The Billionaire Game 2(3)

…if the devil looked like he just stepped out of the pages of a men’s underwear catalogue, with a voice like honey and lips that were burning hot as he kissed—

Note to self: look into possibility that Asher is the literal devil.

He certainly was tempting me enough to fit the part.

Would it really be so bad to give in?

“Of course it would!” I snapped at myself, my graphite drawing pencil breaking in half as I applied too much pressure. I took a deep breath, and then another. I could do this. I could. I could finish everything that needed finishing, and I could resist Asher, and I could show everybody who had ever doubted me just what I was made of.

There was still a pang, though, suspiciously close to my heart, when I thought about Asher and his hot date. When I thought about him smiling with her and laughing with her and touching her arm, pulling her close and kissing her lips.

“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” I muttered under my breath, and went to find a pencil sharpener.

I had work to do, and time and space were finite.





TWO



“Oh my God, this is actually happening!” Lacey’s squeal was so high-pitched I was surprised it didn’t summon a pack of dogs. Still, even with my possibly perforated eardrums, I couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. It reminded me of how I had felt when I first entered my new studio, and rekindled that excitement inside me.

“It is pretty sweet, huh?” I said. “It’s still not exactly the Ritz, but I’m going to grab Asher by the ankles and shake him upside down to see how many bearskin rugs I can make fall out of his pockets.”

Lacey chuckled, and we both turned to survey the space again, breathing out a perfectly synchronized sigh of contentment.

Significant progress had been made in the back workshop of my studio: no bearskin rugs, alas and alack, but some top of the line sewing machines with more speeds than a bicycle and more stitches than someone who’d fallen through a plate glass window.

We’d already been through the fitting rooms, where I’d hung up a few lingerie samples on the walls, and Lacey exclaimed in each one as she marveled at the way the natural light kept the colors of the products vibrant—exactly as intended, Asher’s opinion be damned.

“You could almost open this place without any furniture, it looks so sleek,” Lacey marveled. “The standing salon! A new trend!”

“That would give Asher a heart attack,” I said. “And believe me, I am well on my way to setting the trend of Asher Young heart failure. Working at it night and day. But I think I’ll forgo this opportunity; I do actually want some things for people to sit on, or lie down on.” I gestured back towards the fitting rooms, getting excited. “Imagine a velvet chaise lounge, or a deep plush angora wool carpet—or a throw made of cashmere! Stepping into one of these rooms should be like stepping into someplace comfortable and indulgent, where you can throw off the shackles of your preconceived notions about what you can wear—”

“—and about what you can spend?” Lacey added slyly.

I gave her a look so innocent I could have been exonerated of murder with eyewitness testimony and a video recording. “Well, if people want to shower me with money, who am I to stand in their way? Let them pursue their dreams!”

“Spoken like a true businesswoman,” Lacey said, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “Oh, Kate, this is all so exciting!”

“And terrifying,” I admitted. “I feel like a little baby bird trembling on the edge of the nest, with Asher standing behind me ready to swat me forward to see if I can fly.”

“Wait, Asher is the mama bird in this scenario?” Lacey asked, snickering. “Oooh, please tell him that in front of me so I can see his face. I want to take a picture with my iPhone of his face when you tell him that and carry it with me always for whenever I need to laugh.”

“Your wish is my command,” I told her.

Lacey wandered over to the sewing machines and fussed with an assortment of bobbins in a way so carefully casual that I immediately became suspicious.

“So, how are you getting on with Asher?” Lacey asked in a tone she apparently thought was innocent. “I have to say, I never would have seen your…partnership…coming along this way, but you guys do seem to be making it work...” She trailed off suggestively.

“Whoa, let me stop you right there,” I said. “I mean, you’ve got it right that it’s a weird partnership. It is weirder than a very weird thing from Planet What the Hell is Gillian Anderson Even Wearing On the Red Carpet This Year, but it’s not a smirky-smirky-eyebrow-raise-finger-quotes ‘partnership.’ It’s strictly business.”