The Billionaire Game(26)
“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 f*cking 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 * 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.