Style (Dressing a Billionaire Book 2): A Romantic Comedy by Jamie Lee Scott

throw myself whole hog into whatever project I’m working on. I can’t not be this way.”
    I sat back down on the bed, crossing my legs and facing him. “There has to be a happy medium.”
    Again, he reached for my hand. This time I pulled away.
    “So, whole hog with Kelsey, then? I mean, it’s been years. Was she the reason you left the fundraiser? You did say you saw her there. That has to mean you still have feelings for her. And now, apparently, she’s admitting hers for you.”
    “She wasn’t supposed to be there. Stella assured me.”
    “And yet she was, and you fled.”
    He doubled the pillow under his head. “Come lay down with me, and let’s not talk about Kelsey. We’re having such a great time. I love being with you, and she’s a downer for us.”
    Us. The word reverberated around in my head. Us. Was there really an us?
    “Sorry.” I moved around and lay down beside him. “It’s not my business anyway. I barely know you, and I don’t know her at all. I’m only hoping she’s not the jealous type and makes you have a male stylist, or won’t want you to have female friends.” I rolled over onto my left side, so I could look at him.
    He stared at the ceiling, not blinking for almost a minute. His profile caught me off guard. So masculine and rugged, where from the front he still had a boyish charm.
    He rolled toward me. “Tell me about your dreams.”
    The king of avoiding the subject.
    “Like real dreams or fantasy?”
    “Both.” His face dead serious.
    “Short term or long term?”
    “You’re thinking too much, just start talking. I want to know more about you.” He blinked, and I wanted to lick his long lashes.
    “I want to build my business, helping people find their personal style. I want to be self-sufficient and never have to depend on anyone ever again.” I paused. “I mean not that I’ve ever depended on anyone.”
    “Not even Miles?”
    “Especially not him,” I snapped.
    “But you lived with him. And when things went south, you moved, not him.”
    Way to throw a hard ball.
    “I don’t want to talk about Miles,” I said. “I’m really tired. And full.”
    I sat up and got up from the bed.
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I really do want to know more about you.”
    “We talked all day, Hugo. I told you about my childhood, and college, and a bit about Marla. There’s not much else.”
    He sat up. “Don’t go.”
    I walked out of the room. “I’m taking the Mac with me. I might get some work done tonight.”
    I rushed into the dining room, grabbed the laptop, and hurried out of his hotel room.
    Once out in the hallway, I smacked myself in the head with the MacBook box. What the hell did I just do? I walked out on Hugo.
    Marla had warned me early in my career with, “We aren’t like them. We work for them.” As I let myself into my room, I mumbled, “She’s right.” While I still hated Marla, she contributed to me becoming confident and fantastic at my job. I had to thank the bitch for that.
    It’s like the sales guy at CD. I couldn’t afford the clothes either. I bought them for other people, not for myself. And Hugo didn’t purchase a $10,000 handbag for me, he purchased a $500 one. That said a lot, even though he probably didn’t mean for it to. Or I hoped he didn’t. I simply hoped he grabbed the first thing he saw and didn’t even look at the tag.
    We didn’t run in the same circles, and even though his early childhood could be said to be worse than mine by far, it didn’t make us who we were now. He’d grown up with wealth and work ethic. I grew up middle class with work ethic. Two different circuses, three rings apart.
    I understood Kelsey’s parents having doubts about Hugo’s history. Especially with addiction being hereditary. Maybe pursuing pipe dreams ran in my family.
    My dad thought he’d get ahead of the rat race by being self-employed. The government made sure he couldn’t get too rich doing that. My mom worked her job,