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“What business did you have in Cancún?” Nash teased before looking at Grayson. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby brother. You aren’t a hunter. You’d rather draw a bird than shoot it.”
“I’ve gone hunting.” When Nash sent him a skeptical look, Grayson backpedaled. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t hunted as much as you two, but I’ve bagged my share. And I’ve never drawn a duck in my life.”
“He’s right, Nash. Grayson prefers his subjects to be human, female, and naked.” Deacon tossed down the sales report and leaned back in his chair. “Which brings up something else I’ve been wanting to discuss.” He pointed a finger at Grayson. “Leave the supermodels alone.”
“Me? What about Nash?” Grayson asked. “I only want to paint them, and I never choose a time that interferes with their work. Nash, on the other hand, wants to do a lot more than paint. The kiss he gave Natalia in front of millions of television viewers is a perfect example.”
Nash hadn’t kissed Natalia. The aggressive Russian had kissed him. But since it went with the playboy persona he had perpetuated, he didn’t enlighten his brothers. “You’re just mad because sales for my Lothario Collection went up twenty-five percent after the kiss aired.”
“Enough,” Deacon said. “Both of you are banned from photo shoots from now on.” He looked at Nash. “But I’ll expect you at the fashion shows. Customers seem to love your smiling face.” He glanced at the sales reports, and his brow furrowed. “If not our new line of bras.”
“They’re selling, Deacon,” Nash said. “They just aren’t selling as quickly as you would like them to. You need to relax. Christmas sales weren’t good, but I’m sure sales will pick up around Valentine’s Day.”
“We can’t relax. Not if we want French Kiss to continue to be the leader in women’s lingerie.”
Nash wanted to argue with his brother but knew he couldn’t. While Nash was good with people, Deacon was good with business. He was the reason that French Kiss hadn’t been sold to the highest bidder. He was also the reason that Nash and Grayson found themselves living in San Francisco.
They had wanted to sell their controlling shares of French Kiss right after they’d inherited them from their uncle. But then Deacon had fallen in love with the company… and their uncle’s stepdaughter, who also happened to be French Kiss’s CEO. And since after their mother died from cancer, Deacon had become more of a father to Nash and Grayson than their own father, they had made the sacrifice of moving to the West Coast. Not that living in San Francisco as a wealthy billionaire was that much of a sacrifice. After a year of getting used to living with money and fame, Nash was starting to enjoy his new lifestyle. He slipped his hand in his pant pocket. And maybe he’d been enjoying it a little too much.
The phone was still there, cool and slick against his palm. It was an older version in a case that matched the dress she had worn. Black. No frills. But attractive. And he had been attracted to her. The moment she sashayed into the room and made her outrageous offer, his senses came alive. It didn’t have to do with her looks. She was pretty, but not breathtaking. It had more to do with the way she carried herself—as if she had the world by its tail. She had been afraid of him for only a split second before she regained her confidence.
He almost smiled at the thought of her trying to make him feel better about being impotent. It was sweet. And hot. But not as hot as her confession about being an orgasm virgin. If she hadn’t blushed, he might’ve thought it was a ploy to turn him on. And maybe it was. If so, it had worked. There was a moment when he almost lost control. When he almost stripped off her ugly bra and boy shorts and showed her what she’d been missing. But if he had, it would’ve ruined the entire point of the exercise.
He couldn’t lose control.
Never again.
“What do you think, Nash?”
He blinked from his thoughts to see Deacon waiting for an answer. He could only hope that they were still talking about bra sales.
“What about if we do an online survey?” he said. “Not just for the customers who have bought the new bras, but for all women. We could ask what they look for when shopping for a bra—pretty material, comfort, support, whatever.”
“What would be their incentive for taking it?”
Nash shrugged. “For every person who answers the questions, we offer a twenty-percent-off coupon to French Kiss.”
Deacon grinned. “I knew there was a reason you were in charge of customer satisfaction. Although I don’t know if a twenty-percent-off coupon will hook them. What if we entered them into a contest to win something bigger?”
Grayson set down his sketchpad. “What about a trip to San Francisco and tickets to the fashion show in the fall? Or we could do tickets to the Lover’s Ball.”
“The Lover’s Ball is too close,” Nash said. “Valentine’s Day is only weeks away.”
Deacon groaned. “Don’t remind me. Olivia’s mother has made our lives hell the last few months with all the details for the ball. I wish Olivia had never put her in charge.” He glanced at Nash. “Or that you hadn’t come up with the lame idea in the first place.”
“Don’t blame me. You were the one who wanted me to come up with a charity event sponsored by French Kiss. Since our great-grandpa started the tradition of naming Beaumont boys after famous lovers, it just made sense. And according to ticket sales, it’s already a success.”
“Let’s hope we can get our bras to sell as well,” Deacon said dryly. “So let’s go with the prize of a trip to San Francisco and tickets to the fashion show—including dinner with Nash Lothario.” Before Nash could object, he leaned up and pushed a button on the phone. “Kelly, could you come in here? I need you to take some notes. And see if you can pull Olivia away from the design studio for a few minutes.”
No more than fifteen minutes later, the door opened, and Deacon’s assistant, Kelly Wang, walked in with a tray of coffee. She wore the standard gray and purple that all French Kiss employees wore, but Kelly always added a dash of her own personality. Today that dash was a pink headband printed with little cartoon cats.
“Mrs. Beaumont is on her way, boss. But she wasn’t exactly happy about being taken away from her sewing machine.” She handed Deacon a cup of coffee. “Black and strong, just like you like it. Something I hope you remember when you’re passing out raises. My wedding plans have gotten completely out of hand.”
“You should’ve stayed with your first idea for a wedding,” Deacon said. “A wedding during the seventh-inning stretch of a Giants baseball game wouldn’t have cost you more than the tickets and a catcher’s mitt.”
“If I didn’t come from a traditional Chinese family, it might’ve worked. But my grandmother won’t ever talk to me again if I don’t wear her Chinese wedding dress. And I can’t see myself standing at home plate in aqipao.” She handed Grayson a cup, then brought Nash his. “Do not throw that away. Lothario Beaumont cups are going for twenty-five dollars on eBay.”
Nash sent her a skeptical look. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
