimist.” I turned to face him fully. “Just because someone is willing to spend a fortune on a ring doesn’t mean they’re an idiot. It means the woman must be pretty special. Worth it.”
“Pretty special.” He laughed without humor. “Hallie, I make a fortune on ring sales. You know how many men I see buying their third or fourth engagement ring? Wedding rings for multiple brides over their lifetime? Rings for mistresses.”
“So?”
“So love doesn’t last. Marriage doesn’t last. I’m not a pessimist. I’m just looking at the numbers.”
The words made me sad. Because underneath the cynicism, I heard something else. Pain. Disappointment.
Fear.
“Anyway, what’s up?” he asked. “Did you call? I get distracted when I’m designing.”
“No, I was hoping to surprise you. I brought dinner. Rather, I brought ingredients for dinner. If you haven’t eaten yet.”
He stared at me. “No, I haven’t eaten yet.”
“I should have texted,” I blurted out. “But I thought this would be fun and spontaneous.”
“I like surprises.” His face relaxed and he actually smiled. “Well, surprises like a pretty girl who wants to make me dinner. What’s on the menu, Martha Stewart?”
“Pasta carbonara. And garlic bread.” I walked out of the study and headed back toward the kitchen with him right behind me.
I started unpacking the bags. “Nothing fancy, but it’s one of my specialties.
My dad taught me. And I watched some chef this morning adding a little extra and I thought I’d make it for you. ”
“That sounds great,” he said, smiling.
“Good. Because you’re helping.” I pulled out vegetables and handed him a cutting board and knife. “I need these chopped. Small pieces.”
He took them without argument. I wasn’t all that surprised to see he had knife skills. I suspected he knew how to cook when I watched him make scrambled eggs. He’d seemed comfortable in the kitchen.
As we worked, it felt domestic. Natural. Like we’d done this a hundred times before instead of never. I started on the sauce. It didn’t feel like we needed to talk. Whatever was happening didn’t require words.
“Hallie, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
My hands stilled over the pot. “Yeah?”
“You were right. About boundaries. About keeping this professional.” He set down the knife and turned to face me. “I think sex needs to stay off the table.”
I blinked at him, certain I had misheard. “Fine, we won’t have sex on your table. The bed is better anyway.”
“No, I mean that you and I shouldn’t have sex again, regardless of which room we’re in. We got caught up in the moment. In the charade. But it was a mistake.”
“A mistake,” I repeated flatly.
“Yes. We’re colleagues, essentially. We have a contract that expires in July. Getting physical just complicates things.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “So from here on out, we keep it professional. Play the part in public, maintain distance in private.”
I stared at him, a thousand thoughts racing through my head. He was doing the right thing, surprisingly enough, but my revenge plan required a lot less distance in private. And a lot less distance between our privates, come to think of it.
“Who are you and what have you done with my fiancé?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
He smirked in that perfectly cocky expression that made me feel flushed. Made my toes want to curl despite everything.
“I’m the same person. I just got some perspective.” Colt shrugged.
“Good. Okay. Perspective is good.” I wasn’t sure if that was true, but I was just playing along, trying to act like he hadn’t just shocked me by turning down sex.
“I figure it’s better to keep things clean now than deal with messy feelings later.”
Messy feelings. Right. Maybe my plan had been working better than I thought. “Okay,” I said, turning back to the stove. “Professional it is.”
“Okay?”
“What did you want me to say? Beg you to reconsider?” I stirred the sauce. “It’s very easy to keep things plain and simple.”
Nothing about this felt plain or simple. I felt like a fool for coming here. For cooking dinner. For thinking that playing the doting fiancée would somehow make him fall for me.
And the worst part? I wasn’t even that upset about the plan failing.
I was upset because I wanted him to want me. Not for show. Not for the cameras. Not as a “perk” of the arrangement.
Just me. For me.
When had that happened?
We ate at his dining table, and despite the tension, the food was good. The conversation flowed decently, as long as we stayed focused on safer topics.
