Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“I knew something was weird with you since you got back. You were worried this was going to backfire on you.”
“Yes. Exactly, but instead of pulling the contract, he swore his devotion to the Zoey brand. He offered me a contract, or the board did, with him at the helm. There’s a lot more to this but it’s too much to tell right now.”
“Why is he here now, aside from wanting to see you? Is it about the contract?”
“He wants me to travel with him to Paris.”
“And the problem is?”
“My father hates him, and maybe he’ll hate me if this turns sour.”
“Okay that is never going to happen. That’s silly. Your dad adores you. You still haven’t told me the hot, rich guy’s name.”
“Ethan Dalton. If you Google him, he’s not just rich. He’s filthy rich.”
“Then he’s hot. He’s loaded. He’s protective. He came here for you. What else does your father need to know? What else do you need to know? Go get your man.”
I blink and blink again. “Really? You think?”
“I know. One hundred thousand percent. And if you don’t, I’ll go ask him if he’s taking applications. Which is a joke, but come on, Sofia, wake up. I could feel his energy when he walked into the office, the charge in the air when he saw you. He’s all in with you.”
All in. Could it really be true? I want it to be true, and I don’t know why I’m even asking her what to do. I know what to do, and that’s go with Ethan. I point at the notebook on the desk. “I wrote you notes.”
“I don’t need notes. I know the store. Why are you still standing here?”
“My father—”
“Stop with that. He’ll be happy if you’re happy, but he won’t hear about Ethan from me. Now, go be with him before he thinks you changed your mind. You ran out on him twice. Don’t let him think it’s three times.”
She’s right. I dash for the door, and I’m at the exit when I pause and look at my store, at the rows of clothing I designed. Designing is a dream for many that I’ve made my career. I’m so very close to taking it all the way. And as a bonus, this incredible man has stepped into my path, and I don’t know where he or this career move are taking me, but I know I’m blessed.
If Ethan’s all in, I’m all in, wherever that leads, and as for the Zoey brand, the sky is the limit right now, and I want the moon and stars with it. I exit the store and walk to the coffee shop, entering to find the owner, Martha, behind the counter. Martha is forty-five and tiny everywhere but the top, and I swear I’ve seen her tip over a few times. She loves it, too, often calling herself the little teacup of big joy. I don’t want to know what “joy” she refers to.
The door shuts behind me, and I scan for Ethan, only to have Martha answer my quest. “In the back room, honey, but feel free to stop by the counter and tell me all about Mr. Hottie.”
“Later,” I say, walking right on past her, and I don’t stop until I’m at the door of the small private work area, where I find Ethan on his phone. And no wonder Martha wants to know more about him. He’s gorgeous, a man who personifies power, control, and good looks by doing nothing but existing.
He disconnects his call. “Hello, beautiful. I was afraid you were going to run again.”
I sit down across from him. “I’m not running. I’m all in.”
His eyes warm with approval. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.” He glances at his watch, a blue-faced Rolex with a white gold band. “If we can get to the passport office before ten, I suspect we can pay a rush fee and get it tonight. We can decide when we leave after we find out what they can do.”
“I’m not even sure how to pack for such a long trip. Can my bag be like two hundred pounds?”
He laughs. “We’re flying private, so it can be whatever you like, but don’t overpack. It’s hard to plan for that long anyway. And remember, you’ll be hanging out in Paris. You’ll want to pick out some things there, I promise you. It’s interesting to try their products, too.” He sets a cup in front of me. “Your usual, which I now know to be a white mocha with a pump of hazelnut. I tried it. It’s pretty good.”
“Your nickname is now Mr. Hottie, per Martha upfront.”
“Is that right?” he chuckles.
“Yes. She’s the owner and the self-proclaimed little teacup of big joy, whatever that means.”
“Let’s not find out. You ready to go?”