Chapter 6 PREPARATION

The rest of the week passed in a blur.

Claire gave notice at the café. Mrs. Chen hugged her tight, whispered "I knew good things were coming," and promised to save her table whenever she visited.

She moved into the guest suite in Damian's penthouse - a space larger than her entire apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows, heated bathroom floors, and a bed so soft she almost cried the first night.

Damian was surprisingly scarce. She'd see him mornings sometimes, already in a suit, heading out. He'd nod, ask if she needed anything, then disappear into his world of meetings.

Jennifer, however, became a constant presence.

Tuesday was shopping. They went to boutiques Claire had only walked past, where staff knew Jennifer by name and brought out dresses costing more than a month's rent. Claire protested, but Jennifer was relentless.

"You're going to a gala with the city's most prominent people. You need to look the part. Besides, Damian's covering this - it's in the contract."

The dress they chose was stunning: deep emerald green bringing out gold flecks in Claire's brown eyes, fitted bodice and flowing skirt making her feel like a princess. Matching heels, clutch, jewelry - Jennifer thought of everything.

Wednesday was etiquette coaching. A woman named Patricia spent four hours teaching Claire which fork to use, how to make small talk with donors, and the art of the "society smile."

"You're a natural," Patricia said at the end. "You have good instincts. Trust them."

Thursday was media training. A PR specialist named David showed her clips of past galas, pointed out which reporters to avoid, which to engage, and how to deflect personal questions.

"If they ask how you met, keep it light. 'Through mutual friends' works. If they ask about marriage, laugh and say you're taking things slow. The key is seeming genuine but private."

"I am genuine and private."

"Exactly. That makes this easy."

Friday, Jennifer took her to a salon. Hair, nails, facial. Claire stared at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the woman looking back.

"You look beautiful," Jennifer said softly. "Damian's going to be speechless."

"It's fake, remember? He's not actually interested."

"Right. Of course." But Jennifer's smile was knowing.

Now it was Saturday evening. Claire stood in her suite, heart pounding.

The dress fit perfectly. Her hair was swept up elegantly, curls framing her face. Makeup was subtle but polished - sophisticated without feeling like a mask.

She looked like someone who belonged in Damian Cole's world.

The illusion was terrifying and exhilarating.

A knock at her door made her jump.

"Come in," she called, expecting Jennifer.

But it was Damian who entered, and the look on his face made her breath catch.

He'd stopped just inside, completely still, staring. He was in a tuxedo - classic black, perfectly tailored - looking like he'd stepped from a magazine. But it was his expression that made her pulse race.

Wonder. Pure wonder.

"Claire," he said finally, voice rough. "You look..."

"Nervous? Terrified? Like I'm about to throw up?"

"Stunning." The word came out soft, almost reverent. "You look absolutely stunning."

Heat flooded her cheeks. "It's the dress. Jennifer has good taste."

"It's not the dress." He moved closer, and she caught his woodsy, expensive cologne. "Though the dress is spectacular. It's you. You're beautiful."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. The air felt charged, and Claire couldn't remember if she was supposed to breathe.

Then Damian cleared his throat. "I, uh, brought you something." He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. "I should have done this earlier, but I wanted to pick it myself."

Claire's heart stuttered. "Damian, you don't have to.."

"It's not what you think. Open it."

Inside was a delicate bracelet - white gold with small diamonds catching light like stars. Beautiful, elegant, far too expensive.

"I can't accept this," she whispered.

"It's not a gift. It's a prop." But his voice was gentle. "If we're convincing people this is real, you need to wear something suggesting I care enough to buy you jewelry. But..." He lifted the bracelet carefully. "I picked it myself. It reminded me of you."

"How?"

"Delicate but strong. Beautiful without trying to be." He held out his hand. "May I?"

Claire extended her wrist. He fastened the bracelet with careful fingers, his touch warm, sending sparks up her arm.

"There." He stepped back, but his eyes lingered. "Perfect."

"Damian.."

"We should go. The car's waiting." But he didn't move toward the door. Instead, he said quietly, "Thank you. For doing this. I know it's asking a lot."

"You're paying me a lot."

"It's not about the money." His eyes met hers. "I could have hired anyone. But I wanted someone I could trust. Someone real. That's you, Claire."

Before she could respond, he offered his arm. "Ready to face the lions?"

She slipped her hand through his arm, feeling solid strength beneath the tuxedo. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"That's my girl," he said, and even though it was part of the act, something in Claire's chest warmed.

They rode the elevator down in silence. A sleek black car waited, driver holding the door. Damian helped her in, his hand steady on her back, before sliding in beside her.

As the car pulled into traffic, Claire stared out at city lights and tried to calm her racing heart.

This was it. In twenty minutes, she'd walk into a gala on the arm of one of the city's most eligible bachelors and pretend to be someone she wasn't.

She glanced at Damian. He was looking out his window, jaw tight, fingers drumming his knee. Nervous too, she realized. Maybe more nervous than she was.

Without thinking, she reached over and placed her hand over his, stilling the drumming.

He looked down at their hands, then up at her face, surprised.

"We've got this," she said softly. "Together."

His hand turned over, lacing fingers through hers. "Together," he agreed.

And as the car carried them toward whatever awaited, Claire held onto his hand and tried not to think about how right it felt.