Page 80 of Fake it for Keeps

But I didn’t want to stop.

The song ended, and Colt’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out with a frown.

“I need to take this,” he said apologetically. “Work emergency. Will you be okay?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “I’m going to visit the ladies’ room.”

I pushed through the ornate doors of the restroom, grateful for a moment to collect myself. The bathroom was all marble and gold fixtures, with a sitting area complete with plush chairs and a vanity filled with various lotions, warm towels, and breath mints.

I checked my reflection in the mirror. My lipstick was definitely smudged from that kiss. My cheeks were flushed. My eyes were bright with excitement.

I looked like a woman who was falling.

Stop it, I told myself firmly, pulling out my lipstick to do repairs. This is fake. It’s all fake. Don’t forget that.

The door opened behind me, and two women walked in. They were exactly the type I’d come to recognize at these events—early twenties, impossibly thin, wearing dresses with designer labels. Their hair was perfect, their makeup flawless, their jewelry understated but clearly expensive.

They were chatting to each other, but the conversation stopped when they saw me.

“Oh my god,” one of them said, her eyes widening. “You’re her.”

I turned from the mirror. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re with Colt Jesson,” the other one said, moving closer. “We saw you dancing. That kiss was incredible.” She fanned herself dramatically.

“Thank you,” I said carefully.

“I’m Madison,” the first one said. “And this is Charlotte. We’re dying to know. How did you do it?”

“Oh, I just closed my eyes and puckered my lips.” I shrugged. “To be honest, Colt did most of the work.”

“No, how did you land him?” Madison leaned against the counter, her expression curious rather than hostile. “Colt Jesson has been Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor for years. Every woman at these events has tried to catch his attention for more than a night. And then you just appear out of nowhere and he’s completely smitten.”

I should have deflected. Should have given some generic answer about fate or timing or chemistry. But the champagne had loosened my tongue, and something about the genuinely curious look in their eyes made me want to impress them.

“It was actually very romantic,” I heard myself saying. “We met in Central Park.”

“Central Park?” Charlotte’s eyes lit up. “Tell us everything.”

I capped my lipstick and dropped it in my tiny clutch, the story forming in my mind. “I was walking through the park one afternoon in November. It was one of those beautiful fall days, you know? The leaves were bright orange, the air was crisp, and I was just enjoying being outside.”

They nodded eagerly.

“And then out of nowhere, it started to rain. Not a drizzle. A complete downpour. I didn’t have an umbrella, and I was wearing this white blouse that was getting completely soaked.”

“Oh no,” Madison breathed.

“I started running for shelter, but then I heard this voice behind me say, ‘You look like you could use some help.’ And there was Colt, holding this huge umbrella over my head.”

“That’s so romantic,” Charlotte sighed.

I was warming to my story now, embellishing as I went. “He walked me all the way to the nearest café, holding the umbrella the whole time. By the time we got there, his shoulder was completely soaked because he’d been angling the umbrella to keep me dry.”

“What a gentleman,” Madison said.

“We went inside and he bought me coffee. We ended up talking for hours. He was so different from what I expected—funny and self-deprecating and genuinely interested in what I had to say. Not at all like the playboy the tabloids make him out to be.”

“And then what?” Charlotte was hanging on every word.