Page 57 of Fake it for Keeps

18

HALLIE

Aweek had passed since Shelter Island, and I couldn’t stop thinking about that night.

The way Colt had jolted awake, his whole body rigid with terror. The sweat covering his body. The wild, disoriented look in his eyes, like he didn’t know where he was or who I was.

The nightmare had clearly been bad. Really bad.

I had never experienced that kind of terror. The man had been obviously rocked.

I didn’t know how to help him. When I tried to offer comfort, he actually pushed me away. He had been so pale with the look of a wild animal in his eyes. His pupils were dilated with his eyes twitching around the room. His stance when he jumped out of bed had been with his knees slightly bent and his hands out. He looked like someone jumping into a boxing ring. He’d been ready for an attack.

Against who? Or what?

I had replayed that moment over and over in my mind all week. Lying in my own bed at my apartment, staring at the ceiling, wondering what demons Colt Jesson carried that could shake him so thoroughly.

I still hadn’t adjusted to the strange limbo of being unemployed. With no work to distract me, I’d become consumed by the mystery of him. The contradiction between the arrogant billionaire who steamrolled over everyone and the broken man who woke up screaming in the middle of the night.

Frankie’s words haunted me. You only see what he lets you see. Don’t hurt him.

Was this what she’d meant? This vulnerability he kept locked away?

I hadn’t seen Colt since we’d returned to the city. He had texted a few times with curt, businesslike messages about upcoming events and logistics. No mention of what had happened. No acknowledgment of the way he’d fled our hotel suite at three in the morning.

It was like it had never happened. Except I couldn’t forget it.

When my phone buzzed with a message saying he’d pick me up in an hour for wedding planning, my stomach did an uncomfortable flip.

I wasn’t ready to see him. Wasn’t ready to face whatever cold, distant version of Colt would show up at my door. But I didn’t have a choice.

I dressed carefully in the outfit that had been delivered that morning. Of course Colt had sent clothes. Black pants, a silk blouse in deep burgundy, heels that were beautiful but would definitely hurt after an hour.

I put on makeup and left my hair down. Did I look like a rich woman? We spent a lot of time in the Hamptons, and I had seen the way those women dressed. I supposed I kind of looked like them.

When the knock came, I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Colt stood there in a dark suit, his expression unreadable. He looked tired, with dark purple shadows under his eyes, but otherwise perfectly put together.

“Ready?” he asked, not meeting my eyes.

“Yeah,” I said, grabbing my coat. “Let me just⁠—”

“Car’s waiting.”

So it was going to be like that.

I followed him down to the street where his driver waited with the car. Colt held the door open for me, ever the gentleman when people were watching, but the gesture felt mechanical. Empty.

We rode in silence for the first few minutes. I tried to think of something to say, some way to bridge the distance between us, but everything that came to mind felt wrong.

How are you? Too casual.

About the other night. Too direct.

Are you okay? That was what made him push me away in the first place.

“We have a full day,” Colt said finally, his eyes on his phone. “Florist at nine. Caterer at ten-thirty. Meeting with the event planner at noon. Cake tasting at two. Stationery consultant at four.”