Page 150 of Pretend To Be Mine

She took the phone, her expression wary, like she was bracing for more cruel attacks.

She stared at the screen. Then her eyes went wide.

“Elizabeth Laramie collection breaks the internet,” she read aloud. “Are you serious? Did you see this?”

I grinned. “I did.”

“Adrian, these headlines are amazing.”

“Keep going.”

“Fashion world demands Elizabeth Laramie solo show,” she read aloud. “And they claim I’m the new designer to watch!” She looked up at me, tears forming. “This is real?”

“It is.” I took the phone back and pulled up more articles. I showed her more headlines, scrolling through dozens of pieces all praising her talent, vision, and designs. “It turns out the fashion world loves a good redemption story. And they especially love being in on what they think was an elaborate reveal strategy.”

“What do you mean?”

“They think we planned it. That letting my name appear on your designs in Milan was intentional—a way to generate buzz and controversy that would make the real reveal even more impactful.” I grinned. “They’re calling it a genius masterstroke of marketing. Four-dimensional chess. Some blogger wrote a whole think-piece about how we ‘weaponized the patriarchy’s tendency to credit men for women’s work’ as a commentary on the industry.”

She laughed, disbelieving. “But it was a mistake. A technical error.”

“They don’t know that. And honestly? We’re not going to correct them. We’ll use this to fuel your first solo show.”

“A solo show?” She looked terrified and thrilled in equal measure. “Adrian, I’m not ready for that.”

“You are. You’re more than ready.” I set the phone aside, taking her hands in mine. “You already have the logo. Do you have a name for your line?”

She bit her lip, thinking. I loved watching her mind work, loved the little furrow that appeared between her brows when she was concentrating. “What about… EL by Blackwell?”

“Perfect.” I kissed her softly. “Elizabeth Laramie, official Blackwell designer. Has a nice ring to it.”

“It does.” She was smiling now. “So I guess I better get started on some new designs?”

“Eventually. Not today though.” I pulled her back down into the pillows. “Today we rest. We celebrate. We enjoy the fact that everything worked out despite our best efforts to screw it up.”

“Everything is awesome,” she agreed, laughing. “How is this my life?”

“Our life,” I corrected. “Get used to saying that.”

“Um, there’s something I should tell you,” she said.

I did not like the sound of that. “What is it?”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, not quite meeting my eyes. “The leak. The one that told Clara about our arrangement.”

“What about it?” My body tensed despite my best efforts to stay calm. We’d been over this. Someone had betrayed us, and I still had no idea who. Briggs had launched a full investigation, questioning everyone who’d had access to the information.

“It was Chris,” she said quietly. “He’s the one who told Clara.”

For a moment, I just stared at her, certain I’d misheard. “Chris? My Chris? Your brother Chris?”

“Yes.” She finally looked at me, guilt and misery written all over her face. “He met Clara at a party. He didn’t know who she was—didn’t recognize her as a supermodel or your ex. I think she targeted him, looking for information. I can’t prove it, but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“So he just told her everything?” I asked.

“Well, get this. They hooked up, and afterward, while they were talking, he mentioned me. Mentioned the job offer at Blackwell, the engagement. He thought he was just making conversation.”

I shook my head. “Dumb ass.”