Owning Violet (The Fowler Sisters #1)(56)

Not that Violet is going against anything I suggest because she’s angry with me. I know the woman has an opinion and has no problem letting it be known. Not everything I’ve suggested or shown was part of my final plan. I’m testing Violet, testing my team. Hell, I’m even testing Rose.

But Rose is in ready agreement with me to piss off her sister. Fucking unbelievable.

I don’t protest, though. It refocuses Violet’s anger away from me.

“I thought we were going with peach,” Rose says, causing Violet to look up from her iPad. She was typing away, making notes and doing her best to avoid making eye contact with me.

“What do you mean, going with peach?” Violet asks, pursing her lips in an adorable pout.

There goes that word again. Adorable. Christ, there has never been one adorable thing in my life, ever. Growing up, I had no siblings, no pets, nothing cute. It was all hard and ugly and noisy. Living in that crap apartment with a father I rarely saw, I was alone. When I was really small, I was scared. Afraid of the dark, afraid of my teachers, afraid of Dad, afraid of random people I walked by on the street. No one cared, though. I felt like nothing.

And I always wanted to be something.

Soon I realized it got me nowhere, being scared. I got tough instead. Life is painful and difficult and a constant struggle, and I fought against my good-for-nothing life. Fought, and eventually I f*cking won. I could’ve ended up like every other loser I grew up with, but no. Look at me now, climbing my way up the corporate ladder. Take-charge. Ruthless.

Definitely not what I would call cute or worse, adorable.

Adorable was never even a part of my vocabulary until I started to focus on Violet.

“She’s referring to when we were talking about your lips,” I add, causing Violet to turn her attention to me, her gaze sharp. “Rather your lip gloss. Peachy Pie, remember?”

“Right.” She nods slowly and points toward an image I’d brought her at our what-seems-like-forever-ago dinner. “I prefer this color.” She taps the bright orange and black butterfly that’s perched on top of a woman’s fingertips.

“The orange?” I ask, making a mental note of it. Not a surprise. She’s been drawn to that image from the beginning.

“Yes.” She nods and tugs the image toward her so she can study it closely. “It’s so distinct. And if we make the box glossy …”

“Then you’ll get your glossy perfection?” I ask with a smile.

“That’s too close to Hermès,” Rose adds, making us both look at her. “What? It’s true,” she says directly to Violet. “Orange is their iconic color.”

“Orange and brown,” I say. “And the orange isn’t as bright as this shade.”

“It’s still orange, though,” Violet murmurs, disappointment ringing in her voice.

I can’t stand it. I hate hearing her sad or disappointed. I’m a sucker for her. A f*cking sucker, when I vowed at a too-young age that I would never be a sucker for any woman. Ever. Fuck.

When did this happen?

“How about coral? It’s between orange and peach,” I suggest. “And it’ll go perfectly with the mint-green shade you wanted to incorporate into the packaging.”

Violet turns toward me, her eyes meeting mine, dark brown and fathomless. For the first time during this meeting she looks pleased. “That’s perfect. You’re right. Let’s go with coral.” She casts her gaze around the table, her smile growing. “What do you all think?”

Murmurs of approval abound, and we call the end of the meeting within a few minutes of her coral-and-mint-green announcement. Rose sneaks out of the room in a blur, complaining of another meeting she needs to get to, and my team empties the conference room one by one, all of them eagerly talking among themselves, plotting and planning the next stage of packaging.

All the while I remain in the background leaning against the wall, my hands stuffed in my pockets. I vacated my chair the moment Violet ended the meeting, hoping she wouldn’t notice that we were left alone in the room together until it was too late.

“I feel you lurking behind me,” she says, amusement lacing her tone. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re there, Ryder.” She turns to face me, her hands resting on her hips. I let my gaze rove over her, taking her in from the top of her head to the tips of her toes … which I can’t see since they’re encased in sexy-as-hell shoes.

“You’re mad at me.” I don’t bother asking because I already know the truth. “I planned on treading lightly where you’re concerned.”

She ignores my comments. “The meeting went well, don’t you think?”

“All that matters is that you’re pleased.” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “It’s your name that’s going on the box, after all. This is your line, Violet. What you say goes.”

“I liked your coral suggestion.” A little smile plays at the corners of her lush lips. Lips that are slicked in subtle pink lipstick today. “Rose was driving me crazy.”

“I know,” I say with an answering almost-smile.

“She couldn’t stop agreeing with you. I was tempted to tell her to grow a spine and come up with her own opinion.”

“She did it to piss you off.” I shrug when she gapes at me. “Don’t bother denying it—you know it’s true.”