Chapter 7
JUNO
Sitting in my office, I plucked at invisible lint on my dress, then caught myself and forced my hands down to my lap. I wasn’t nervous. I was just… mentally preparing. There was a difference.
Kari had told me ten minutes ago Hollis had arrived for our first meeting.
Let him wait.
I’d taken extra time this morning getting ready.
My hair was down today, falling in soft waves past my shoulders instead of pinned back.
I’d spent twenty minutes on my makeup, which was subtle but polished.
The navy dress I’d chosen fit perfectly, professional but flattering, and I paired it with my favorite heels, the ones that made me feel powerful with the heel an inch higher than I normally wore.
After his little intimidation tactic yesterday, I had dressed for battle.
Not because I was trying to impress him. Absolutely not.
Yesterday he’d seen me hungover, exhausted, looking like death warmed over. I needed him to see that wasn’t who I was. I was competent. Professional. Put together.
I was not a hot mess.
Who did he think he was anyway? Just another trust fund baby playing entrepreneur.
I’d seen dozens like him over the years.
Rich kids with famous parents who got bored with their yacht collections and decided to start a “business.” They’d throw money at some vanity project, hire people to do the actual work, then take all the credit when things went well or blame everyone else when they didn’t.
Hollis Blackwell was probably no different.
His family was legendary in the movie industry and the fashion world.
The Blackwell name opened doors most people couldn’t even find.
He’d grown up with every advantage and resource handed to him on a silver platter.
More connections than he knew what to do with. And now he was playing health guru.
Give it six months. Maybe a year. Then he’d get bored and move on to his next hobby. Buy a sports team. Invest in some tech startup. Take up race car driving. Whatever nepo babies did when they needed a new toy.
The worst part was that people like him, the ones with more money than sense, were exactly who funded ventures like my father’s company.
They had the capital. They wanted the prestige of being “investors” and “entrepreneurs.” So I had to play nice, had to smile and nod and pretend their ideas weren’t half-baked disasters waiting to happen.
I’d been doing it my whole career. Moving in their circles, attending their parties, listening to their pitches. The difference was they’d inherited their wealth. I’d earned my place through hard work and proving myself over and over again.
We were not the same.
I took a deep breath, then another. Rolled my shoulders back. Straightened my spine.
I could do this. I’d dealt with worse. I’d negotiated deals worth millions. Built partnerships from the ground up.
One arrogant pretty boy wasn’t going to rattle me.
“You are Juno fucking Young,” I muttered. “You know your shit. You’re good at your job. And you’re going to prove that trust fund baby doesn’t belong here.”
I pulled up the file I’d prepared, even though I’d already memorized every detail. Then I reached for the phone on my desk and pushed the button for Kari’s direct line.
“Yes?”
“Send him in.” I settled into my chair with what I hoped looked like casual confidence.
The door opened.
And oh, fuck me. He was wearing a suit.
Not the fitted athletic wear from the expo.
Not the casual clothes from yesterday. An actual suit.
Tailored, expensive, impressive. The jacket emphasized his broad shoulders and the pants were perfectly cut.
Dark gray with a crisp white shirt underneath, no tie.
The top button undone just enough to show a hint of his throat.
He looked like he’d walked off the pages of a magazine. Which, given his family, he probably had at some point.
His dark hair was styled but not overly so, like he’d run his hands through it once and it had fallen into place perfectly. The kind of haircut that had a four-figure price tag. Those striking blue eyes locked onto mine as he stepped into my office. I felt something low in my stomach clench.
Why did the hot ones always have to be the biggest jerks?
“Juno.” He smiled. It wasn’t the cocky grin from the expo or the challenging smirk from yesterday. It was a professional smile that probably made board members hand over funding without a second thought. And made women drop their panties.
I was not going to be one of those women.
“Mr. Blackwell.” I gestured to the chair across from my desk. “Have a seat.”
“Hollis,” he said. “Please.”
He sat down and immediately pulled out a tablet, setting it on my desk between us.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me,” he said. “I know this isn’t ideal for either of us, but I want to make the most of it.”
I blinked. That was surprisingly diplomatic. I’d expected him to come in swinging or at least lead with some comment about yesterday.
“Right,” I said, recovering quickly. “So let’s talk about your business plan. You need to get your orders up to a million to make this partnership viable. We’ll need to come up with a plan to get you?—”
“PriceCo,” he interrupted, then had the grace to look slightly sheepish. “Sorry. I’m just eager to get into this.”
“PriceCo,” I repeated slowly. “The big box store.”
“Exactly.” He tapped something on his tablet and turned it toward me. “I’ve already set up a meeting with their executives.”
I stared at the email confirming a meeting with PriceCo’s senior buyer and two of their distribution managers.
“You already have a meeting scheduled?” I asked, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice.
