Faking love with ceo

The knock was ten in the morning.

Lina opened the door and a woman who was at least sharpened to a point looked out. She was maybe fifty, dressed in a severe charcoal suit, her blonde hair in a tight knot that was tearing the skin at her temples. A younger man was standing behind her with a large black garment bag and a shiny silver case.

Lina Carter. I am Colette. Mr. Knight has sent me. Her accent was sharp. Her eyes were a quick, crushing scan of Lina's flat. We have until four o'clock. Please be ready to leave.

Leave where for what? Lina's voice was still rough from a sleepless night and she was feeling a burning hole in her pillow from the signed contract.

Your first fitting and briefing. There is no time for questions. Colette stepped inside and the small living room seemed to shrink further. She glanced at the closed bedroom door. Your mother?

"she's Sleeping. Please, be quiet". A small flicker of something, not sympathy, maybe a professional courtesy, appeared in Colette's face. "The car is downstairs. Bring nothing. All is provided .";All. The words reverberated as Lina was escorted, not to a boutique, but rather into a large, white loft in a warehouse that had been converted into an office space. Racks of clothing covered one wall, all neutral shades, ivory, black, navy. No colour. A tall, thin man named Stefan, who had a pin cushion in his wrist and a measuring tape wrapped around his neck like a scarf, waited. "Stand here," Colette said, pointing to a low round platform in the center of the room. "Posture. Shoulders back. Chin level. You are not a waitress. You are an accessory to power. You must look as if you are a part of his world, but yet, just a little bit separate from it. Got it?"

Lina entered. Stefan started to take measurements, flicking through her body with swift, impersonal touches: the length of her inseam, the width of her waist, the span of her shoulders. He whispered the numbers, and an assistant tapped them into a tablet.

"Beauty is not the goal," Colette said while circling her like a sculptor around a block of marble. "It is appropriateness. Effortless elegance. Quiet without subservience. You have to be admired, but not remembered. You are a prop in his story. A prop that is calm and tasteful and silent."

A prop. Lina shut her eyes as Stefan's fingers made their way around her neck.

"Other people must see through you. You have to learn to look without looking at. You have to learn to listen without listening. Your first assignment is a gallery opening tomorrow night. The artist is a client of Knight Global. You will be on his arm. You will smile when he smiles. You will answer when spoken to, and you will answer briefly and pleasantly. You will never offer opinions. You will never tell personal stories. You are a mystery. A pleasant mystery."

Colette snapped her fingers. Stefan brought over the garment bag, and opened it with a dramatic flourish.

Inside was a dress. The colour was simply midnight smoke, a single column of thick heavy silk. No glittering sequins, no frills, no daring cut-outs. The most beautiful and most intimidating thing Lina had ever seen.

"Try it on. We do alterations."

In a tiny white changing room, Lina removed her jeans and sweater. The silk was cool and heavy against her skin. It ran over her body, down to her ankles, a perfect, clean line. It was simple, but it changed her. The woman looking back was a stranger, she was still, she was distant, she was unapproachable. A clean, white canvas.

When she emerged, Colette gave a curt nod. "Okay. The cut is good. It says nothing, which is good. The problem is with the colours." She gestured to the silver case. "Shoes. Jewellery."

The shoes were heels, but not the towering wayward ones she'd imagined. They were short, low polished blocks, the same black silk. "You're going to have to be able to walk. To stand for a long time. Impulsiveness is not a feature."

The jewellery was a single strand of pearls, so perfect and so perfect that they were close to fake, and little stud of diamonds in her ears. "Understated. A family heirloom if anyone asks. You do not give information."

He drilled Lina for four hours. How to walk in the gown without swaying. How to hold a champagne flute without holding it like a rope. How to stand next to Alexander, always a little behind his left shoulder, a little too close to touch, but never to lean. How to rest her hand in the crook of his arm.

"He may touch the low of your back to give you direction. He may put his hand over yours. These are signals. You give signals, and he responds. You do not initiate."

"What if I want to say something?" Lina said, her head spinning.

"You don't." Colette shot a flat look at her. "If someone is addressing you, you smile and say, 'It's a fascinating piece,' or 'Alexander has great taste.' You redirect any substantive question to him. You are a mirror. You reflect the light that he puts on you. Nothing more."

At three-thirty the process was finished. The dress was pinned for final adjustments. Her hair had been curled into a soft, low chignon by Stefan's assistant. Her face was dusted with makeup products that felt like nothing by a talented makeup artist. She looked more finished and more pallid.

Colette handed her a small black clutch.

Inside was a lip colour for touch-ups, a compact, a breath mint and your phone on silent. That is all. You will be picked up tomorrow at six. Do not eat anything that could stain. Only water. Be ready.

The car brought her back to her flat. She went upstairs in her old clothes. The ghost of the silk dress brushed her skin. The phantom weight of the pearls on her neck.

Her mother was awake. She was in her armchair by the window. She turned as Lina walked in and her eyes softened with worry.

There you are, love. You were gone so early. A shift?

Lina's throat closed. The lie was a rock.

Yes, Mum. A... a private event. Might be regular work for a while. Better pay.

Her mother smiled, reaching out a thin hand. "That's my girl. I knew your luck would turn."

The guilt made her hand dance. She wasn't lucky anymore. She'd sold herself. She was a thing going to be packaged and go to the market.

And after that night, when Lina lay in bed, the instructions were humming in her head on repeat. A prop. A dummy. A mystery.

She could see the cold eyes of Alexander Knight. He was the man she would have to try to prove to everyone that she loved. The man who she would be a passing, mute fix for.

She wouldn't have to be her for the first test in twenty-four hours. She would have to be another.

And the worst part was that a small part of her was looking at the beautiful, mute woman in the mirror and thinking that maybe that was the one she wanted to be.