Page 17 of Pretend To Be Mine

“Welcome to the team,” I said, and immediately regretted how corporate it sounded. This wasn’t a new hire. This was a woman who’d just agreed to lie to the world for me.

But Elizabeth gave me a tentative smile, the first real smile I’d seen from her. Heat rushed through me.

Yeah. I was definitely going to have to be careful.

“Come on,” I said, standing abruptly. “I want to show you something.”

She stood too, grabbing her bag and following me to the door. We walked to the elevators in silence. I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves. In the elevator, she stood as far from me as the small space would allow, her eyes fixed on the floor numbers ticking by.

“You can relax,” I said. “I don’t bite.”

“Sorry.” But she didn’t look any more relaxed.

The elevator opened on the forty-eighth floor. I led her through a set of double doors into the workshop.

The space was massive, the entire floor dedicated to the creative heart of Blackwell Couture. Fabric bolts lined one wall in every color imaginable, organized by shade and texture. Dress forms stood throughout the space draped in half-finished garments.

Elizabeth transformed.

The nervousness didn’t disappear completely, but it dimmed, replaced by something else. Wonder. Or hunger. Excitement, for sure. She stepped forward slowly, her eyes moving over everything. She looked like a kid in a candy store.

“This is…” She trailed off, moving toward a table where someone had laid out a pattern. “This is like heaven.”

There it was. A glimpse of who Elizabeth actually was beneath all that anxiety. She touched the edge of the fabric gently, reverently, like it was something precious.

“This is where you’ll work after Love Week ends,” I said. “If you want to.”

She looked at me and, for the first time, held my gaze for more than a second. “Really?”

“Really. Let’s find Annika.”

6

ELIZABETH

Adrian led me through the workshop floor, weaving between tables covered in sketches and fabric swatches. The creative energy in the space was palpable. It hummed in the air like electricity. I wanted to stand in the center of the room and just breathe it all in.

This was where magic happened, where ideas became reality. It was the very thing I had craved since I was five years old.

We stopped at a doorway to a smaller side room. I heard laughter before I saw anything else, the deep masculine sound of a man that was clearly having a good time. I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk in on whatever was happening. It definitely sounded like flirting.

“Hold still, Sebastian, or I’ll pin this to your actual leg,” a woman’s voice said, exasperated but affectionate.

“That sounds kinky. I’m into it.”

More laughter, this time feminine and high-pitched. I was definitely not trying to walk in on whatever was happening in that room.

Adrian pushed the door open without hesitation. I followed him in. A man stood on a small platform in the center of the room, wearing a tuxedo that looked half-finished. A woman knelt at his feet with a piece of chalk in one hand and a pincushion strapped to her wrist, marking the hem of his pants with quick, precise strokes.

Two women lounged on chairs against the wall, both impossibly beautiful in a way that made them obviously models. They were watching the fitting with the kind of attention that had nothing to do with tailoring and everything to do with the man in the tux.

The man looked like he’d stepped out of a cologne advertisement. Same dark hair as Adrian, same strong features, but where Adrian carried himself with controlled intensity, this one radiated easy charm.

Sebastian Blackwell.

Holy shit.

I’d seen the billboards and magazine spreads, but they did not do him justice. I’d seen him all over social media but a still image didn’t capture any of the charm radiating off him. He was gorgeous.