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“Good,” I answer simply. “You?”
“Good.”
Her eyes rake over my body, her plump lips parted just so. Her cheeks are an adorable shade of pink, her chest rising and falling at a noticeably slow pace.
I clench and unclench my fists. This was not how I was expecting today to go. My fingers itch to reach out, touch her, hold her. How many nights did I spend sleepless, wondering what happened to her after our chance encounter at the airport? Did she look for me just as I tried looking for her? It took months for me to stop kicking myself for not getting her number, for not chasing her through the airport and setting Milo’s gaffe to rights. But now she’s here, breathtakingly gorgeous…
And in the middle of Lorenzo’s shark tank.
Curiosity burns in the pit of my stomach. I want to know what she’s doing here. I’m normally not this invested, but I have to know. Because maybe I can keep her from making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
“You said you’re looking for a loan,” I prompt.
She sits up a bit straighter, quickly reaching for her folder. She hands it to me, something heartbreakingly hopeful painting her expression. “Yes, that’s right. My business plan is all here.”
I open the folder and take a quick glance. “You’re asking for twenty-thousand dollars?”
“That’s right. To start my own fashion label.”
“Why not go to a bank?”
“I tried. Several times.”
“And their reasons for rejection?”
“Lack of credit.”
“How much do you have currently saved?”
“Only two grand.”
Oof.
If this were anyone else, I’d approve them on the spot. It’s shady practice to give a loan to someone with a shit track record, but that’s how sharks make their money. Tack on a 300% interest rate to the lump sum and you’ll be rolling in cash until the customer’s pockets are bled dry.
Somewhere deep down, I refuse to let that happen to her. I can’t explain where this protectiveness comes from, and I know for a fact that I haven’t suddenly grown a conscience, but I won’t have a part in ruining this woman’s life.
I close the folder and shake my head. “Look—”
“Wait,” she says hastily. “Let me convince you.”
Oh, I shouldn’t like the way she says that.
“Convince me?”
“I brought a few of my dresses,” she says. “I made them myself. Let me prove to you that my work is a worthy investment. My label will pay for itself.”
I set my jaw. This whole thing is a bad idea.
My straining cock, on the other hand, is simply excited to be this close to her. And seeing her in a pretty dress? How can I possibly say no to that?
“I need you to turn around,” she says. “I’m going to model one of my dresses for you.”
“What?”
“Please?” She blinks up at me with those pretty grey eyes, her long lashes fluttering.
“Okay,” I murmur, too lost in her gaze.
