watch
you do that. Not when I know what you could do if you started
believing in yourself.”
Her words stung worse than ripping a
Band-Aid off a sunburn, and it was probably because deep down, I knew
they were true.
I was using my suspicions about Asher’s
intentions to shield me from the possibility of finding out that yet
another man only wanted me for one thing.
“You really think he’s
figured out a way to make this work?” I said sarcastically, but
it was a token protest and I knew it.
“You’ll never find out if
you don’t go,” Lacey pointed out.
And she was right.
I gave her a hug, and she hugged me
back tightly.
“Damn, I hate it when you’re
the right one,” I said with a sigh. “That’s
supposed to be my job.”
#
“You’re fucking kidding
me,” I breathed.
Asher looked crestfallen. “You
don’t like it?”
“Like it?” I demanded.
“Like it? Like it? Like it?!”
With every repetition, Asher’s
face fell further, like a hiker tumbling down a rocky slope.
“You don’t just like a place like this,” I declared. “You love it. You adore
it. You promise eternal devotion to it and buy it chocolates on its
birthday. You—” I looked around the space and was
overwhelmed all over again. “Damn, Asher. This is actually,
literally, one hundred percent perfect.”
A smile lit his face like a small sun,
but for once, I was looking at something more beautiful. Its pale
blue awning had peeked hopefully out of the side of the tall
building, and the moment I had stepped inside and seen the clean
lines, the open space with plenty of natural light, and the extensive
backrooms, I had fallen in love.
“You could set up some displays
here,” Asher said, walking to the focal point of the room.
“Something to catch the customers’ eyes as soon as they
come in. The back would be for storage of materials and your
apprentices’ workspaces—” he caught himself just in
time and made a rueful face. “If you like that plan, of course.
It’s up to you.”
I could see it now, and hear it—the
hum and whir of a half dozen sewing machines, the excited chatter of
customers, the rustle of satin and silk. My own studio—my heart
soared at the thought, my skin tingling and my mind racing as the
opportunity that Asher was offering me began to really sink in.
My own studio. My own studio. My own
studio.
I don’t think I’d ever
heard three more beautiful words in the English language.
“Why are you doing this?” I
asked. Not snappishly this time, just confused and awed and a little
afraid to believe that this was really happening. “Isn’t
my business small fry compared to your usual deals?”
He scuffed his shoe along the floor,
looking awkward for just a second before that charming smile bloomed
on his face again. “Even Prada had to start somewhere. Maybe
this won’t be an instant moneymaker for me, but you have
talent. This year, we open one store, but next year, who knows?
You’re going places, Kate. L.A., New York, Paris. I want to be
able to say I discovered you first.”
“You really think so?” I
asked, surprising myself with the painful lump in my throat as I
spoke the words.
“Of course,” he said
seriously. “I can have my lawyers draw up the contract this
afternoon: I’ll front the cash in exchange for minority
percentage of ownership. Are you in?”
He looked especially kissable in that
moment, all hopeful and earnest and excited, and a tiny bit
vulnerable as he waited for my answer. It was hard to remember all
the times he had made me so mad, hard to remember that there was
anything about this man that anyone could find infuriating.
There was a little whisper of worry in
the back of my mind that said I still didn’t know who the real
Asher was: was it the sweet man who reassured me that he believed in
me, and joked about his own failings? Or the condescending, flirty
asshole who had three girlfriends but still couldn’t keep his
sly winks and hands
you do that. Not when I know what you could do if you started
believing in yourself.”
Her words stung worse than ripping a
Band-Aid off a sunburn, and it was probably because deep down, I knew
they were true.
I was using my suspicions about Asher’s
intentions to shield me from the possibility of finding out that yet
another man only wanted me for one thing.
“You really think he’s
figured out a way to make this work?” I said sarcastically, but
it was a token protest and I knew it.
“You’ll never find out if
you don’t go,” Lacey pointed out.
And she was right.
I gave her a hug, and she hugged me
back tightly.
“Damn, I hate it when you’re
the right one,” I said with a sigh. “That’s
supposed to be my job.”
#
“You’re fucking kidding
me,” I breathed.
Asher looked crestfallen. “You
don’t like it?”
“Like it?” I demanded.
“Like it? Like it? Like it?!”
With every repetition, Asher’s
face fell further, like a hiker tumbling down a rocky slope.
“You don’t just like a place like this,” I declared. “You love it. You adore
it. You promise eternal devotion to it and buy it chocolates on its
birthday. You—” I looked around the space and was
overwhelmed all over again. “Damn, Asher. This is actually,
literally, one hundred percent perfect.”
A smile lit his face like a small sun,
but for once, I was looking at something more beautiful. Its pale
blue awning had peeked hopefully out of the side of the tall
building, and the moment I had stepped inside and seen the clean
lines, the open space with plenty of natural light, and the extensive
backrooms, I had fallen in love.
“You could set up some displays
here,” Asher said, walking to the focal point of the room.
“Something to catch the customers’ eyes as soon as they
come in. The back would be for storage of materials and your
apprentices’ workspaces—” he caught himself just in
time and made a rueful face. “If you like that plan, of course.
It’s up to you.”
I could see it now, and hear it—the
hum and whir of a half dozen sewing machines, the excited chatter of
customers, the rustle of satin and silk. My own studio—my heart
soared at the thought, my skin tingling and my mind racing as the
opportunity that Asher was offering me began to really sink in.
My own studio. My own studio. My own
studio.
I don’t think I’d ever
heard three more beautiful words in the English language.
“Why are you doing this?” I
asked. Not snappishly this time, just confused and awed and a little
afraid to believe that this was really happening. “Isn’t
my business small fry compared to your usual deals?”
He scuffed his shoe along the floor,
looking awkward for just a second before that charming smile bloomed
on his face again. “Even Prada had to start somewhere. Maybe
this won’t be an instant moneymaker for me, but you have
talent. This year, we open one store, but next year, who knows?
You’re going places, Kate. L.A., New York, Paris. I want to be
able to say I discovered you first.”
“You really think so?” I
asked, surprising myself with the painful lump in my throat as I
spoke the words.
“Of course,” he said
seriously. “I can have my lawyers draw up the contract this
afternoon: I’ll front the cash in exchange for minority
percentage of ownership. Are you in?”
He looked especially kissable in that
moment, all hopeful and earnest and excited, and a tiny bit
vulnerable as he waited for my answer. It was hard to remember all
the times he had made me so mad, hard to remember that there was
anything about this man that anyone could find infuriating.
There was a little whisper of worry in
the back of my mind that said I still didn’t know who the real
Asher was: was it the sweet man who reassured me that he believed in
me, and joked about his own failings? Or the condescending, flirty
asshole who had three girlfriends but still couldn’t keep his
sly winks and hands
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