The Billionaire Game 3(30)

“You look really beautiful,” he continued. Huh, apparently this guy didn’t even know where the friend zone was on the map.

“Thanks,” I said. I tried to think of an appearance-based compliment that wouldn’t be a complete lie. “Your suit looks like it was really expensive.”

“Five thousand dollars,” he bragged. “I bought it just for this event. Nothing but the best for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to.” His hand was caressing my arm now, which, ew, creepy. I immediately abandoned all my previous thoughts that he might be a decent guy. His voice dipped lower. “I want to do everything I can to help you.”

“Thanks, I think I’m good.” I started to reach for the door handle again.

“You’re better than good.” He leaned in, his cologne almost suffocating me as he pursed his lips for a kiss.

Uh, ew, not in a thousand years.

I dodged the kiss and gave him a quick hug instead. “Well, nice to see you, chat later, bye!”

And then I made my extremely rapid escape.

Making out with Brody Dalton would have been one surefire way to make Asher jealous, but even that didn’t make it worth it.





NINE




When Blossom put on a fashion show, damn, they put on a fashion show.

Music pulsed so loud that it made my fillings rattle, lights flashed like they were trying to send a dozen different simultaneous messages in Morse code, and everywhere you looked models and designers hustled and bustled, shouted orders, and had meltdowns.

I would have had a meltdown myself if I’d had the time for it. As it was, I was huddled backstage hiding from the other drama queen designers and making last minute adjustments to my models.

“Lean a bit to your right, there, Sasha, I just need to pin this…”

With Evangeline’s help, I had narrowed down my products to ones that showcased five distinct looks: classic, sexy, sweet, exotic, and artistic—artistic in the sense of ‘you could never actually wear this,’ but Evangeline had assured me that it wasn’t a fashion show until someone walked down the aisle in an outfit made entirely out of umbrellas or tea leaves or something equally ridiculous. It helped the establishment look more daring, and made the new designers’ radical real ideas look positively reasonable by comparison.

“There you go,” I said, making my final adjustment to Sasha’s cobalt peek-a-boo teddy—she was doing Sweet tonight, and she looked just darling in her blonde pigtails.

“Next up, Colleen…”

An Irish model strode forth in the red and black merry widow that I’d chosen for Sexy. I quickly scanned it for loose threads; my idea to use an experimental fabric was looking less brilliant with every one I found. Was its iridescence really worth this hassle? We had to go onstage in less than ten minutes!

This was a huge deal, and I couldn’t afford to mess it up. The audience was packed with more press than I’d ever seen in one place, not to mention potential mentors and possible clients with deep pockets. All eyes were going to be on my work, and if there was a single flaw—

“You’re good,” I said. “Alright, Hillary, Alysha, and Keisha Mae, I know we’ve already been over your outfits but since we’ve got the time—”

“Excuse me, if I could just intrude for a minute?” A portly gentleman tapped on my shoulder, and I found myself face to face with Donald Perthuis, head of Slips ‘N More. I recognized him from the logo. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations.”

“Th-th-thank you,” I stammered, stunned and overwhelmed and with my fingers still itching to adjust the straps on Keisha Mae’s brassiere. “It’s such an honor to meet you in person—”

“Right back at you, my dear,” he said affably. He slid a companionable arm around my shoulders, and began to lead me away from the worst of the backstage noise. “We’ve been so worried not to hear from you this week. Cutting it a bit close to the wire, aren’t we?”

“I—I, well, I’ve been busy—”

“Of course you have!” he said, jovial and reassuring as a twinkly-eyed Santa Claus. “And we wouldn’t dream of causing you any more stress at such a high-stakes time. No, we simply wanted to let you know how much we value the work you’re doing, the designs you’re creating. Who knows what we could offer you in addition to what’s already on the table? There’s a very real possibility that our head designer will be stepping down soon. How would you like to step into their shoes?”

“I—I would love—” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “Mr. Perthuis, this is such an honor, and I swear you’ll hear from me by tomorrow, but my girls are on in five minutes and I absolutely have to have my head in this game right now.”