Page 10 of Fake it for Keeps

“Colt Jesson? As in the Colt Jesson?”

I nodded, feeling my cheeks heat despite myself. “Yeah. That one.”

Hallie’s jaw dropped. “Colt? The guy who ghosted you and broke your heart? That Colt Jesson?”

“The very same.” I stared down into my coffee. “He caught me when I tripped on my dress going into the venue. The paparazzi were everywhere, and he just… took over. Pulled me onto the red carpet like I was his date.”

“Holy shit,” April breathed. “What did he say?”

I was not going to repeat what he said. “Nothing. He flirts with anyone with a pulse. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Ooh,” April said. “He flirted with you?”

“Wait, he knew who you were, right?” Hallie asked.

I shook my head. “Nope.” The word tasted sour on my tongue. “Not even a flicker of recognition. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger.”

“Wow, what an asshole,” April said, shaking her head.

“So what happened?” Hallie asked. “After he caught you?”

“We danced.” I shrugged, trying to play it off. “He was charming. Arrogant. Exactly how I remember him. He hit on me the whole time, said all these crass things about my dress and how tight his pants felt.”

“Gross,” April said.

“Yeah.” I drained the rest of my coffee. “But also… God, he’s so damn sexy. It’s not fair. He should’ve gotten ugly. Developed a beer gut or premature balding or get a limp or something.”

Hallie laughed. “That would’ve been poetic justice.”

“Instead, he’s a billionaire with perfect hair and a jawline that could cut glass. And he didn’t recognize me. Not for a single second.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” April offered. “You don’t need that kind of complication in your life.”

“I know.” I stood up, heading back to the kitchen to refill my coffee. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never see him again. And I’m about to lose a chunk of money from the Faux gig because I couldn’t keep my distance.”

“How much were you supposed to get?” Hallie asked.

“Five thousand.” I sighed, thinking about the beach house. “I was going to put it toward restoring my dad’s place in the Hamptons. It needs so much work, but it’s⁠—”

“Your favorite place on earth,” April finished, smiling sadly. “We know.”

My phone buzzed on the counter, interrupting the moment. I picked it up and saw an unfamiliar number. When I answered, a crisp voice on the other end identified herself as Della’s assistant.

“Ms. Bellrose, Della would like you to come into the office this morning. Are you available?”

My stomach sank. This was it. The official reprimand for breaking contract terms.

“Yeah,” I said, forcing brightness into my tone. “I can be there in an hour.” I hung up and looked at my roommates. “I need to call in sick to work. The Faux agency wants to see me.”

“Uh oh,” April said. “You’re getting called into the principal’s office.”

“Good luck,” Hallie said. “And Hallie? Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

I smiled, grateful for them. “Thanks.”

An hour and a half later, I sat in Della’s sleek office, trying not to fidget in the leather chair across from her desk. The room was filled with dark wood furniture, expensive art on the walls, and some really weird trinkets on the bookshelves.

Della herself was as intimidating as I remembered from my initial interview. She had the kind of beauty that didn’t fade with age, all sharp cheekbones and perfectly styled hair. She wore a form-fitting dress and stiletto heels that were a very flashy leopard print.