Chapter 35
Before we left for the day, I had to work out. She isn’t the only one who’s sexually frustrated. I had to at least break a sweat and get my mind off her for a minute. Tonight’s going to be so much better with all this pent-up anticipation.
Exiting the bathroom after my shower with a towel around my waist, I find Dani sitting on the bed in deep concentration on her laptop. Her hair is still damp, and she’s wearing jeans and an oversized turtleneck sweater.
“Stop biting your nails,” I playfully scold. “Are you working?”
“So what if I am,” she teases, then takes a long look at my body. I can’t wait to spank this little brat. I get the feeling she isn’t going to be new to that type of play, and she might even be into a little power struggle.
“This is the kind of service you would get if I were your publicist.”
“What are you working on?” I arch a brow, leaving an innuendo-laced response unsaid.
“Fighting about word choice with a reporter for an article that just came out. I’ve been waiting three weeks for this bad boy.” She turns her laptop toward me, and there is a fellow PropTech CEO’s headshot as the main photo of the article. “Splashy stuff.” She beams, proud.
“How come you didn’t do the press release for my deal with Harris Ventures?”
“Adam—”
“Whose name is on your lips?” I interrupt her.
“Gideon is the only name on my lips.”
“Naughty girl.”
She shrugs. “Someone whose name is not Gideon said it was too big a risk to have me do the press release since I’d never done one for that size of deal.”
I could have met her in November if Adam wasn’t such an ass.
“Anyone would have covered a three-hundred-million-dollar investment.”
“I know!” She laughs, then asks, “Have you checked out our view of the lake?”
“Yeah.” Lake Michigan borders Traverse City. “From this height, it’s almost like looking out into the ocean. Did you check the weather?”
“Almost sixty! Finally, winter is ending.”
Sliding on a white T-shirt, charcoal quarter zip, black joggers, and Allbirds tennis shoes, I notice she is intently watching me. “Do you not like what I’m wearing?”
She bites her lip. “I like what you are wearing—a lot.”
“Putting on a jacket?”
“I’ll be plenty warm.”
I stalk to the bed and lean down. “Whatever you say,” I whisper and kiss her. “Let’s explore!”
“I like this,” she says, pinching my sweater as we wait for the elevator.
“Ministry of Supply,” I share.
“Founded by MIT grads.” She winks. “I’m familiar with the company.”
“Why’s that?” As the elevator doors open, I guide her in with a gentle hand on her back. Raising my brows at her, I’m surprised because the brand isn’t that mainstream. I hope Adam doesn’t also wear it. Dread washes over my face because of how intertwined this guy is with our lives.
“I used to obsessively watch their marketing,” she adds.
I question with a smoldering look and arch of my brow while playfully pressing her against the glass elevator wall. I love towering over her.
Her breath catches. “They were one of our competitors.” She rests her hands on my hips. “Especially for the price point and ethos.”
“Our?” What is she talking about? I step back, and the elevator door opens. Gesturing her to exit first, I squeeze her ass and follow behind.
“I used to do marketing for a startup called Shirts.” Dani hesitantly adds, “Well, I was one of the co-founders and did the marketing.”
“I knew you were not a typical PR girl.” I nudge her as we leave the hotel. Grabbing her hand, I guide us toward Main Street. “Tell me about this company.”
“A few years ago, a friend of a friend had a really good idea. He wanted to make men’s dress shirts out of recycled plastic bottles. Shirts for the ethical bro.” She giggles. “This is a long story. Just so you know.”
She’s letting me in, finally. “Good thing there’s beer in both of our futures, then.” I kiss the top of her head, seeing the beer tents nearing.
“He was from New York and well-connected. Especially with factories in New Jersey, so the products could be made in America, upcycled, and all those amazing PR buzzwords.”
“I’ve heard of this before …” I say, squeezing her hand. Shirts. Declan wears those button-downs. I remember him mentioning it on a panel we were on together. “It’s starting to ring a bell.”
“You probably heard a few things about the face of the company—Derek?” she tests, and I shake my head. “He’s Brandon Dubois’s fault,” she says, almost under her breath.
“Dubois?” I repeat back. “Like the king of hedge fund Dubois?”
“Yeah, that’s Brandon’s dad. Kent loves me, by the way; that’s a flex I hold dear,” she says, radiating her gorgeous smile.
“We have to pause,” I say, curious about this connection.
“No.”
“You casually know Kent Dubois?” There are seemingly endless layers to her. Each one reveals something more intriguing. “How did I not see that you’re a rich kid?”
Dani playfully punches my arm. “Oh. No. No. Let me keep telling you this story,” she says. “A few summers ago, I became friends with his son, Brandon.”
“Friends or … ?”
“Friends. He had a crush on me, but I never had those feelings for him. Now, back to the real story, Gideon.”
We walk up to the closed-off street with rows of beer tents, a folk band playing on a stage, and fire pits and tables scattered around.
“So, when I was a year out of college, hating my entry-level marketing job,” she continues as we weave through the crowd, “Derek, the ideas guy, told me about his business idea, and I thought I could add a lot of value to the marketing. So, I joined him.”
Her eyes scan the offerings on each tent as we pass by. “Double chocolate stout?” Her voice raises. “Yes! Those are always so good.”
We stand in the short line, and I snake my arm around her waist, pulling her in close.
“I love everything about menswear—especially men in menswear,” she flirts, looking up at me. I lean down and press a long kiss on her lips.
“I brought the girlfriend perspective to the product and otherwise really stayed in my lane for marketing. Working there, I found my passion for PR, and the company served as my entry point into the world of startups.”
She’s had a founder’s experience. She’ll understand the long, lonely, exhausting road I’m on. I smile, falling for her more and more with every word she speaks.
“We’ll have a double chocolate stout and a pale ale,” I order.
“Boring,” she whispers as I pay.
“The day is young.”
Beers in hand, we walk toward a sea of picnic tables.
“So, you might think the story’s over. It hasn’t even started yet.” She laughs to herself.
I love her confidence and playfulness.
“We started off with a lot of success and were able to land Harris Ventures within six months of launching the product.”
“Is that how you met … ?” I hate how much Adam comes up and that he’s had her.
“Surprisingly, no. He doesn’t involve himself with investments under ten million dollars. We raised three million.”
We sit across from each other at the end of one of the picnic tables and clink our glasses.
“Why is none of this experience in your bio?” I ask, grabbing her hand, which is cold to the touch. I knew she should have worn a jacket. I cup it and try to warm her hand up.
“Like I said, this is a messy story, and my hands are always cold.”
I raise my brow. They are not. “How did you meet him?” I pry.
“Not today. We agreed not to say his name.”