6. Jaxon
Jaxon
The new day brings the complications that come from Vivienne’s impromptu announce.
It's barely nine in the morning, and my phone hasn't stopped buzzing since last night. Three hours of sleep and six cups of coffee later, I'm still trying to process what happened on the Met steps.
Vivienne sits calmly in the leather chair across from my desk, looking frustratingly composed in a crisp white blouse and pencil skirt. Not a hint of the chaos she unleashed with a single sentence last night.
"You're welcome," she replies coolly, crossing her legs. "For saving you from that reporter's custody questions."
"It worked, didn't it?" She holds up her phone, displaying a gossip site's headline: Rockstar Redeemed: Jaxon Hart's Surprise Engagement to Socialite Vivienne Clarke Shocks Manhattan Elite.
"That's not the point."
"Isn't it?" She sets her phone down. "You needed a respectable image for Lily's custody case. I needed leverage against my father. This was Luke's plan anyway—we just accelerated the timeline."
I rub my temple in advance of the headache I imagine is coming. "There's a difference between a controlled narrative and throwing us into the tabloid circus without warning."
"I made a split-second decision," she admits. "When that reporter mentioned Lily and questioned your fitness as a guardian—" She pauses, something flashing in her eyes that looks remarkably like protectiveness. "I couldn't let him turn it into that story. Not when there was an alternative."
The sincerity in her voice takes some of the wind out of my sails. I drop into the chair behind my desk, exhaling slowly.
"Luke is ecstatic, for what it's worth," I tell her. "Called it 'PR gold' when he woke me at five this morning."
"See? I saved you months of careful image crafting in one impulsive announcement." Her smile is small but genuine. "Efficient."
Despite myself, I feel a laugh building. The absurdity of the situation finally hitting me. "You certainly don't do things by half measures, do you, Clarke?"
"Not my style," she agrees. "So what now? Do we lean into this or try to walk it back?"
Before I can answer, the office door flies open and Luke bursts in, tablet in hand, looking like he's won the lottery.
"Every major outlet is running the story," he announces, not bothering with pleasantries. "Page Six, People, E! News—we're trending on X." He nods at Vivienne. "Ms. Clarke, I could kiss you."
"Please don't," she and I say simultaneously, then exchange surprised glances.
Luke continues as if we hadn't spoken. "The narrative is perfect—childhood connection, healing old wounds, finding love where you least expect it.
" He scrolls through his tablet. "Gerald Lumina called personally to congratulate me on your behalf.
Said he's even more excited about the men's line partnership now. "
Vivienne perks up. "Did he mention anything about my presentation today?"
"Only that he's looking forward to meeting with his future spokesperson's fiancée." Luke grins. "I'd say your job security just went through the roof."
She looks to me, the question clear in her eyes: Is this what we want?
I consider our options. We could deny it, claim it was a misunderstanding. But the story is already out there, working exactly as intended. Giving me respectability. Giving her independence.
"We need to discuss terms," I say finally. "If we're doing this, we need clear parameters."
Luke nods approvingly. "I'll leave you two to work out the details. Vivienne, your agency called—they want to push your Lumina presentation to eleven to give you time to 'handle personal matters.'" He makes air quotes around the words. "I took the liberty of confirming."
"You what?" she asks, eyes widening.
"Part of the service." He backs toward the door. "I've cleared Jaxon's schedule until ten-thirty. Use the time wisely."
The door closes behind him, leaving us in sudden silence.
"Your manager is terrifying," Vivienne comments after a moment.
"Effective," I correct. "Terrifying, but effective."
She laughs, the sound genuine and warm, loosening something in my chest. "So. Terms."
I nod, shifting into business mode. This is a transaction, I remind myself. A mutually beneficial arrangement. The fact that she looks beautiful in morning light streaming through my office windows is irrelevant.
"Six months," I suggest. "Long enough to establish stability for Lily's custody case and secure your professional position."
"Six months," she agrees. "With an option to extend if necessary for either of us."
"We'll need a believable backstory." I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "The media's already piecing it together—childhood connection through Andrew, reconnecting recently."
"Simple is best," she advises. "The closer to truth, the easier to maintain. We met at the charity gala, reconnected at my parents' dinner, and things moved quickly."
"Very quickly," I say dryly. "People will question that."
She shrugs. "Let them. Whirlwind romances make better headlines than 'they dated responsibly for an appropriate length of time.'"
