The Billionaire Game (11 page)
“I want to show you something,”
he said simply.
Well son, I want to see something,
so stop talking, step out of those pants pronto, and give me a little
shimmy,
I valiantly restrained myself from saying.
“I don’t know what you
could have to show me that I could be interested in seeing,” I
said coldly instead. I didn’t have time for flirting today. I
was trying to get my life back on track, and Asher would get me so
far off-track I’d be in a country with no railroads.
Lacey kicked me under the table. I
looked at her, confused, and she cut her eyes at Asher, then back at
me. When the message still didn’t come through, she gave Asher
her most blinding smile and said. “One moment, please.”
Then grabbed my arm and pulled me to
the window at the other side of the room.
“The hell, Lacey?” I said,
not bothering to lower my voice. I’d just finished explaining
that this guy was the worst news for my health since microwave pizza
was invented, so why wasn’t she immediately kicking him out of
her office?
Lacey rolled her eyes. “Go with
him,” she whispered. “He obviously has something to show
you.”
“Yeah, and he wants to show it to
me in a discreet hotel bedroom—”
“Katie.” Lacey put her hand
on my shoulder. “You are hot. I am not denying this, because it
is true: you are super-duper ridiculously hot, to the extent that I
am near-constantly jealous of you. But not every dude you meet is
planning to trick you into sex, and it is possible for a guy to have
the hots for you and still admire your brain and your business sense.
I know you’ve been hurt, but you’re using it as an excuse
to avoid going after your dream, and I can’t stand by and watch
you do that. Not when I know what you could do if you started
believing in yourself.”
Her words stung worse than ripping a
Band-Aid off a sunburn, and it was probably because deep down, I knew
they were true.
I was using my suspicions about Asher’s
intentions to shield me from the possibility of finding out that yet
another man only wanted me for one thing.
“You really think he’s
figured out a way to make this work?” I said sarcastically, but
it was a token protest and I knew it.
“You’ll never find out if
you don’t go,” Lacey pointed out.
And she was right.
I gave her a hug, and she hugged me
back tightly.
“Damn, I hate it when you’re
the right one,” I said with a sigh. “That’s
supposed to be my job.”
#
“You’re fucking kidding
me,” I breathed.
Asher looked crestfallen. “You
don’t like it?”
“Like it?” I demanded.
“Like it? Like it?
Like it?!”
With every repetition, Asher’s
face fell further, like a hiker tumbling down a rocky slope.
“You don’t just
like
a place like this,” I declared. “You love it. You adore
it. You promise eternal devotion to it and buy it chocolates on its
birthday. You—” I looked around the space and was
overwhelmed all over again. “Damn, Asher. This is actually,
literally, one hundred percent perfect.”
A smile lit his face like a small sun,
but for once, I was looking at something more beautiful. Its pale
blue awning had peeked hopefully out of the side of the tall
building, and the moment I had stepped inside and seen the clean
lines, the open space with plenty of natural light, and the extensive
backrooms, I had fallen in love.
“You could set up some displays
here,” Asher said, walking to the focal point of the room.
“Something to catch the customers’ eyes as soon as they
come in. The back would be for storage of materials and your
apprentices’ workspaces—” he caught himself just in
time and made a rueful face. “If you like that plan, of course.
It’s up to you.”
I could see it now, and hear it—the
hum and whir of a half dozen sewing machines, the excited chatter of
customers, the rustle of satin and silk. My own studio—my heart
soared at the thought, my skin tingling and my mind racing as the
opportunity that Asher was offering me began to really sink in.
My own studio. My own studio. My own
studio.
I don’t think I’d ever
heard three more beautiful words in the English language.
“Why are you doing this?” I
asked. Not snappishly this time, just confused and awed and a little
afraid to believe that this was really happening. “Isn’t
my business small fry compared to your usual deals?”
He scuffed his shoe along the floor,
looking awkward for just a second before that charming smile bloomed
on his face again. “Even Prada had to start somewhere. Maybe
this won’t be an instant moneymaker for me, but you have
talent. This year, we open one store, but next year, who knows?
You’re going places, Kate. L.A., New York, Paris. I want to be
able to say I discovered you first.”
“You really think so?” I
asked, surprising myself with the painful lump in my throat as I
spoke the words.
“Of course,” he said
seriously. “I can have my lawyers draw up the contract this
afternoon: I’ll front the cash in exchange for minority
percentage of ownership. Are you in?”
He looked especially kissable in that
moment, all hopeful and earnest and excited, and a tiny bit
vulnerable as he waited for my answer. It was hard to remember all
the times he had made me so mad, hard to remember that there was
anything about this man that anyone could find infuriating.
There was a little whisper of worry in
the back of my mind that said I still didn’t know who the real
Asher was: was it the sweet man who reassured me that he believed in
me, and joked about his own failings? Or the condescending, flirty
asshole who had three girlfriends but still couldn’t keep his
sly winks and hands to himself?
I looked around the store and as the
anticipation bubbled up inside me, I realized that it didn’t
matter. This whole venture was a risk, especially with Asher, but
there was no way I was going to say no. Not when this was what I had
always wanted.
“Okay,” I said out loud.
“You’ve got a deal.”
He held out his hand and I shook it
firmly, forcing myself to let go afterward.
Now, all I had to do was make it
through this business partnership without killing him, kissing him,
or both.
To be continued with part 2 releasing May 11
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