For a moment, his mouth gaped open. Yes, I actually just called him ‘cheap.’ “This is not about pennies,” Asher finally sputtered. “It’s about the cost-benefit ratio.”
“The what?” He was clearly trying to distract me with a subterfuge of economic voodoo-speak, I just knew it.
Asher just shook his head. “Think of it this way: how many hours will you need to work to break even? How many panties would you have to sell before you could afford even one of the items you’ve wanted to buy today?”
He had a point, but I didn’t care. “You agreed to do this my way,” I pointed out, trying to keep my tone neutral and not let it slide into a seven-year-old’s whine of but you promised! “Luxury brands sell more than just the product: they sell a dream, an escape, an aspiration. People will be willing to pay real money for that dream if we can put it right in front of their faces. You agreed!”
For a second I thought I saw that flash of guilt on Asher’s face again—what was that about? Was he wanting to back out after all? Did he regret getting carried away and agreeing to invest? I felt myself softening to him for a second, even as anxiety made my stomach and heart plummet down into my feet. I could understand it if he was acting like a jerk to cover up his own insecurities. Hell, what else did I do all day?
Then he scoffed, and the moment was gone. “I agreed to that as a business plan, not a charity venture.”
Oh no he didn’t. “Excuse me—”
Henri demonstrated his wisdom and advanced self-preservation skills by choosing this moment to quickly mumble something about looking up items in the back catalogue, and fleeing.
Asher crossed his arms, a move that was in danger of ripping the sleeves of his T-shirt across his powerful shoulders. “Kate, we don’t have time for one of your meltdowns.”
“I’m not having a meltdown,” I said icily. “And I don’t appreciate you dismissing my concerns like that. When I first agreed to this partnership, it was because you convinced me that you understood my vision, and you believed that I had the skills to carry it out. But ever since then, you’ve done nothing but belittle me and talk down to me. Well, if I wanted someone to do that, I’d have asked my family for help. So, Asher, tell me: do you really think I can do this? Or have you completely lost all faith in my panties?”
My heart was hammering by the time I came to the end of my speech, despite the joke I’d tried to throw in at the end. It was true that I didn’t want to keep going if Asher wasn’t prepared to support me and my business the way I envisioned it. But I could never abandon my dream, either.
And to be completely honest, I also didn’t want to let go of the idea that finally someone had understood my passion, my commitment…that Asher understood.
Chagrin was written deep in the lines of his face; his green eyes were wide and regretful. “Of course I think you can do this,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I ever let you think for a second otherwise.”
He stepped towards me, and I stepped back automatically, bringing the backs of my knees against the soft silken sheets of a Victorian-inspired canopy bed. I could feel a slight breeze, as though a door had been opened, rippling the gauzy curtains against my back as Asher took another step towards me. He reached out and cupped my cheek so gently, looking deep into my eyes.
“Then why have you been acting so…” my voice trailed off into a whisper, my thoughts scrambling for focus as I leaned unconsciously into the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze.
We were alone, and so close to a bed…I could just reach out for him, and he would reach out for me, and we could fall backwards onto the soft mattress, those curtains undulating all around us like in a music video for some uber-romantic 1980’s rock ballad, his hard body covering mine as I claimed his lips with my own, writhing in desire as his hands slid under my clothing…
“I’m sorry,” he said huskily, his other hand coming up to my waist as if he could read my mind. “I wish I could explain…”
“Don’t bother,” I said, and tilted my head back for a kiss, my own arms coming up to grip his firm shoulders, when—
“Ahem.” A nervous cough broke the sexual tension like a winter boot stomping down on a thin pane of ice.
Asher and I broke apart quickly and guiltily, whirling to face the intruder.
“Excuse me,” said a man who looked awfully familiar, though I couldn’t place him right away.
He had thinning sandy hair, blue eyes, and the build of somebody who used to play football but who had lately taken to not throwing back anything besides beers and chips, a noticeable paunch rounding out his frame as he leaned in the doorway of the showroom, smirking slightly. How long had he been there?