I can't argue with her logic. "What about living arrangements? The press will expect cohabitation at some point."
"Eventually," she concedes. "But not immediately. We can say I'm maintaining my apartment until the lease ends."
"And when it does?"
She hesitates. "We'll cross that bridge when necessary." After a moment, she adds, "What about Lily? How do we explain this to her?"
The question catches me off guard. Most women I've known wouldn't consider the child's perspective their first concern.
"She's eight, but she's perceptive," I say carefully. "I won't lie to her, but she doesn't need all the details."
"Agreed." Vivienne nods. "Children sense inauthenticity. We should be honest without being explicit."
"We'll tell her you're my special friend who'll be spending more time with us." The words sound ridiculous even to my own ears.
Vivienne smirks. "'Special friend'? What is this, middle school?"
"You have a better suggestion?"
"We tell her the truth—a simplified version. That we care about each other and are seeing if we might become a family someday." She says it so matter-of-factly, as if the prospect of becoming a family isn't absurd given our arrangement.
"And physical boundaries?" I ask, redirecting to safer territory. "The press will expect certain... displays of affection."
Her cheeks color slightly. "Basic PDA should suffice. Hand-holding, the occasional kiss for cameras."
"Agreed." I ignore the unbidden image of her lips against mine. "What about exclusivity?"
"Absolutely," she says firmly. "No dating others, even discreetly. One hint of infidelity would undermine everything."
"Agreed," I repeat, secretly relieved. The thought of her with someone else while wearing my ring disturbs me more than it should.
“What about rings?" she continues, as if reading my thoughts, "I don't need anything ostentatious. Something believable but not—"
"I have one," I interrupt. When she raises her eyebrows, I explain, "Family heirloom. My grandmother's. It's appropriate."
"You want to give me your grandmother's ring for a fake engagement?" she asks, clearly surprised.
"It's been sitting in a safe for years," I say dismissively, though the truth is more complicated. That ring is one of the few family connections I've maintained, and offering it to her feels significant in ways I'm not ready to examine. "It makes more sense than buying something new."
She studies me for a moment before nodding. "Alright. What about your work? Tours, appearances?"
"I've scaled back since becoming Lily's guardian," I explain. "Studio work, limited performances, all local for now. That won't change."
"And your... personal habits?" She chooses her words carefully. "The press will expect a certain lifestyle change from the notorious Jaxon Hart."
I can't help but smile at her delicate phrasing. "Worried about my playboy reputation? It's been greatly exaggerated."
"Has it?" She doesn't look convinced.
"I haven't had a serious relationship in years," I admit. "But that doesn't mean I've been living the tabloid version of my life. I have Lily to consider now."
Something in my tone must convince her, because she nods. "Fair enough. And I should disclose—my father will be furious. He'll likely try to interfere, possibly approach you directly."
"I can handle Henry Clarke," I assure her. "What about your mother?"
"She'll disapprove privately but support publicly. Appearances matter more than happiness in her world." She says it without bitterness, just stating facts.
"And your presentation today? How will this affect it?"
Her expression brightens. "If Luke is right and Gerald's already enthusiastic, it can only help. My campaign is solid on its own merits, but this connection certainly won't hurt."
The confidence in her voice makes me smile. "I never doubted that."
A moment of silence stretches between us, more comfortable than it should be given our unusual circumstances.
"So," she says finally. "We're doing this."
"We're doing this," I confirm. "A strategic alliance."
"With an expiration date," she adds.
"Right." The reminder is necessary. This isn't real, regardless of the strange connection I feel when she's near. "Six months, clear boundaries, mutual benefits."
She extends her hand across the desk. "Partners?"
I take it, ignoring the warmth that spreads from where our skin connects. "Partners."
The moment is interrupted by the sound of running footsteps in the hallway. My office door flies open again, this time revealing Lily in rainbow leggings and a unicorn t-shirt, her dark hair escaping from hastily-done braids.
"Uncle Jaxon! Mrs. Patterson says I need to—" She stops abruptly when she sees Vivienne, eyes widening with curiosity. "Oh. Hi."
"Lily," I begin, releasing Vivienne's hand, "this is Ms. Clarke. She's—"
"Your fiancée," Lily finishes, surprising us both. When I raise my eyebrows, she rolls her eyes in perfect eight-year-old exasperation. "Mrs. Patterson was watching the news. They showed pictures of you guys. You're getting married."
