Page 67 of Pretend To Be Mine

Elizabeth was watching me with a smile. Was she proud of me? I nodded once and disappeared through another black curtain to find the stage manager.

Mary Jo materialized at my elbow like she’d been summoned, her makeup kit already in hand.

“Oh no you don’t,” she said, steering me toward a chair. “You’re not going out there looking like death warmed over. Sit.”

“I don’t need⁠—”

“Sit,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “The cameras will wash you out. Five minutes, that’s all I need.”

I sat, resigned to my fate. Mary Jo had been doing this long enough that arguing was pointless. She’d just follow me around until I gave in anyway.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed, already dabbing something cool on my face. “You’re shiny. Can’t have the CEO looking like he’s been sweating bullets.”

“I haven’t been sweating.”

“Sure, you haven’t.” Her tone suggested she knew exactly why I’d been backstage so many times. “Now hold still before I poke you in the eye.”

I held still, letting her work. The makeup process always felt ridiculous—I was a man, for God’s sake—but I’d learned years ago that the cameras required it. Without at least some powder and touch-ups, I’d look washed out or worse, sick. The last thing we needed were rumors about my health failing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I reached for it, but Mary Jo swatted my hand away.

“Don’t move. I’m doing your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows are fine.”

“They’re unruly. Like two caterpillars ready to joust. Now sit still or this will take twice as long.”

The phone buzzed again, more insistently this time. Mary Jo sighed dramatically. I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the screen.

“It’s Dash,” I said, answering it and putting it on speaker before she could protest.

I didn’t get the chance to say anything.

“Adrian’s currently being made presentable for national television,” Mary Jo said.

“Is that really necessary?” Dash said with a laugh. “He’s just introducing the show, not competing for Miss Universe.”

“You try looking good under stage lights without help,” Mary Jo shot back. “Now what do you want? We’re on a schedule.”

“I need to talk to Adrian. It’s about the show.”

My stomach tightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, relax. London’s feed is up and running. Sebastian says everything’s good on his end. Briggs checked in from Paris—they’re ready to go. Milan’s having a minor audio issue but it’s being handled.

“Good.”

“All four cities, simultaneous broadcast. Just like Dad planned.”

“Good. I have to go. I need to get this done so I can get out there.”

“Good luck,” Dash said.

“Thanks.”

Fashion of Love Week was actually happening starting in about ten minutes.

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