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

assisted Dad with his, and ran her voodoo doll craze on the side. She’d thought quitting her job and building her doll business would help them get out of the rat race altogether, only she’d been wrong. I hoped I could help her change that.
    I make fun of my mom’s dolls, but she’s innovative. She saw some guy at a trade show with the dolls, and he apparently did well. But he must have closed down his business, because she’d wanted to purchase one just two months later and couldn’t find any way to do it. She didn’t want to copy his, but she wanted a different version of that doll you smash against things when you’re mad, and her version of the voodoo doll became a hit. At least at first.
    I worked hard for Marla, too, so I didn’t fall far from the tree. As I sat down at the bar in the hotel room kitchen and opened my gift from Hugo, I wondered, did I have what it took to run a business? Yes, I know, I keep fighting my head. But I’m still a kid in some ways. I think I know everything, then in the dark corners of my mind a voice says, Girl, you don’t know shit. This road is frickin’ hard! You gotta be ready to take your licks. Can you take a licking and keep on kicking?
    I contemplated that question over and over. I’d had a pretty easy road until Miles T-boned me by boning my boss. I’d barely had a pothole, much less a speed bump. Did I have what it took to succeed on my own? Or had I had it so easy, I didn’t know how to stare hard work in the face and be the boss?
    The other voice in my head sounded a lot like my dad. Oh, hell yeah, you got this, girl. You’re a Tucker.
    I opened the MacBook and saw it wasn’t fully charged. For my own mind, I had to have it fully charged before using it. Damn. I’d been excited to work on a blog post. I pulled the cords from the plastic wrap and plugged the computer in. The connection wasn’t USB, but some metallic, little magnet doodad. Cool.
    I went to my bedroom, disappointed that Hugo hadn’t chased after me. Then, I didn’t expect Hugo ever chased after a girl. I peeled out of my clothes and pulled on my sweats, then lay on top of the bed and checked Facebook, Snapchat, Twitter, and Instagram from my phone.
    Gwen checked in from Germany. Orlean posted selfies with Bruce, not afraid to do it, now that I knew about them. Blech! I mean I couldn’t help but be happy for them, but did it have to be my good friend and my brother? How were we going to talk about sex? Gross. And did they have to play video games together?
    I opened my iBooks app and found a book I’d purchased months ago. An interesting romantic suspense novel. I needed to escape the real world for a few hours, so I started reading.
    I enjoy a good love story. As I read, I wished for this kind of love. I wished Hugo could be a regular Joe, and we could be more than client and stylist. Then I wished Hugo could be fat, and ugly, and mean, so I wouldn’t be so damned attracted to him. I kept picturing him as the hero in the story.
    I must have fallen asleep while reading, because when I jolted awake, the clock read two in the morning. I had curled into the covers, my phone still in my hand. I bolted upright in bed when I heard banging.
    What? What the hell? Where was I? My mind took a moment to orientate itself.
    Aria Hotel, crazy girl, and you’re alone in a room you can’t afford .
    The banging started again. Were they coming to kick me out?
    I got out of bed and walked out into the living room. The banging came from the door of the hotel room. I looked in the peephole.
    I opened the door wide. “Do you know what time it is?” I snapped.
    Hugo stepped forward and wrapped his arms around me. “You’re fired,” he said.
    I tried to pull away. “What? What did I do?”
    He pulled me in closer and said, “I can’t do this with my employee. And if you’re my stylist, you’re kind of like an employee.” He kissed me on the mouth.
    I moved my head back. “Hugo, you’ve already kissed