“The construction is something I’m really proud of,” Maeve explains, turning the jacket to show the lining. “See how the panels create a silhouette that’s powerful but still feminine? And the fabric is a custom blend—breathable but structured.”
“I need one immediately,” Martin declares. “In every color you plan to make.”
“Me too,” Bea adds with a small smile.
“I’ll buy it for you,” I say quietly next to her ear, hoping she’ll hear me.
Her head whips toward me, eyes wide with shock. “What? No!”
Everyone turns to look at us, the jacket momentarily forgotten.
“What’s happening over there?” Martin asks, his eyebrows arched with interest.
“Nothing,” she says too quickly, at the same time as I say, “I want to buy this thing.”
“What thing?” Maeve blinks.
“That thing.” I point at the blazer in her hand.
“You want to buy theExecutive?” Another painfully slow blink.
“Yes.” I nod, leaning back on the chair. “I need it.”
“This is the prototype.” Her curious eyes settle on my face. “I don’t usually sell those. Why would you need one anyway?”
“I owe Beatrice, and this is my way of repaying her. I’m sure you could make an exception and sell it,” I reply smoothly as if I haven’t just crossed about fifteen boundaries in one sentence. “Who better than her to wear a power suit?”
Bea makes a guttural sound and drains her glass in one desperate gulp by my side. The silence that follows is excruciating. Maeve and Ezra exchange a look that speaks volumes, I’m just not sure about what exactly, while Martin’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning and he got a new Aston Martin under the tree.
“How… generous of you, Noah,” Maeve says carefully, her eyes darting between us. “But the design isn’t even in production yet. I need this prototype to make more of them.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Sell it to me, and people will fight for your pieces even more because they’ll know some things you make are exclusive.”
Maeve chews on the inside of her cheek and glances at her sister. “I actually did keep you in mind when I was creating it. The way you bossed around the whole floor while dealing with that tyrant,” she nods at me, “is a legend at this point. And the color,” her eyes fall to the blazer in her hands, “was picked for you. You know how to pull off this shade of dusk.”
Holy crap, now all I’m imagining is Bea wearing black lingerie while the dark colors of the night caress her skin.
“Great.” I clap my hands once. “Consider it a bonus for all of Bea’s hard work. I owe her a Chanel anyway.”
“A Chanel?” Maeve’s brows draw together before they jump to her hairline. “Ohmigod, something happened to the vintage bag you got from Grandma?”
Wait, what? Did she trade an heirloom for a fucking meeting?
“It’s fine, Mae. Chill.” Beatrice’s cheeks turn nearly red.
Maeve’s attention is fixed on her sister now, her expression shifting from confusion to concern. “Bea, what happened to Grandma’s Chanel?”
I can feel Bea radiating panic beside me, and I realize I’ve made everything worse. I meant to be thoughtful, to acknowledge my debt to her, but instead I’ve put her in an impossible position where her sister is about to rip her a new one.
“Nothing,” Bea mumbles, not meeting her sister’s eyes. “It’s just a joke between us.”
Martin looks like he’s about to explode with curiosity, and Ezra’s watching me with that calculating expression he gets when he’s piecing something together. The room suddenly feels too small, too hot, and my ribs throb with each breath.
“I need some air,” I announce abruptly, setting my wine glass down with more force than necessary. The pain in my side is becoming unbearable, and I can’t sit here watching Bea squirm because of me. So I need to shift the topic back to my rather unfortunate appearance. “Sorry, Ezra. I’m not feeling great. I need to air this bruise out, it feels quite hot.”
Ezra’s brow furrows with concern. “You should probably check in with a doctor. That hit,” he points at my face, “definitely gave you a concussion.”
“Yeah, probably.” I stand carefully, trying not to wince as my ribs protest. “Rain check on dinner?”
