Billion Dollar Beast - Olivia Hayle Page 0,7

smile is wide. “Perfect. And who knows, perhaps the two of you will finally get to know one another better?”

My smile doesn’t even falter. “Yes, who knows?”

Nick doesn’t pick up the phone himself. I speak to his assistant instead, a no-nonsense man with an equally no-nonsense tone of voice. He pauses briefly when I introduce myself.

“Porter?” he says in clarification. “Blair Porter?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll run it by Mr. Park immediately and get back to you within the hour.”

He calls me back within ten minutes, and this time, his voice is nothing short of glacial. Whatever Nick’s reaction was, it certainly hasn’t warmed his assistant toward me.

I wish I could have seen it. Did he dramatically sweep all his things off his desk in a fit of anger? Or perhaps brood coldly, his hands white-knuckled around the edge of his desk?

“Mr. Park is glad you accepted,” his assistant lies coolly. “You’re welcome to come into the office tomorrow morning. We’ll send you more detailed instructions by email within the hour.”

My head spins as I hang up the phone. The decision to agree had been impulsive—driven by the desire to tell Nick off, to show him up. To beat back against his belief that I’m nothing but a socialite and a failed fashion designer.

I push back from the desk in my home office and look around at my mood boards, at the rack of samples in the corner. Above my desk is a framed quote. Work in silence, let success be your noise. The next time I launch a brand, it will be quietly. It won’t have my name on it. And it will be a success.

I run a hand over the smooth silk of a slip skirt. Solutions for everyday women, that’s my concept. Making the clothes you already own look good—no need to buy more. Extensions for bra straps. No-line panties. Beautiful T-shirt bras and shapewear and sneaker socks. Everything for the modern woman’s closet, available to order online, in beautiful packaging. Well, it will be available, once it’s launched.

But it’ll have to wait a little while longer—long enough that I can show both my brother and Nick that I’ve still got it.

There’s something about confronting a man you know dislikes you. It’s reckless power and churning nerves and fire in my stomach. It’s made worse still, somehow, when it’s a man you once harbored a stupid crush on. That crush is long gone by now—driven away by his consistent harshness and dismissal. Whittled away by comments about my status as a trophy invite and inveterate shopaholic.

But I’ve never been one to back down, and when it comes to Nicholas Park, it’s not even an option. That would mean surrender, and surrender means defeat, because that’s the only language a man like him understands.

So I show up bright and early the next day at his office. Located in a mid-rise in downtown Seattle, it’s nothing like the shiny skyscrapers my brother prefers.

A simple sign by the front door, so small you’d miss it if you didn’t know you were looking for it.

Park Incorporated.

I’ve dressed for the part, my clothing my armor. My hair is glossy and blonde down my back and the belt of my trench coat is double-knotted around my waist. One fashion consultant at your service, Nick.

I’m greeted instead by a no-bullshit woman in her mid-forties. A faint frown mars her features.

“You’re Blair Porter,” she points out.

It’s not a question, but I nod regardless. “Yes, that’s me.”

“I’m Gina Davies, hello. Mr. Park told me to expect you. Let’s get you set up and briefed. I’m told you have a background in fashion and business?”

“I do, yes. A bachelor on the subject and two internships, not to mention personal business experience.” I meet her unflinching gaze. If she’s aware of the fiasco of my former fashion brand, I can’t tell.

“Excellent. Here’s your desk. I expect you’ll be visiting different stores or working while traveling, but while you’re here, this is yours.” She pushes a thick file over to me and a laptop bag. “Here is all the information you’ll need on B.C. Adams. Mr. Park will brief you himself this afternoon, but for now, get acquainted with the firm.”

“I’m already fairly well acquainted,” I say, sinking down in the seat. “I used to be a regular customer.”

It’s meant as a lighthearted comment, but Gina seems to take it seriously. “Then maybe you can see why they’ve been failing to attract customers for the last decade. We need to turn