Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
“Thank you,” I say, and I enter the room, hyperaware of the door shutting behind me, more hyperaware of the man sitting at the head of the table.
I walk forward and stand opposite of him, the rows of empty chairs and shiny wood between us. “Is this where you tell me I’m a liar and you can’t work with me?”
He points to the chair to his right and says, “Sit here.”
It’s an order, and I have a flashback of me naked and at his mercy, as he’d ordered me not to move my hands. Like then, I do as he demands. I close the space between us and sit down. We’re close now, so close I can imagine his mouth on my mouth, and it’s not the appropriate thought to have right now. “Is this where you tell me I’m a liar and you can’t work with me?” I ask again.
“To make this happen, it requires I risk my money—a lot of money, Sofia. And I need to know you’re up for the job.”
It’s not a “you’re fired” or a “no,” and without thinking, I lean in closer. “I’m up for the job.”
“Prove it,” he challenges. “Show me how badly you want this.”
Why in my head did he just ask me to prove how much I want him? “How?”
“You’ll work for me for six weeks and be mentored by a close friend who’s worked intimately with several of the major labels. She still consults for Prada. She’s willing to mentor you, which means you’ll join her, and me, in Paris for six weeks. If she gives you the thumbs up, I’ll give you the thumbs up.”
I blanch. “You—want me to go to Paris with you?”
He leans in closer, our eyes colliding, a crackle of sexual energy between us that downright steals my breath before he replies with, “Yes, Sofia. I want you to go to Paris with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Paris. With Ethan.
It would sound like a fantasy if we were back in the Hawaii hotel room, and he was asking me to join him for personal reasons. But it’s not personal, and this ridiculous, arrogant, and equally hot man does not want to take me to Paris, and strip me naked, while feeding me chocolates and croissants in between ridiculously hot sex.
This is business.
Only business, and I force my mind to calm and settle into a logical place.
“As exciting as the opportunity sounds, and as honored as I’d be to earn a chance to prove myself as well as work with your friend, six weeks in Paris is an expense that would be challenging to make happen.”
“Your expenses will be paid, and you’ll receive compensation—a down payment on the future of the Zoey line, should we see fit to move forward with it.”
“Should you see fit, you mean, correct?”
Surprise flares in his eyes, as he doesn’t expect me to pin him in the corner of truth, followed by amusement. “Yes. Should I decide.” He pushes to his feet.
I quickly follow.
“I have a meeting to attend,” he states, “and the ball is now in your court.”
I’m dismissed.
Only, I’m not really dismissed since he’s invited me to Paris, but I have so many questions he hasn’t answered and apparently doesn’t intend to answer. “When will I get the official offer?”
“Your compensation package will be sent to your hotel later this evening, along with a contract you’ll need to sign.”
That’s it then. I have to hope that everything I need to know is in those documents. If not, well, I guess I’ll email the gentleman who set-up the meeting, who was not present today. “Okay,” I say, but I don’t move. I just stare at Ethan, a memory from the dinner we’d shared in Hawaii flooding my mind. “I know I shouldn’t bring this up, but that night in Hawaii…”
His eyes darken, sharpen. “Has nothing to do with our business transaction.”
“Which I appreciate,” I reply. “I do, but I still need to say this. You told me ‘no regrets,’ but I do have regrets, and not about letting that night happen. But about letting it happen without telling you the truth of who I was. You have no idea how many times that night I felt that regret, and how much I wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I felt—I felt trapped in my own stupidity. I still do, but I just wanted you to know, when I said I’m sorry, it was sincere. I’ll look forward to the offer.”
He doesn’t speak, his stare heavy-lidded and intense, the air around us snapping and crackling—that night of intimacy most definitely between us. I hold my breath, not sure what it is I want him to say or do, but I am so hyperaware of this man that it cannot be good for our business relationship.
Finally, his stare meets mine, his gaze piercing and forceful as he says, “The documents will be forthcoming.”