Page 92 of Fake it for Keeps

28

HALLIE

Istood outside Colt’s building with sweaty palms and actual heart palpitations. Four loaded grocery bags cut into my fingers, not getting any lighter.

This was stupid, so incredibly stupid. But I was doing it anyway.

If Colt wanted to establish boundaries and keep things professional, fine. I could do professional. I could do wifey shit that would make him question every single one of those boundaries he was trying to establish. I was going to show him how good it could have been between us. But he chose to abandon me like yesterday’s trash. It was all part of my master plan.

At least, that’s what I told myself as the doorman recognized me and waved me through with a knowing smile.

“Good evening, Miss Bellrose. Mr. Jesson is expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But I think he’ll be happy to see me. Assuming he’s hungry.”

The doorman chuckled. “He’s a lucky guy. You two kids have fun tonight.”

“Thanks.”

The truth was, I had no idea if Colt would be happy to see me. For all I knew, he was up there with a woman right now. I doubted he would do that, though. Not out of loyalty to me but because it was too much of a risk.

He wouldn’t want anyone knowing he was still sleeping around. I supposed that was one way to keep him honest.

The elevator ride up felt eternal. I checked my reflection in the mirrored walls. Jeans, a soft sweater, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. Nothing fancy. Just me, showing up with ingredients for pasta carbonara and homemade garlic bread.

It was the most domestic thing I could think of. I liked cooking, and honestly, without a job, I was really getting bored. I spent my mornings online looking for recipes and watching cooking shows. It gave me the idea to try this with him.

I let myself in and looked around. Maybe he wasn’t home. It was dead silent. I walked into the kitchen only to find it spotless. I knew he had a housekeeper but damn, my kitchen never looked this clean. There was always something on the counter or a coffee cup or a fork in the sink.

I put down the bags and quietly walked through the penthouse. I felt him before I saw him.

The door to his study was partially open. I paused, peering through it without opening it any further. He was sitting at a drafting table by the window. Sketches were pinned to the walls.

Ring designs. Dozens of them. And they were beautiful.

Elegant. Classic with modern touches. Rings that would make someone cry when they opened the box.

I didn’t even realize I was moving until his head popped up. “Hallie!”

“Surprise!”

He looked confused. “How did you get in here? Did we have something on the schedule?”

He closed the sketchbook he’d been working in.

“Sorry, security said I could come up. I couldn’t find you. I didn’t mean to intrude on you in your lair.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. And this is a study, not a lair.”

“If you say so.” I took a closer look at the drawings on the table. “Did you do all these?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“I had no idea you were an artist.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “They’re rough sketches. I’m not a designer. Not really.”

“Are you kidding?” I moved closer to the drafting table where his current sketch lay. It was a stunning solitaire with an unusual setting that made the diamond look like it was floating. “This looks like art to me.”