25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
P aris. With Ethan.
It would sound like a fantasy if we were back in the Hawaii hotel room, and he was asking me to join him for personal reasons. But it’s not personal, and this ridiculous, arrogant, and equally hot man does not want to take me to Paris, and strip me naked, while feeding me chocolates and croissants in between ridiculously hot sex.
This is business.
Only business, and I force my mind to calm and settle into a logical place.
“As exciting as the opportunity sounds, and as honored as I’d be to earn a chance to prove myself as well as work with your friend, six weeks in Paris is an expense that would be challenging to make happen.”
“Your expenses will be paid, and you’ll receive compensation—a down payment on the future of the Zoey line, should we see fit to move forward with it.”
“Should you see fit, you mean, correct? ”
Surprise flares in his eyes, as he doesn’t expect me to pin him in the corner of truth, followed by amusement. “Yes. Should I decide.” He pushes to his feet.
I quickly follow.
“I have a meeting to attend,” he states, “and the ball is now in your court.”
I’m dismissed.
Only, I’m not really dismissed since he’s invited me to Paris, but I have so many questions he hasn’t answered and apparently doesn’t intend to answer. “When will I get the official offer?”
“Your compensation package will be sent to your hotel later this evening, along with a contract you’ll need to sign.”
That’s it then. I have to hope that everything I need to know is in those documents. If not, well, I guess I’ll email the gentleman who set-up the meeting, who was not present today. “Okay,” I say, but I don’t move. I just stare at Ethan, a memory from the dinner we’d shared in Hawaii flooding my mind. “I know I shouldn’t bring this up, but that night in Hawaii…”
His eyes darken, sharpen. “Has nothing to do with our business transaction.”
“Which I appreciate,” I reply. “I do, but I still need to say this. You told me ‘no regrets,’ but I do have regrets, and not about letting that night happen. But about letting it happen without telling you the truth of who I was. You have no idea how many times that night I felt that regret, and how much I wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I felt—I felt trapped in my own stupidity. I still do, but I just wanted you to know, when I said I’m sorry, it was sincere. I’ll look forward to the offer.”
He doesn’t speak, his stare heavy-lidded and intense, the air around us snapping and crackling—that night of intimacy most definitely between us. I hold my breath, not sure what it is I want him to say or do, but I am so hyperaware of this man that it cannot be good for our business relationship.
Finally, his stare meets mine, his gaze piercing and forceful as he says, “The documents will be forthcoming.”
And just like that, I’m dismissed again.
There’s a punch in my chest with the certainty he’s done with me, but as he’d told me in Hawaii, he’s an investor, and he sees something in me and my brand that he’s not willing to let a night in Hawaii destroy. This should please me, but as I say, “Understood,” and start walking toward the door, it does not. In fact, I’m spiraling emotionally, and I can’t even identify why. I just…am.
My hand is on the doorknob when I hear him say, “And yet, you don’t understand at all.”
His voice is low and gravelly, with a snap of anger to it. I do not believe he intends for me to hear. This was not for my ears, and yet, I heard, and I have never been so confused in my life. What don’t I understand? But I don’t turn and ask—not here, not now, and maybe not ever.
I walk out of the door.
I find my way back to the lobby, and Cindy greets me. “Well?”
“It was good. We’re talking through partnership options.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she beams. “There’s a car waiting on you downstairs.” She hands me a piece of paper. “My number, if you want to have drinks tonight or another night you’re in town. I’m obsessed with your designs. I’d love to hear all about your plans.”
My head spins with the joy of the compliment. “Thank you. I love hearing that. And I’d love to get together when I know more about what is going on. Thank you for being so sweet.”
She hugs me, and I head downstairs.
The ride to the hotel is long and traffic-laden, but finally I’m in my room, anxiously waiting for the package that just plain doesn’t arrive. I can’t seem to get through to the front desk, so I decide I’ll go down and ask about a package, but once I’m there, the representatives can’t find anything for me. I’m beaten and wounded, certain I said too much to Ethan, and ruined my opportunity. I don’t regret what I said, though. I feel it needed to be spoken out loud.
I decide I need a place to put my nervous energy. I go to my room, change into gym clothes, and workout for a good two hours, which includes an hour on the treadmill listening to an audio book. My mind needs something other than Ethan and the pitch to focus on. When I'm done, I return to my hotel room and call downstairs. Still no package for me.
A long shower later, I change into leggings and a tank, not about to try to impress Ethan, who is likely long gone. I'm going to stop tormenting myself with the idea that this package is still coming. Ethan, I decide, does like games. And he's played one big head game with me. It's hard to believe he'd do such a thing, and waste time and money, but here we are, or here I am.
While I’d thought to avoid the bar earlier, for fear of running into Ethan, which ended up happening, I doubt seriously that’s a problem at this point. I decide I need a drink and food tonight, and screw designs and fretting. I’m done with it all. I head into the bar and find a booth far in the back of the bar where I won’t be seen, just in case Ethan should come in, chiding myself for leaving that option open.
I sit down, order a lemon drop, and I’m halfway through it, feeling buzzed and feeling like I need food, and stat, when an envelope slides in front of me, right before Ethan settles in the seat across from me. I all but choke on a swallow of my drink, my eyes wide, adrenaline surging through me like liquid fire, or maybe that’s him that’s the fire.
“Hi,” I murmur, because it’s the only words I seem to know how to utter when I see this man.
“Hi,” he repeats, and there’s a softness to his eyes now where they’d been brutal and judgmental before.
“I should warn you that I’ve been drinking and have not eaten, which means I have no filter and can’t possibly play word roulette with you and win.”
“Sounds like the game is in my favor.”
“Is that what we’re doing? Playing a game?”
“No, Sofia. We are not playing a game at all, but we do need to talk.”
“About the contract?”
“About all the things you do not understand.”