Page 73 of Fake it for Keeps

“What she means,” Hallie corrected with a glare at April, “is be careful. Guard your heart.”

“Always,” I promised.

But as I headed down to meet Colt, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was already too late for that.

The fundraiser was being held in a community center in Queens, a far cry from the glitzy venues I’d gotten used to with my agency dates in the past. There were folding tables covered in white paper tablecloths. A banner made with markers and poster board. Volunteers in matching T-shirts looking excited and nervous as they set up for their first big event.

It was sweet. Genuine. And when Colt and I walked in, the entire room went silent.

I felt just a little overdressed. They must think we were real jerks, showing up like royalty.

“Um, I don’t think we got the memo about the dress code,” I whispered in his ear.

“It’s fine,” he said, not looking the least bit bothered.

“Oh my god,” one of the volunteers whispered. “Is that Colt Jesson?”

A woman who looked to be in her fifties rushed over, her hands fluttering nervously. “Mr. Jesson? We didn’t—we weren’t expecting⁠—”

“I heard about your organization,” Colt said smoothly, shaking her hand. “The work you’re doing is important. I wanted to contribute.”

He pulled out an actual checkbook, something I hadn’t seen anyone use in years, and wrote out a check right there. He tore it off and handed it to the woman, whose eyes went wide as she looked at the amount.

Then she started crying.

“Mr. Jesson, this is too generous.” Her voice broke. “This is more than our entire projected budget for the year.”

“It’s a good start,” Colt said gently. “Call me if you need more. My assistant will send you my direct number.”

Other volunteers had gathered around now, some of them tearing up as well. Colt shook hands with each of them, asked about their programs, listened intently as they explained their curriculum for schools.

I stood back and watched, my heart doing all kinds of crazy acrobats in my chest.

This wasn’t for show. There were no cameras, no reporters, no society pages documenting his generosity. This was just Colt, making a difference because he wanted to.

Because it mattered to him.

“Thank you for what you’re doing,” Colt said to the group. “Keep fighting the good fight. And seriously, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”

We left before they could throw an impromptu celebration in his honor, slipping back into the car where his driver waited.

“That was amazing,” I said as we pulled away from the curb.

“We’re not done yet.” He loosened his tie. “We have another stop to make.”

“Another fundraiser?”

“This one will have the publicity you were talking about.” He gestured to a box on the back seat. “There’s a gown in there. And shoes. You’ll need to change.”

“A gown? You guys already sent me this dress.”

“That’s a dress. You need a gown.”

I frowned, not at all happy to know I had to change again. I grabbed the box and peeked inside. The dress was a stunning floor-length gown in champagne silk. I couldn’t get a great look at it given the confines of the car.

“When did you have time to get this?”

“I’m efficient,” he said with a half-smile. “There’s a privacy screen. You can change in the car.”