The Billionaire's Princess - Ava Ryan Page 0,50
could have. Hobbies, clothes, hair, makeup. You name it, it was all overseen by my father with an eye toward making sure I never embarrassed the family. One time, I wanted to get a part-time job with my friends at a pet-grooming salon, but he refused because, and this is a direct quote, ‘the optics are bad.’ And you should’ve seen the fight we had when I insisted on going to NYU instead of Cambridge. That was pretty much the first and only time I stood up for myself.”
Damon stills, looking stricken.
“I’ve had enough of being managed and suffocated and arranged like some Barbie doll inside her princess house. It’s my life. I’ll make the decisions.”
“Of course it’s your life. No one’s arguing about that.”
“Well, thank God.”
“But I’m here now. It’s my job to make life easier for you and to protect you.”
Something inside me snaps, unleashing my full temper.
“I just told you I’m not a doll! I will take care of myself even if no one I know thinks I can! No one hired you to protect me!”
The words are still ringing through the air when the realization hits me that I may have gone too far and crossed the line into hurtful.
And that’s before I see him recoil as though I’ve just whacked him across the face with his beautiful bouquet of flowers.
“No one…hired me?” he asks, his voice deathly quiet.
I can’t back-pedal fast enough. “Obviously, I didn’t mean—”
“Help me out with that one, princess. Are you telling me not to care about you? Because—news flash—I don’t need your permission for that.”
“I’m sorry. This is all new to me.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I just… I know people think of me as a spoiled princess.”
He frowns. “What people? Not me.”
“A lot of people. It’s a dismissive attitude people have. They don’t think I’ll be around for long. My teachers were always surprised when I worked hard and applied myself in school. My father’s biggest ambition was to marry me off to Percy. It’s like no one expects much from me. And I never expected that much for myself, to be truthful. I’ve certainly never been fully in charge of my own life. But I am now. Do you want to hear my plans?”
“Of course I want to hear,” he says, leaning in.
“Okay,” I say, suddenly nervous. Here I am with my silly little half-formed career path talking to a titan of his industry. I’d hate for him to realize what a flake I am this early in our relationship. “I’ve got a huge stockpile of paintings from school. I’m going to sell them online. I’ve already commissioned someone to build my website and help with my social media presence. I’ll work with a broker to begin with, but the world of selling art online is really growing. I think I might be able to—”
“Brilliant.”
“—grow my presence— Wait, what?”
“Brilliant.”
I breathe into an ecstatic and relieved grin. “Really?”
“Really. But there are a lot of issues. Do you want to incorporate, or not? What about sales taxes? What kind of commission do these brokers command? Will that be worth it? You need a lawyer. You’ll need safe but inexpensive shipping—”
“I know, I know,” I say, the enormity of my task starting to sink in. “I’m already working on it.”
“And what about a studio? You’ll need space for all this.”
“Well, that’s one good thing,” I say happily. “I’m signing on to share space with Michele. She’s got a huge studio.”
“Well done, princess,” he says. “When will all this launch?”
“Hopefully the first of the year.”
“Good. What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” I say, now surprised and pleased by his willingness to help. Which was probably the reaction he expected in the first place. “I really appreciate the offer, though. Let me think about it.”
“I want to make sure you have everything you need. Like I said, I know people. I can snap my fingers and it’s all done.”
“I’m beginning to see why you’re at the top of your game,” I say with amused exasperation. “You’re relentless. Only maybe wait until I get a chance to think about it and get back to you before you start snapping your fingers like a genie.”
He scowls. “Fuck that. Give me a task. It’s against my nature to sit around doing nothing.”
I laugh at his intensity. “You’re exhausting.”
“You have no idea,” he says. “So…?”
“For right now? I plan to take a quick shower, since I smell like the inside of the British Airways cabin. I’d love a massage