Page 89 of Fake it for Keeps

27

COLT

Icouldn’t focus. The spreadsheet on my screen blurred into meaningless numbers. Projections for the Valentine’s Day release, usually the kind of thing I could lose myself in for hours, held no interest whatsoever.

All I could think about was the way Hallie had looked in my shirt this morning. The way she’d dropped it as she walked away from me. The confidence in her voice when she’d said I don’t beg.

I was completely fucked.

I got up from my desk and started pacing. My office felt too small suddenly, too confining. Like the walls were closing in and I couldn’t breathe. My skin felt too tight and there was this voice in the back of my head screaming at me to run. I didn’t care where I ran, I just felt the urge to run from New York. From the US. I could get on my yacht and head for the south of France.

Run.

The voice kept screaming at me. I couldn’t make it stop. When that voice wasn’t hollering at me to run, there was another voice lecturing me. Scolding me.

I’d slept with Hallie. Like actually slept with her, not just sex but the falling asleep with her in my arms part. The waking up and wanting her still there part. The making her coffee and eggs part.

The wanting to do it all again tomorrow part.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be a solution to a problem. A way to clean up my image. A business arrangement that would end cleanly in July with a handshake and a final payment. It was supposed to be the easiest relationship I ever had. It was easy to pay people to do what I wanted. I did it all day every day. That’s what I understood. Contractual obligations. Transactions. I paid for something, and I got it.

End of story.

Instead, she was under my skin in a way I couldn’t ignore. In a way that made me ache even now, hours after I left my bed. I wanted to text her just to make sure she’d gotten home safely. And that was bullshit because I already knew she got home safely. I was just looking for an excuse.

“Shit,” I muttered, running both hands through my hair.

A knock on my door made me turn. Frankie stood there, tablet in hand, looking professional and put together in a way I definitely wasn’t feeling.

“Got a minute?” she asked.

“Yeah, come in.”

She closed the door behind her and moved to one of the chairs across from my desk. I stayed standing, too restless to sit.

“I have the survey results back,” she said, pulling up something on her tablet. “The ones we commissioned about public perception.”

I forced myself to focus. “And?”

“And it’s working, Colt. The engagement, the public appearances, everything.” She looked up with a genuine smile. “People are buying into the narrative. They see you as reformed. Settled down. Ready to represent what Valenteen stands for. They love that you let the public perception of you being a playboy keep going while you quietly started a relationship. That was an unexpected bonus to this whole thing. They see you as some kind of hero.”

“That’s good,” I said automatically.

“More than good. The numbers show that people are significantly more likely to purchase from us now than they were this time last year. We’re trending upward in every demographic.” Her eyes got a little glassy. “Dad would be so proud of you.”

The words were exactly what I had longed to hear all my life, but it didn’t feel like the win it should have. It felt wrong. Dirty in a way. Would he be proud to know I deceived everyone to get those numbers?

The answer was no. He definitely would not have been proud. He’d be disappointed. Disgusted.

“You okay?” Frankie asked, studying me with a knowing look that meant I wasn’t hiding my thoughts as well as I’d hoped.

“Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”

She set down the tablet. “What’s going on? And don’t say nothing, because I know you.”

I stopped pacing and looked at her. “I might be catching feelings,” I admitted. “For Hallie.”

Frankie’s expression shifted from concerned to resignation. “I was afraid of that.”