I die a little inside.
“Do you?” Jane asks gently, her eyes wide with faux-earnestness. “Because it’s not a choice, you know? It’s just… who heis. Deep down.” She pats my arm again. “He’s finally accepted it. Embraced his truth. We all have.”
Veronica’s gaze snaps to me. I see the rapid recalculation happening behind her cool eyes. My height. My build. My profession. The pieces clicking into a new, unexpected configuration. “So… you and Jane… you’re not…?”
“Jane is my rock,” I say, finding my voice. It sounds surprisingly steady.
Jane’s fingers dig into my arm in silent approval.
“She’s my support system. My…beard, if we’re using the colloquial term.” The word feels absurd leaving my mouth. Jane beams at me like I just scored the Cup-winning goal.
Veronica stares. “Your… beard.”
“Exactly.” Jane chirps, radiating supportive pride. “It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. I get the stability, the companionship, thefabulousbenefits package—”
She winks.
“—and West gets the societal cover he needs while he explores his authentic self. Quietly, of course. Discreetly. The Prescott name, you understand. Legacy and all that.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s all very modern. Very progressive.”
Veronica looks like her internal spreadsheet just crashed. “But… Eleanor said nothing about—”
“Eleanor is in denial,” Jane whispers conspiratorially. “Sweet woman, but terribly old-fashioned. She thinks if she throws enough suitable women at West, he’ll suddenly discover an appreciation for the fairersex he’s never felt before.”
She shakes her head sadly. “You’re the third woman he’s met in the last thirty-six hours. It’s heartbreaking, really. The hope. The constant unnecessary disappointment.”
Veronica’s gaze flicks between us, landing on our joined hands. Jane squeezes mine tightly. I try to project an aura of quiet, dignified homosexuality. It mostly involves not looking at Jane’s cleavage in that dress.
“I… had no idea,” Veronica says finally. Her voice has lost some of its professional polish. She looks genuinely discomfited.
“Most people don’t,” Jane says sympathetically. “West is very private. Very careful. But seeing you here, so lovely and accomplished… well, I couldn’t let Eleanor set you up for heartache. Or waste your valuable time. You seem far too intelligent for that.”
Jane offers a warm, understanding smile. “Better to know the truth upfront, right?”
Veronica nods slowly, still processing the nuclear bomb Jane just dropped on her expectations. “Right. Yes. Of course. Discretion is… paramount.”
She clears her throat, straightening her already impeccable suit jacket. “Well. Thank you for your candor, Jane. West.”
Her nod to me is stiff, tinged with a newfound awkwardness.
“I should… mingle.” Veronica turns and walks away with the brisk, efficient stride of someone escaping a biohazard zone.
Jane watches her go, then turns to me, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee. “Did you see her face? Priceless! I think I broke her corporate lawyer brain.”
I stare at her and let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The sheer audacity. The perfect, chaotic execution. The way she stepped in front of me, a tiny warrior shielding me from the Prescott legacy juggernaut. Not with violence, but with a lie so outrageous it was brilliant.
“You,” I say slowly, “are terrifying.”
She grins, unrepentant. “Told you I’d bring my A-game.”
She plucks two champagne flutes from a passing waiter’s tray and hands me one. “To successful sabotage. And Kirkland Signature protection.”
I clink my glass against hers, the sound sharp and bright in the humid air. “To the beard.”
We sip our champagne. Jane scans the crowd, her expressionshifting back to strategic assessment. “Scarlett’s watching us. Looks like she swallowed a lemon. Blake’s trying not to stare. Mission accomplished on multiple fronts.”
I follow her gaze. Scarlett’s icy glare is fixed on us.
