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“Shit,”I murmur, looking down at my sweatpants that are now covered in cheese puff crumbs and my champagne-stained T-shirt. I run a hand through my frizzy bun, knowing it’s no use. I wipe underneath my eyes, knowing my mascara’s just smeared even more, and pause the chick flick I’ve been watching.
“Coming,” I yell before traipsing to the door. I figure it’s probably Harper coming back to check on me or to show me some designs she’s excited about. I whip open the door, Barcelona and Monticello meowing at my feet. They always rush to greet company.
And then the second “Shit” slips out as I see who’s at the door.
The first thing I notice is the bouquet of red roses he’s extending to me. The second thing I notice? He’s wearing an Everpure outfit, head to toe. And although right now, it’s sort of a slap in the face, I also notice it looks absolutely gorgeous on him. I doubt anyone could give this outfit a bad review if they saw it on Cash Creed, the way it hugs the lines of his chiseled body. Killer ambles through the door, taking ownership of the place, and the cats hiss, but I don’t take my eyes off of Cash.
“Hey,” he says, as I gawk, remembering suddenly what I must look like. He’s never seen me like this. Hell, I don’t know that any man has.
“Sorry, I’m…. Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“I wanted to surprise you. Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing inside. The cats are still meowing, and I actually have to shove Monticello with my foot so he doesn’t wander out.
“Yeah, come in,” I say because what else can I say when he’s standing in my doorway holding flowers and my cats are ready to escape?
He hands me the roses, and this time I take them, still feeling flustered. “Thanks. What are these for?”
“I know your launch of Everpure just happened. I wanted to congratulate you. Hence the outfit. I think I was the first purchase when the website went live. Stunning, right? If you need a new male model, you know I could kill it, right?” His smile is huge as he does a model-like walk and spin. I just stare at him, grinning in spite of the situation.
“Thank you. I think. But I’m guessing you didn’t read the fashion critiques or reviews this morning.”
“What?” he asks, looking at me like I’ve spoken a foreign language. “There are fashion critics?”
“Yeah,” I murmur, wandering to the cupboard to find my vase. It takes a while to find one, and I have to blow some dust off of it. I put the bouquet of roses in and admire it. I can’t remember the last time a man bought me flowers.
“Well, I don’t need to read reviews. I have my own sense of fashion. If you couldn’t tell, I’m sort of serious about the way I look, and I have to say, I didn’t think anything could make this ass look better than it already does. I stand corrected because these pants hug me in all the right ways. Don’t you think?”
I roll my eyes, shaking my head.
“I have to admit,” he begins, walking closer to me. “I don’t know a lot about fashion designing and what you do. But I don’t know, I imagined you’d be like wearing an outfit from the line yourself, having a lavish party or something today. Not that I think what you’re doing is bad. I like the laid-back vibe you like never give off. You look sexy in a vulnerable way.”
“I look like shit,” I say, rolling my eyes at him. He continues walking toward me.
“Truth bomb. You could never look like shit.”
“Truth bomb?” I ask, grinning. “Who says that?”
“This stud man,” he says, pointing to himself.
I roll my eyes again, but I have to admit he’s lightened the mood. “What is wrong with you?”
“For starters, I’ve missed you. I know you’ve been busy and all, but Jesus, girl, you need to get out of this place. Have some fun. Isn’t that the perk of owning your own business?”
“Yeah, well, not really feeling like showing my face right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
I sigh as he puts his hands on my waist. I look up into those eyes that do make me feel vulnerable. I tell myself not to cry as I proceed to tell him what the reviewers and critics have said.
“So what?” he asks, shrugging.
I look at him, stupefied. “So what? Are you kidding? These reviewers and critics can make or break you. They’ve basically sealed the fate of this line. I’ve poured so much into this line, and it’s done before it even had a chance.” Tears start to well no matter how hard I fight them. When they spill over, Cash reaches up and gently wipes them away, his strong hands feeling powerful against my fragile state.
“Listen to me,” he practically whispers, so close we could kiss but don’t. “Don’t let them tear down your work, your vision. In all seriousness, Sage, you’re amazing. Look at what you’ve accomplished, what you’ve built.”
“Yeah, and now I’ve failed.”
He shakes his head. “No way. Not possible. So some stuck-up fashion critics don’t get your vision. Who cares? Other people will. And you haven’t failed. Look at what you’ve done already. You’re this force in the business world, an indie business that has risen to the top. You’re on the same level with some of those upper crust fashion houses—and you did it yourself, all the way. That’s amazing. You’re this sexy, gorgeous woman with a heart of gold. You’re daring and bold, but you’re also rational and witty. You’re this perfect concoction of everything a person could want to be, and you’ve achieved your dreams. That’s beautiful. That’s successful. I don’t give a shit what some fashion ‘expert’ says about it.”
