Rock Chick Revolution (Rock Chick #8)(111)

“I’ve seen it, Ally,” Buddy called, and I looked over my shoulder at him. “It actually is.”

Ralphie moved away from me and snapped at Buddy with his fingers. “Give me your phone, sweets. I’m calling Sadie right now. She needs to close up, get over here and see this space. She’ll totally agree.”

Buddy zipped up the tape measure, reached to the back pocket of his jeans and asked, “Where’s your phone?”

Ralphie assumed a look that could only be described as aghast, dragged a hand down his side and asked, “Put a phone in my pocket and destroy this line?”

It had to be said, Ralphie, in fabulous skinny trousers and a tailored pink shirt, looked like he’d just stepped out of a GQ magazine. A phone would destroy that line.

He’d made a good call.

“I called Ralphie to get some interior design help,” Daisy said, and I looked to her to see she was gaining her feet.

She had also been hiding her outfit in her earlier position, and as it fully hit me, it took a while for it to process through my system so I didn’t hear her next words.

This was because she was wearing a jeans mini-skirt with a little poofy ruffle at the edge, a pink tank top that should get a medal for its act of heroism by stretching itself nearly to the limits in keeping her bosoms contained, a bolero vest that was edged in what looked like silver rope, and a hot pink, champion-boxer-wide, buckle-at-the back leather belt covered in rivets that formed the shapes of lassoes, wagon wheels and cowboy boots.

And, not to forget, her feet were encased in pink cowboy boots with wagon wheels stamped in the toe and lassoes decorating the sides.

A theme.

“Comprende?” she asked, and I focused on her face.

“What?”

“Ralphie is gonna help us decorate and get this place stylin’,” Daisy said to me. “I have office furniture catalogues that’ll be comin’ in the mail in a few days. I figure your office, the big one.” She waved behind her. “I’ll be out here.” She waved to her feet. “We’ll set up a desk and computer in there for Brody and Darius to use when they’re around.” She waved to the small office. “And obviously that’s the conference room,” she finished, tipping her platinum locks toward the conference room.

“Daisy,” I took a step toward her, “I think Dad’s got an old desk in the garage. I can get him to unearth that and get it here. We’ll get you a decent desk. Other than that—”

I said no more because Daisy snapped, “What?”

“Oh no, child,” Shirleen entered the conversation. “You got a choice spot here. You don’t move some old desk into it, slap a computer on the top and say ‘I’m in business.’ You gotta send the right message. And that message is you ain’t Rockford. You’re Allyson Nightingale, a fine piece of badass ass with class who can take care of biz-nezz.”

“And the right message is also cherry wood,” Daisy proclaimed.

“Oak,” Shirleen countered immediately.

“Black,” Ralphie stated and looked at me. “It’ll set off The Majestic.”

“Uh… guys, I don’t have any money for carpet, paint, office furniture or fancy paintings,” I shared.

“Sadie will give you a discount,” Ralphie assured me on a big smile.

“Okay, let me amend,” I began. “I have some clothes. Someday hopefully soon, I’ll have an insurance check that will need to be used to buy me more clothes and various and sundry other items, like jewelry, roller brushes and CDs. And whatever paltry sum I have after that I’ll need to use to live on until Daisy and I make a go of this.”

Daisy chimed in, “Me and Marcus’ll—”

“No, honey,” I cut her off gently. “You won’t.”

Daisy’s face fell.

“A minute,” Ren said, and then I found myself dragged into the hall with my hand in his.

I knew what was coming, so the minute he stopped me in front of him, I started, “Baby—”

“You got twenty-five thousand dollars.”

My mouth dropped open.

Then I snapped it shut and closed my eyes.

I opened them and leaned in, putting my hand with the coffee cup to his chest.

“That’s very sweet, honey, but no way. I haven’t even talked to you about paying you back for the year’s rent. I can’t take—”

“You aren’t taking.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I’m investing. We can discuss distribution of your profits when you make them. Until then, it’s an investment.”

“You’re investing?”

“I’m investing.”

“In me?”

“Yes.”

I swallowed, feeling good things, really good things, but unsure.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “What if I can’t—?”

His hand dropped mine so he could wrap it around the side of my neck and he dipped his face close, ordering, “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t doubt yourself. Not now. Until this moment, you were sure. Very sure. Be sure. Take the investment, make those offices something that anyone walking into them will trust you’ll get the job done, then be sure and get the job done.”