Billion Dollar Beast - Olivia Hayle Page 0,59
before? Another guest room?
Shameless, relentless, I push it open.
I’m greeted by a veritable explosion of fabric, clothes, what looks like mood boards and charts… buried underneath it all is something that looks like a desk. The steel corner of an iMac peeks out behind a giant cardboard box.
Organized chaos, indeed.
I run my hand over the sleek, skimpy fabric on hangers and try to get a closer look at the pictures she’s pinned to the wall. Above it all is a quote.
Work in silence, let success be your noise.
It makes me smile. Not in amusement, but in recognition of just how Blair it is. I can see her with her hair up, printing this out and pinning it up, determination on her features.
There’s an audible intake of breath behind me. “Nick?”
Blair is standing in the doorway. She’s wrapped a robe loosely around her waist. Any sleepiness in her gaze evaporates as she looks from me to my surroundings.
“Your office?”
“Yes.” Her eyes keep darting to the lingerie on hangers, as if I’ve walked in on a crime scene.
I reach out and touch the silk carefully. “Something you’d rather keep under wraps?”
“Perhaps.”
“All right.” I run a finger over the lacy cup of a bra. “Although you’re leaving me with a lot of possible options here. Do you work part-time as an amateur lingerie model or something?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? There’s an awful lot of it right here.”
Just as I’d expected, her arms rise to cross over her chest. It’s Blair’s classic attack mode, one I’ve been on the receiving end of for years. I’m glad it’s not lost entirely.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“If you’re not going to tell me…”
She sighs. “I can’t tell you, because then you might tell Cole.”
Unease, at that. There are already too many things I’m forced to keep from him—Blair key amongst them. “What makes you think I would?”
Her teeth worry her lower lip. “Will you promise me you won’t?”
For a split second, I consider saying no—avoiding deepening… this, between us. I’m on a balancing rope, tipping too much to the Blair side of the equation before wrenching myself back onto the Cole side.
But then I register the emotion in her eyes. Trust. She’s looking at me like she already knows my answer, and it’s yes. My will crumbles like drywall under a sledgehammer.
“I promise,” I vow.
She puts a hand on my arm and turns me around, pointing at a set of logos on the far end of the wall. “I’m starting another fashion company,” she says carefully. “It’ll be very different from last time. My name won’t be anywhere on it.”
Ah.
Her hesitations make sense, now. The backlash she received after the last time was enough to make anyone with less conviction pack up their bags and leave the industry all together.
Blair hadn’t. She’d ridden out the ridicule and continued showing up to fashion events, dressed impeccably, and slowly restoring her influence as someone with taste.
Her eyes dart from the logos to mine. “I’ll launch it without any connection to me. Until it has solid sales numbers, I won’t be the face of it.”
Yes, her hesitation definitely makes sense.
She releases me and hurries forward. “Remember these?” she says, fishing in a box for a pair of panties.
“Yes,” I say darkly, “I do.”
The ones she’d worn to the strip poker game in Whistler. The little beige flowers had haunted me.
“Well, I’ll start off with lingerie. Made for all women, all shapes, all sizes, all colors. Flattering on the form. And then I’ll move on to slips, functional bras, fashion tape, anything you might need to make your already existing wardrobe work better.”
I reach out and run my hand over a packaging box with silk ribbons. It looks expensive. “Who are your investors?”
“I don’t have any.”
My eyes snap back to hers. “You’re financing this yourself? All of it?”
“Yes.” There’s something in her eyes I can’t quite name. Pride, certainly, but…
“It’s risky as hell,” I say honestly. “Why haven’t you involved Cole in this?”
“Because I want people to respect it.”
“People would.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Would they? After last time? I don’t think so. You didn’t receive any help with starting your company,” she points out. “Would you respect me if I did? Seattle certainly didn’t last time I launched something.”
Ah.
A suspicion grows. I walk around the room, looking at the piles of samples and packaging and mood boards. “How long have you been working on this?”
“A bit over two years.”
“A bit?”
“More like three,” she admits.
“Right.”
She worries her lip again. When she speaks, I can tell