Page 75 of Fake it for Keeps

But Colt just smiled. Cold and sharp as a knife.

“You think you know something?” He stepped forward, and John actually took a step back. “Let me tell you what I know. You hired Hallie for an evening because you’re a lonely, bitter man who can’t get a woman to willingly spend time with him. You treated her terribly. Insulted her. Made her feel small. And the only reason she didn’t walk out on you sooner was because she’s a professional who honored her contract.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“I’m not finished.” Colt’s voice dropped even lower. “You call yourself a billionaire? Please. You’re a bottom-of-the-barrel millionaire playing dress-up at events like this, hoping to rub elbows with people who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire. Hallie didn’t upgrade from you to me. She escaped.”

John’s face turned purple. “I’ll tell everyone. I’ll expose this whole thing.”

“Go ahead.” Colt pulled me closer, his arm wrapped protectively around me. “Tell them whatever you want. I have lawyers who will bury you in lawsuits before you can finish your first interview. And who do you think people will believe? A drunk has-been, or me?”

The words were harsh, but I couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction I felt. Nobody had ever defended me like this. Nobody had ever made me feel this protected.

Colt leaned in with his mouth inches from John’s ear. “And don’t forget that little NDA you signed. You out her, and whatever pennies you have, she gets. And I’ll make sure she has the best lawyers to take every asset you have.”

I heard him, but no one else could have. John opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he turned and stomped off, disappearing into the crowd.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “That was awesome.”

“Are you okay?” Colt’s hands were on my shoulders, his eyes searching my face. “Did he upset you? Because I can rough him up a little.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, smiling and rolling my eyes. “You handled it well.”

“He got too close to you. I didn’t like that.”

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver through me. “Colt, thank you.”

“Come on.” He took my hand. “Let’s find our table. I need to introduce you to some people, and I’d rather do it before I have to deal with any more of your ex-clients.”

He said it lightly, but his grip on my hand was tight. Protective. I found myself not wanting to let go.

Colt introduced me to a small group at our table. Investors, he explained in a low voice. People he needed to keep happy. They were polite, asking the standard questions about how we met, when the wedding was, where we were honeymooning.

I gave the practiced answers we’d agreed on. Colt’s hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently whenever I hit the right note.

After a few minutes, he excused himself to speak with someone across the room.

This is dangerous, I thought. You’re getting too close. Too comfortable.

But I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

Because for the first time since this whole thing started, being with Colt didn’t feel like a performance.

It felt real.

I smiled at the man rattling on about the ring he bought for his wife. It was sweet. And I was totally comfortable with the man.

I could do this.