Page 61 of Fake it for Keeps

19

COLT

“What the hell is this?”

I slammed the design mockup down on the conference table, making everyone in the room flinch. The creative team exchanged nervous glances, but no one spoke.

“These are supposed to be our Valentine’s Day flagship designs,” I continued, my voice dangerously quiet. “The rings that will define Valenteen for the next year. And this is the dog shit you’re giving me?”

“Mr. Jesson,” Carson, the lead designer, ventured carefully. “These are the same designs you approved three months ago. We’ve been working from your notes.”

“Then someone should have had the balls to tell me my ideas were dog shit too.” I picked up the mockup again, studying the solitaire design that suddenly looked all wrong to me. Too simple. Too boring. Too lonely. “This doesn’t work. None of it works.”

“Sir, we’re two weeks from production.”

“We’re two weeks from bankruptcy if we try selling this garbage.” I shook my head. “Scrap it. Start over.”

The room erupted in barely contained panic. Whispers about timelines and budgets and vendor contracts. I ignored all of it, flipping through the rest of the designs with growing frustration.

They were fine. Some were good, even. Classic Valenteen quality. So why did looking at them make me want to put my fist through a wall?

“Everyone out,” I said abruptly. “Except Carson. We need to talk.”

The team filed out quickly, relief evident on their faces. They were happy to get as far from me and my wrath as possible. Carson remained, standing stiffly by his chair.

“Sir, I don’t understand,” he said once we were alone. “You loved these designs in October. You said they were exactly the direction you wanted to take the spring collection. What changed?”

“Everything,” I muttered, then caught myself. “Nothing. They’re just not right. We can do better.”

“With two weeks until production?” Carson’s voice cracked slightly. “Mr. Jesson, we can’t.”

“Figure it out,” I snapped. “That’s what I pay you for.”

I left the conference room before he could respond, heading for my office. But I didn’t make it three steps before Frankie intercepted me.

“My office,” she said. “Not a request. Now.”

I considered arguing, but the look on her face told me that would be a mistake. I followed her into her office, which was smaller than mine but just as elegantly appointed. She closed the door behind us.

“What the hell is going on with you?” she demanded.

“I’m running a company.”

“You’re acting like a prick.” She crossed her arms. “Those designs were perfect, and you know it. You approved them months ago. Raved about them, actually. And now you want to scrap everything two weeks before production?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Bullshit.” She moved closer, her eyes searching my face. “This is about Hallie.”

My stomach dropped. “It’s not.”

“Don’t lie to me, Colt. I saw the way you looked at her on the yacht.” Her voice softened slightly. “Something happened that weekend, didn’t it? Both of you came back different. Hallie was quiet and distant. And you’ve been a nightmare ever since.”

“It’s just the stress of the fake wedding,” I said, but even I could hear how weak it sounded. “All the planning, the appearances, making sure everything looks legitimate.”

“You’re catching feelings for her.”

The words hung in the air between us.