Leave it to a child to cut straight to the heart of the matter. I glance at Vivienne, unsure how to proceed.
To my surprise, she stands and approaches Lily with a warm smile. "You can call me Vivienne," she says, kneeling slightly to meet Lily at eye level. "And yes, your uncle and I are engaged. Is that okay with you?"
The directness of her approach catches me off guard. Most adults talk around children or over them. Vivienne speaks to her like a person.
Lily considers this, studying Vivienne with unnerving intensity. "Do you like unicorns?"
Vivienne doesn't miss a beat. "Who doesn't like unicorns? They're horses with built-in weapons."
Lily's face splits into a grin. "That's what I said! Uncle Jaxon thinks they're just horses with party hats."
"Uncle Jaxon clearly lacks imagination," Vivienne stage-whispers, making Lily giggle.
"I'm right here," I remind them, oddly touched by their immediate rapport.
"Are you going to live here now?" Lily asks Vivienne, ignoring me completely.
"Not right away," Vivienne answers honestly. "But I'll be visiting a lot. If that's okay with you."
Lily considers this. "Do you know how to do French braids? Mrs. Patterson tries, but she makes them too tight."
"I do excellent French braids," Vivienne assures her. "And I never pull too tight."
"Show me?" Lily asks hopefully.
Vivienne glances at me, silently asking permission. I nod, unexpectedly moved by her willingness to connect with Lily.
"I have a few minutes before my meeting," she tells Lily. "Why don't you show me where your hairbrush is?"
"I'll take you to my room!" Lily grabs Vivienne's hand without hesitation. "I have all the best hair stuff. Dad got me a whole kit for Christmas."
The mention of Andrew doesn't bring the usual pang. Instead, I watch as my niece—now my daughter in all but legal paperwork—leads my fake fiancée down the hall, chattering excitedly about hair accessories.
Mrs. Patterson appears in the doorway, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hart. She heard the news and bolted before I could stop her."
"It's fine," I assure her, still watching Lily and Vivienne's retreating figures. "Better she heard it from us."
"Ms. Clarke seems lovely," Mrs. Patterson comments, a hint of approval in her voice. "And quick with children."
"Yes," I agree, surprised by how much I mean it. "She is."
Mrs. Patterson excuses herself, leaving me alone with thoughts I shouldn't be having about a woman who's essentially a business partner. A woman who, in different circumstances, could be exactly what Lily and I both need.
My phone buzzes with a text from Luke: Entertainment Tonight wants an exclusive. First interview as engaged couple. Good publicity.
Before I can reply, another message appears. This one from an unknown number. The content makes my blood run cold:
Congratulations on the engagement, Hart. Convenient timing. Almost as if it were arranged specifically for custody purposes. Would be a shame if the judge found out. -Z
Zackery Dean. The bastard moves fast.
I'm still staring at the message when Vivienne returns, Lily noticeably absent.
"Mrs. Patterson took her for breakfast," she explains, noticing my questioning look. "I told her I had to finish our meeting."
I wordlessly hand her my phone, watching her expression change as she reads Dean's message.
"How would he know?" she asks, voice tight with concern.
"He doesn't," I assure her. "He's fishing. Trying to rattle us."
"Well, it's working." She hands the phone back. "What do we do?"
"Nothing," I say firmly. "We stick to the plan. Give no indication this is anything but genuine."
"And if he keeps digging?"
"Then we make sure there's nothing to find." I meet her eyes. "We have to be convincing, Vivienne. More than we planned. The stakes just got higher."
She takes a deep breath, resolve hardening her features. "I don't scare easily, Jaxon. Especially not from bullies like Dean."
"Good." I stand, moving around the desk to face her directly. "Because from this moment on, we're madly in love. No room for doubt, no cracks in the fa?ade."
"What are you saying?" She looks up at me, suddenly aware of how close we're standing.
"I'm saying we need to be more than convincing in public. We need to believe it ourselves." I reach for her hand, taking it firmly in mine. "Starting now."
Her fingers tighten around mine, her chin lifting in determination. "Alright, Hart. You want convincing? I'll give you convincing."
The challenge in her eyes sends a jolt of something dangerous through me. For the first time since this charade began, I wonder if I've underestimated what I'm getting into—not with the press or with Dean, but with Vivienne Clarke herself.
And I'm not entirely sure which prospect is more terrifying.