Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Put that on my list.” I don’t look up from the iPad. “I’ll talk to Kerris myself about partnering with us. Anything else we need to discuss?”
“I’m in communication with Jo Walsh Mitchell about the partnership with the Walsh Foundation,” Marlee says. “We’re discussing co-promotion opportunities, brand placement, and other ways we can link the two entities.”
“Sounds great.” I scribble my name in one of the Moleskine journals I keep handy all the time lately.
“And that illustrator you were interested in using for the site will be at the party tonight.” Stil takes a sip of her chai tea latte. “Maybe try to cozy up to her at some point.”
“Oh!” I look up from my scribblings, a smile taking over. “She does those Megan Hess kind of drawings, right? Yeah. I’ll meet her tonight.”
I stand, signaling the team that our meeting is over.
“Let me know if you need anything from me. Good meeting, guys. You’re doing an amazing job.”
I take the seat behind my desk, not looking up from the profit projection spreadsheet we distributed during the meeting as they all drift out of the office. Stil pauses at the door, resting her shoulder there.
“François Gerrard sent over some things for you to consider wearing to the party tonight,” she says.
“Oh?” I slide my spreadsheets to the side. “Lemme see.”
Stil steps back into the lobby and rolls a garment rack back in. I count six options. Two immediately stand out—a black strapless jumpsuit with dipping cleavage and narrow legs, and a caramel-hued long-sleeve minidress that would probably mold every curve I’ve got.
“I’ll probably get ready here, so his timing couldn’t be better.” I run my hands over my sleek ponytail. “What do you think for my hair and makeup?”
Stil tilts her head, squeezing on eye closed. She’ll always be a makeup artist at heart, and I trust her opinion completely.
“You’re doing it yourself?”
I nod. After fifteen years in the hands of the world’s greatest makeup artists and stylists, I know all their tricks and can achieve the same effects when I have to. We talk through a few options until a clear vision for the night emerges.
“I guess François wants you in his stuff as much as possible now that the Goddess deal has been inked.” Stil grins, the stud in her left nostril glinting. “Can you believe you’re gonna have your own perfume, Sof?”
I hold my chin in the palm of my hand and tap my fingers against my face. François was one of the first designers to give me a chance when I was eighteen and had never even walked a runway.
“Well, it’s his perfume. He’s just using my face to sell it.” I circle my index finger around the lip of my empty coffee cup, setting aside my cynicism long enough to smile about something I never would have seen coming. “It is pretty cool, though. We should see if he’s willing to sell it on Haven.”
“Oh, connect the dots.” Stil turns toward the outer office. “I’ll call his people and set up a convo. Want a salad from the bistro downstairs?”
“Yes, please.” I pick up my iPad to review the items we discussed at the meeting. “I’m starving already.”
Stil’s Loubs echo across the floor as she leaves the suite. Down the passageway, I hear the elevator ding for the doors to open. As soon as I know she’s safely descending toward the bistro, I flip back to my Google search of Trevor Bishop. I watch three more videos, all of them captivating. It isn’t the hint of stubble coating his square chin, or the dimples hole-punching his lean cheeks. Nor is it the intimidating breadth of his shoulders. It’s not even that ass that has me watching video after video, reading post after post, article after article about him.
Trevor Bishop tempts me, intrigues me, even inspires me. Few men have managed to do that all at once. He’s a species I’ve rarely encountered in my years of hurried hookups, illicit affairs, and dead-end flirtations.
He’s a good man. I have no use for good men, and despite what they may think when they look at me, they have no use for me. A good man should have a good girl.
And that I’ve never been.
CHAPTER SIX
Trevor
I’m not sure this will work.
Walsh Bennett is sharp, brilliant, resourceful, and, from what I can tell, a man of integrity. He lives up to and even exceeds his reputation. Unfortunately, so does Ernest Baston. I’m not sure I can do business with that man. He’s ruthless, heartless, and I’m pretty sure underwent a conscience lobotomy decades ago. After spending the morning meeting with him, I could use a full-body soak in hand sanitizer.
“So what’d you think?” Harold asks as we wait for the elevator.
I know Harold wants this deal to happen, but we’ve worked too hard to get Deutimus where it is, achieving what it’s doing for the people it’s helping, to take the first offer that comes our way. We’re not desperate. We’re in pole position. We’ve made the smart moves to put us there, and Ernest Baston won’t fool me into thinking differently.