She shook her head.
“I see.”
He crossed one leg over the other and shifted to stare at the fire, a habit he had when pondering something.
Looking back at her, he asked, “Why do you need an investor? What are you looking to do?”
“I should like to capitalize on this while I can, before others start making similar products. My hope—plan,” she corrected hastily, “—is to open a store in Bath. The Ton makes up the majority of my clients, and many visit Bath each year. A number of older people stay there year-round to take the waters. I believe the philosophy of taking care of one’s self can be leveraged for my products. Shampoo in particular.”
Evan rested his elbows on the chair arms, steepling his fingertips in front of his chest, and nodded.
Long before he inherited his title, before even Oxford, Evan had been able to size up opportunities—for investment, for mischief, whatever lay before him—and evaluate the risks and rewards with a few questions and some strategic thinking. A niche product in an upscale market was a perfect chance for jumping in for a short period and ramping sales and production before it became a commodity, which would mean a lower profit margin.
His thoughts whirled. His pulse raced. While the earldom, existing business ventures, and even the wildest sex had all begun to bore him, a new idea could still energize him.
Finally. Entertainment. More, a challenge.When even an orgy did not interest him, he’d worried he would never find excitement again. He weighed the pros and cons of the various ways to structure a deal.
There were a few options. A loan with payments tied to revenue, a set interest rate loan, or his preferred method, an equity stake in the shop. He favored owning a piece of the business. He could help ensure its success and afford the risk. So he chose to reap fully in the rewards rather than get a fixed payback from a loan. But first, he needed to understand what was required for the expansion and how much would come from investors.
Turning back to his visitor, he held his hand out. “If I may?”
“Oh. Of course.” Althea passed him the financial summaries and projections in her lap.
Evan flicked through them, then looked up. “I shall require some time with these. If you’d prefer to rejoin the revelry, I am happy to meet again later.”
He was nonplussed when she shook her head in the negative. “No, thank you. I’d prefer to wait here and answer questions as needed.”
He raised an eyebrow.Mayhap she is not as open-minded as I hoped a cousin of Beth’s would be. “Are you not enjoying the party, Lady Egerton?”
Althea winced as if recalling she was addressing the party’s host. “Oh yes, thank you. And we appreciated your gracious invitation. Although—” She gave a quick twitch of her mouth in a half smile. “—I suspect it was coerced, knowing my cousin. But this is more important.”
“Hmm.” Outwardly noncommittal, Evan seethed internally.Just as I thought. The request to attend was less to do with Beth’s quest for entertainment and more to do with money. How annoyingly predictable.
“Right, then. Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you prefer the settee?”
She shook her head.
“No? A drink? My apologies. I should have offered that sooner.”
“Nothing, thank you.”
“You’re quite sure? Tea? Or I have sherry, port, brandy, and scotch.” He gestured to a shallow cabinet with decanters sitting on top. “I could do with a scotch, myself.” He rose, keeping her eye as he rounded the desk.
“Thank you, but I prefer to keep a clear head.”
****
Althea knew she sounded prim. She couldn’t help it. She was anxious. Sitting across from him for this interview was nerve wracking; she would not want to play him in whist. His face gave nothing away. While she was sure that helped his financial success, it was annoying in negotiations. But her husband had taught her not to show nerves or fear in these situations. And this felt like one of the most important negotiations of her life.
Who am I fooling? I am here begging more than negotiating. He doesn’t need me. I need him.
Evan arched a brow at her as he poured himself a generous glass of whisky, his hair glinting burnished gold in the light from the nearby fire and accented by his rust-colored jacket and breeches.
Yep. Prim.She needed to work harder at not offending her potential investor and host, however silly she found this party.
Half-raising it in a careless toast, he sipped and returned to sit. “Right, then. What do we have here?” He sorted the documents into three piles.
She watched to understand his approach. The piles seemed to be marketing materials and product descriptions, historical financial reports, and her stab at projections for the new store.
