The Highest Price to Pay

Today she was wearing black leggings and a long shirt that was belted at the waist. The top clung to her curves and he was hard-pressed to keep his eyes off her tight, rounded bottom as she walked ahead of him and to the back of the room.

“I keep all of my samples and patterns here.” She gestured to the back wall that was lined with rows of full racks, filled with brightly colored clothing.

“You have a large body of work.”

She put her hands on her waist and blew out a breath. “I do. It’s expensive work, though. I have a couple of investors, but the start-up alone was huge and shows are…well, they’re more than I have at my disposal.”

His eyes were drawn to her lips again, still painted that same bubblegum-pink. He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted like bubblegum. Or if she just tasted like a woman, sweet and earthy at the same time.

His body responded to the idea of that and he had to grit his teeth hard to fight the rising tide of attraction that was building inside of him.

“I’d like to take a closer look at some of the sales records for your boutique,” he said, moving to stand in front of one of the racks, pretending to look at the clothing there.

He could hear her teeth click together. “All right.” She definitely wasn’t happy.

He turned to her and she looked away again. He cupped her chin gently and her blue eyes flew to his, wide and utterly shocked. It was the first time he’d seen her mask come down completely. It was fleeting.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

He ignored his body’s emphatic hell yes. “Just those sales records. It’s business, Ella. I need to know what I’m working with here.”

“Sorry,” she said curtly, stepping away from his touch. “I’m not accustomed to people rooting around in my things.” She pulled a laptop out of the oversize bag she was carrying with her and set it on one of the worktables. She hit the power button then leaned forward, idly twisting the large, flower-shaped ring on her finger.

“I promise, it will be quick and painless.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a sideways glance. “Is that what you say to your dates?”

The minute the words came out of her mouth, Ella knew she’d overdone it. There was a small, nearly imperceptible change in Blaise’s expression, a curve to his full lips, a golden glint in his eyes. He moved to where she was standing at the table and leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers.

“My dates never need the reassurance,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath fanning over the bare skin of her neck. She shivered slightly, hoped he didn’t notice. “They know what they want, and they know I will give it to them.”

Another biting retort clung to the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. Blaise had a well-established reputation, and he wasn’t the only one.

She was known in the industry for being bold, even a little bit brash at times, but that was an act, a wall she put up to separate herself from the world. It was to keep the woman she was inside safe, protected by her facade. And in the context of small parties and backstage at shows, it worked well, helped her establish dominance.

But here and now, with Blaise, she was in over her head.

They were alone, and he was close enough that if she moved, just a little bit, her lips would touch his cheek. That thought made her throat go dry, made her stomach tighten almost painfully.

She turned her focus back to the computer and cleared her throat. She clicked on the folder that had all of her business stuff in it and turned the laptop so that it was facing Blaise.

He scrolled through a couple of spreadsheets, his expression never changing. He was like a solid piece of mahogany. Hard and unforgiving. Beautiful, too, but it didn’t change the fact that a collision with him would be absolutely devastating.

“You do pretty well,” he said, closing the laptop screen.

She let out a breath, one she didn’t realize she’d been holding. But with Blaise, it always felt like she was waiting for the guillotine to drop. Waiting for him to decide none of this was worth it, to have him decide to call the loan in. Like it or not, their unwanted alliance was her best hope for a future for her clothing line, and that meant she needed to keep working with him, no matter how much it made her want to scream.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. It’s a small boutique, but it’s in a prime location.”

“And yet you have very little profit.”

“I have almost no profit,” she said dryly. “It’s an expensive business. And now that the boutique has gotten busier, I’ve had to get employees.”

No matter how successful she got in the industry, it required more of her. More time, more money, more manpower, and with every increase in income, there was an increase in cost. It made it nearly impossible for her to get ahead, and certainly impossible to make the kind of jump in status that Blaise seemed to want her to make.

“I like what I’ve seen here. I’d like to invest more.” He named a sum that made her feel slightly ill.

He said it so casually, as though it meant nothing. Although, to a man with a billion dollars, or whatever it was he had these days, it likely was nothing. To a woman who ate instant noodle soup for dinner most nights, it definitely wasn’t nothing.

She dealt in large amounts of money, but almost the moment they hit her bank account they were gone again, going to the next big thing. And this was more money than she’d ever thought to see in a lifetime.

“That’s…a lot of money,” she said.

“Yes, it is. But I don’t believe in going halfway. I want this to be a success, and that means putting in the necessary investment to ensure that it is.”

It was a slippery slope. It wasn’t a loan: it was an investment, but this put her over her head in debt as far as she was concerned. It gave him more power. It pushed her out further.

But what choice was there? If she didn’t take it she would keep on with her tortoise pace and Blaise would grow impatient. And that would be the end of everything.

None of this had mattered three days ago when Blaise Chevalier was just a name in the tabloids. But now he was the driving force behind the Ella Stanton label. Ironic that he even owned her name. It felt like he owned her. Allowing him to invest that much money would only tighten the chains that she felt closing around her wrists.

But it was all she could do, accept the fact the she was indebted to him until she could buy her freedom. At least at some point she would have the hope of paying him back, of buying him out. If she didn’t go along with him she wouldn’t have anything.

The bottom line, the amount earned, had never mattered as much to her as the level of success. She’d happily keep eating instant soup for the next ten years if it meant making herself a success at what she loved. But that wasn’t an option anymore, and what had only ever been a concern for her out of practicality had now become the primary focus.

“Then we both want the same thing,” she said, even though it was a lie. He wanted money, and while she did want to make money, it was about more than that to her. It was about being something, accomplishing her goals. Becoming more than anyone around her had ever believed she would be.

A slow smile spread over his face and her heart thundered in response. She didn’t know why. Except that when he smiled, it didn’t look like an expression of happiness. It was more like watching a predator, satisfied in the knowledge that he was closing in on his prey.

She had a feeling that, in this scenario, she was very much the gazelle to his panther. She also knew that he was more than comfortable going in for the kill. A little blood on his hands wouldn’t cause him to lose a moment of sleep. He was a man who accomplished his goals no matter who got in his way. Not a comforting thought.

“More or less,” he said, slowly, his accent pronounced as he drew out the syllables, his voice enticing, despite the underlying danger. He didn’t need to pounce on his prey, he could talk his prey into coming to him, and that made him even more deadly.

“Somehow I think as far as the method goes we might be more on the ‘less’ side than the ‘more’ side.”

“Certainly possible.” The deep, husky quality to his voice was shiver inducing. It made her stomach clench tight, made her entire body feel jittery, like she’d overindulged in espresso at one of the local cafеs.

“Where are you from originally?” she asked, feeling stupid the minute the words left her mouth. Because it was his accent, and the strange curling sensation created in her stomach, that had prompted her to ask. And she really didn’t want him to know that.

Didn’t want him to think that anything about him interested her at all. Who knows what he might do with that bit of information.

“France, originally. My father is a very wealthy businessman, a native of France. But I spent a portion of my childhood in Malawi, with my mother.”

“Why wasn’t she in Paris?”

He shrugged. “My parents divorced. She wished to return to her homeland.” He said it with as little interest, as little emotion, as he said everything. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had really been so casual as he made it sound. To go from Paris to Malawi as a child couldn’t possibly be a nonevent; neither could being separated from his father.

Although, she knew as well as anyone that sometimes cutting ties with family wasn’t the worst thing in the world.