“I’ve been trying to get their attention for months,” he explained. “But they weren’t interested because I couldn’t handle the volume they needed. Now that your company is potentially in the picture? They’re suddenly very interested in talking.”
He pulled up another screen, this one showing what looked like a detailed proposal. Market research. Projected sales figures. Distribution logistics. It was thorough.
“I’ve done the research,” he continued. “PriceCo has been expanding their wellness section. They’re looking for products that appeal to younger demographics, health-conscious consumers who want convenience.
My smoothies fit that profile perfectly.
They’re portable, they taste good, and they’re positioned at a price point that’s accessible but not so cheap people think they’re low quality. ”
I scrolled through his proposal, my professional instincts kicking in despite myself. The data was solid. The market analysis was actually impressive.
“You put this together yourself?” The question came out before I could stop it.
His jaw tightened slightly. “Yes. I mean, I consulted with people that know more about business than I do, but the strategy is mine.”
I sat back in my chair, processing this new information. I’d expected to have to hold his hand through every step. To explain basic business concepts. To essentially babysit while he played entrepreneur.
But this? This was someone who’d done his homework.
I hated that he might be good at this.
“I’d like you to come to the meeting with me,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re vetting me, right? Plus, having someone from Young at Heart there will strengthen the pitch. Show them this isn’t just me flying solo anymore, bottling my drinks in my little warehouse space.”
He wasn’t wrong. His logic was sound. I couldn’t find any holes in it.
“Fine,” I said. “Send me whatever materials you’re planning to present so I can review them beforehand.”
“Already done.” He tapped his tablet. “Just sent them to your email.”
I pulled up my inbox on my computer. Sure enough, it was there.
Who the hell was this person, and what had he done with the smug pretty boy from the expo?
I quickly scanned the information. Later, I would give it a thorough look but not in front of him.
“Juno?”
I blinked and turned to look at him, and dammit, those dazzling eyes were watching me. It felt like his fingers were brushing over my skin. Which was stupid and so wrong.
“Yes?” I managed to ask.
“Are you available to go with me? To the meeting.”
“Oh, um, yeah. Yes. I should definitely go.”
“My contact information is in the docs I sent,” he said. “If you have any questions, shoot me a text or email.”
I did not want his phone number. That felt dangerous.
Which was stupid because I had hundreds of contacts of people I did business with.
And there were probably thousands of people that had his number and at least half of those would be women that wanted him like all the ladies at the expo. This didn’t mean anything.
I nodded at him. “I’ll review the information and let you know if there are things I need clarified.”
“Perfect. I look forward to working with you, Juno.”
Dammit. My name on his lips affected me in a way I really didn’t appreciate.
I got to my feet when he did but stayed behind the desk. He pulled a bottle out of the inside of his jacket which I hadn’t noticed. Maybe because I’d been too focused on his cheekbones.
Real professional, Juno.
He put the bottle on my desk.
“What’s that?” I asked, even though I knew damn well what it was.
He grinned, and this time, it was that cocky one I was familiar with.
“In case you want to give my green shake another try,” he said. “When no one’s looking. If we’re going to be in bed together, you should at least know what you’re working with.”
My cheeks burned. I had no doubt he had chosen those words on purpose. He knew I’d been checking him out.
“Thanks,” I snapped.
He grinned and then walked out the door.
I collapsed back into my chair the moment the door clicked shut behind him, staring at the empty space where he’d been standing.
The partnership was a nightmare waiting to unfold.
Forced proximity with a man I knew was a fraud, all while pretending he wasn’t the most attractive man I’d ever encountered.
My stomach twisted at the thought of spending hours in meetings where that cocky smile would try to worm its way past my defenses.
What had I gotten myself into? A professional babysitting job for a trust fund playboy who thought a suit and some market research could fool me into forgetting the viral video.
Kari knocked once before pushing the door open, her eyes wide as she stepped inside. “Holy cow, he’s gorgeous. I mean, I saw the video, but in person? That suit should come with a warning label.”
I rolled my eyes, but her words only amplified the low thrum of unwanted attraction still lingering from our exchange. “He’s a partner now, Kari. Or whatever this arrangement is.”
She glanced at the desk and spotted the green bottle. “Is that a rat piss smoothie?”
I groaned. “I’m never going to live that down.”
She laughed. “Sorry. Did he bring that to you?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, he’s going to be fun.”
“He’s going to be something,” I muttered.
“Is he officially a partner?” she asked.
“According to my father, he is. I get to be his handler.”
“Girl, sign me up. I’ll handle him any day of the week.”
I gave her a look. “Kari, that is so unprofessional.”
She laughed. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice. That man is a universal hottie.”
After she left, I buried my face in my hands. How in the hell was I supposed to work with him?