Page 105 of Fake it for Keeps

31

COLT

One week.

Seven days until I stood at an altar and married Hallie Bellrose in front of two hundred witnesses. The thought should have terrified me. I should be spiraling in a sea of panic and second-guessing.

Instead, I couldn’t stop smiling.

I was marrying Hallie. I still couldn’t believe Hallie was Janie. I was a damn fool not to know it from the very beginning. She was a saint to forgive me. I was the biggest asshole in the world for what I did to her. If I would have known then… what? Would I have fallen in love with her?

I honestly didn’t know the answer to that question. Back then, I was a different person. I wouldn’t say better because I had still been an asshole, but I felt like I was ready for her now. I was young, dumb, and full of hormones.

I still had a healthy supply of hormones, but I didn’t feel like I needed to fuck every five minutes. Although I certainly wouldn’t mind if Hallie was my partner in said fucking. That woman could turn me inside out. Sex with her was an experience. It wasn’t just putting my dick somewhere warm and wet. It was so much more than that.

And fuck. Now I’m hard and I have a meeting in exactly two minutes.

One potato, two potato, three potato.

Things returned to normal. I grabbed what I needed and headed down the hall to the conference room. My investors and board members were already there.

“Let’s get started,” I said and took my seat at the head of the table.

I forced myself to pay attention as one of my staff presented the latest sales figures for our Valentine’s Day collection. The rings had launched two days ago, a late-season release that had been risky but was paying off in spades.

“Sales are exceeding projections by thirty-two percent,” he said, clicking to the next slide. “The engagement ring line in particular is performing exceptionally well. We’re seeing interest across all demographics, but especially in the twenty-five to thirty-five age range.”

Gerald Morrison, one of our oldest investors, leaned forward. “That’s your demographic, Colt. The reformed playboy settling down. People are buying into the story.”

“It’s working,” another investor agreed. “The narrative you’ve built with this engagement is translating directly to sales.”

I nodded, keeping my expression neutral even as my mind wandered to Hallie. To the way she’d looked this morning when I’d left her sleeping in my bed. Her lips still a little bruised and swollen from some aggressive lovemaking. She’d stayed every night this week, and I’d stopped asking her to leave. It was just understood she would be sleeping over.

And sleep wasn’t entirely accurate. Although we did get a good five to six hours. I loved getting her in bed. There was still so much more I wanted to do with her body. It was like plucking the ripest orange. Sweet. Juicy. And oh so damn good.

“Colt?” Dan’s voice pulled me back. “Did you want to show them the new design?”

Right. The design I’d been working on.

I pulled the sketch from my portfolio and slid it across the table. It was the ring I’d been tinkering with for weeks, the one-of-a-kind piece I was thinking of releasing for Christmas.

The investors studied it in silence. Too much silence.

“It’s… interesting,” Gerald finally said, his tone diplomatic.

“Unusual,” another added.

“Not really what we’re known for,” a third chimed in.

I watched their faces, saw the polite rejection, and carefully slid the sketch back toward me. “Just an idea I was playing with. Nothing concrete.”

“Stick with what’s working,” Gerald advised. “The classic designs are selling. No need to reinvent the wheel.”

“Right,” I said. “Of course.”

The meeting wrapped up shortly after, and they filed out one by one, each pausing to shake my hand and offer congratulations on the upcoming wedding.

“Break a leg next Saturday,” Gerald said with a wink. “We’ll see you and your bride there.”