Page 20 of Fake it for Keeps

“Do you really think my future wife would only wear one ring?” I asked.

She frowned. “Oh. I guess I didn’t consider that. Do you mind if I look around? I’ve never been in a place like this⁠—”

I cut her off and waved my hand as if she were an annoying bug. I got another glare before she got up and walked out of the private room and back onto the showroom floor.

Monica handed me the tablet with the NDA pulled up. We dealt with a lot of very high-end customers. They didn’t want their business splashed across the front page of gossip rags. We provided discretion. Some of our clients had wives—and mistresses.

I nodded and handed the signed NDA back to Monica. She quickly signed. “I’ll store this in a private file.”

“Good.”

I got to my feet and walked into the showroom to find Hallie deep in conversation with one of my salespeople.

She was thanking every employee who brought her something. Apologizing when she had to hand a ring back. Asking them about their day, their families, if they’d had lunch yet.

“Oh, don’t go to any trouble,” she said when one of them offered to bring her champagne. “Really, water is fine. Or nothing! I’m fine with nothing.”

My jaw tightened.

“Actually,” I cut in, my voice sharp enough to make Hallie’s head snap toward me. “Bring us both champagne. The Dom Pérignon, not the house prosecco we serve the peasants.”

“Of course, Mr. Jesson.”

Hallie opened her mouth to protest, probably to say something annoyingly self-effacing about how she didn’t need champagne, but I held up a hand.

“Give us a moment,” I said to the room in general.

The employees melted away while security casually moved to the corners. They couldn’t leave the place unprotected but they could give us some privacy.

I turned to face Hallie fully. She was already looking at me with those dark eyes, a mixture of confusion and defiance swimming in their depths.

I grabbed her elbow gently and steered her toward a corner of the private showroom, away from prying eyes and ears.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I released her arm but didn’t step back, using my height and proximity to crowd her slightly. “What’s with all the apologizing? The thanking? The ‘oh, I don’t want to be a bother’ routine?”

She blinked. “I’m being polite, like a normal person.”

“You’re being a doormat.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “And it’s making me look bad.”

“Excuse me?”

“You just got engaged to the wealthiest man in New York City,” I said. “Act like it. You’re not a hairdresser anymore, Hallie. You’re my woman. My fiancée. And women in your position don’t apologize for existing.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “I’m just trying to be nice. Human. Decent. You should try it sometime. The world could use more of it.”

“They don’t need nice. They need you to be decisive. Confident. To act like you belong here instead of like you stumbled in off the street and can’t believe someone’s letting you look at the jewelry.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “That’s exactly how I feel, though.”

“Well, don’t.” I leaned in closer, lowering my voice even further. “This is your job now. Playing my fiancée. And part of that job is selling the image that we’re madly in love and you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. Stop acting grateful for scraps and start acting like the future Mrs. Jesson.”

She squirmed under my scrutiny, her hands fidgeting with the hem of the expensive sweater I’d bought her. I found myself enjoying this more than I probably should, watching her struggle to maintain her composure while I systematically dismantled every defense she tried to put up.

Hallie’s sunshiny personality, all warmth and consideration, was going to be a problem. Not because it wasn’t charming—it was—but because it made her look weak. Uncertain. Like she didn’t believe she deserved to be here.

And if she didn’t believe it, no one else would either.