He told me about his mother, who’d died of breast cancer when he was in his early twenties. How Frankie had been devastated but somehow held herself together enough to hold him together too.
“She’s always been stronger than me,” he said. “Even when she was falling apart, she was making sure I was okay. That Dad was okay. She organized everything for the funeral, dealt with the lawyers, handled all the details I couldn’t face.”
“She did the same thing when your dad died?”
He nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s my best friend.”
The love in his voice was heartwarming. Clearly, Colt was more capable of affection than he let on.
“I hope I can be that for her someday,” he continued. “Hope I can support her the way she’s supported me. When she needs it.”
“You will,” I said with certainty. “You already do. The way you two work together, the way you trust her—that means something. I think Frankie appreciates how much you trust her. You’re not trying to micromanage her.”
He smiled, and it was genuine. I loved that I was getting to see parts of him I’d never seen before. The brother who adored his sister. The son who missed his parents. The man who felt deeply even when he pretended not to.
Maybe Frankie had been right. Maybe he was a good man underneath all the armor. Maybe the world just didn’t get to see it.
And maybe my plan to break his heart had been wicked and cruel from the start.
The thought made me set down my fork. “Colt,” I said quietly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
I opened my mouth to ask if he remembered me from high school. If he remembered asking me to meet him at the beach. If he had any idea who I really was and why I’d signed this contract in the first place.
But the words stuck in my throat. Because what would it accomplish? Would it make him feel guilty? Would it explain why I’d been so guarded? Would it change anything?
Or would it just hurt us both?
“Did I use too much oregano?” I asked instead, chickening out. “Tell the truth. I can handle it.”
Colt smiled at me and shook his head. “The food was delicious. Don’t change a thing.”
“Great,” I said.
The conversation moved on until he asked me to tell him about my father. His tone was so genuine, like he really cared.
I smiled thinking about my old man. “Well, he loved motorcycles.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I used to beg him to let me ride with him. I showed him how good I was on my bike. I couldn’t have been older than eight—maybe nine at the most. My mom had a rule, no street bikes, not even to sit on one, but Dad said it wasn’t really riding if we weren’t on the main road.”
My smile grew wider as I thought back to that day.
“He took me for a ride on the back of his Harley, really slow on the road that ran parallel to the beach. My mother panicked when she saw us pull out, but it was one of the best days of my life.”
I could still remember the feel of the wind whipping past us, the smell of salt air mixing with exhaust and leather. The way my dad had kept one hand back on my leg the whole time, making sure I was secure. Making sure I felt safe.
“I felt like I was flying,” I said, my voice getting soft with the memory. “Like we could just keep going forever. Just me and my dad and the open road.”
Colt was watching me like he was seeing me for the first time. “What did your mom say?”
I laughed. “My mom was furious when we got back. She stood on the porch with her arms crossed. I could see her from like a block away. But Dad just grinned at her and said, ‘She’s a natural, honey. Just like her old man.’”
“Did you get in trouble?”
“Oh, so much trouble. Mom grounded Dad for a week.” I grinned at the memory. “He slept on the couch and everything. But he told me later it was worth it. Said every daughter should know what it feels like to ride free.”
“He sounds like he was a good dad.”
“The best.” I felt the familiar ache in my chest. “He taught me how to ride a bike, how to change a tire, how to cook. He was always patient, even when I messed up. Even when I was being a brat.”
“I’m sure you were never a brat.”
“Oh, I definitely was. Especially as a teenager.” I took a sip of wine.
“I went through this phase where I thought I knew everything. Where I was too cool to hang out with my parents. Dad never pushed. He’d just be there when I was ready.
Working in the garage or watching TV or whatever.
And eventually, I’d wander in, and we’d talk. ”
“About what?”
“Everything. Nothing. School, boys, my dreams for the future.” I smiled sadly. “He always believed in me. Even when I didn’t believe in myself.”
“He’d be proud of you,” Colt said quietly.
Tears pricked at my eyes. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
I felt something shift between us. Something deeper than attraction or chemistry or whatever we’d been calling it.
This felt real.
And that terrified me.