Billionaires Dollar Series

Nick takes a step back. The loss of his strong arms is so sudden that I have to slide off the desk to keep from tipping over.

The long, deep look we exchange infuriates me. How dare he look at me with so much want it’s practically dripping from him and not touch me? Can’t he see I’m burning?

I take a step forward but Nick backs away, reaching up to refasten the single button I’d managed to undo.

And right before my eyes, the raw need on his features dissipates, like ripples on a lake. He’s once more the scathing, infuriating, cold-hearted man he pretends to be. Because I’m sure of that now. It’s nothing but an act.

He opens his mouth to speak but seems to think better of it. In the next moment, he’s gone, striding out the door and wrenching it open.

“Nick, don’t-”

It’s no use. He’s vanished, and I’m left standing in the study, my heart pounding like I’ve just been sprinting flat-out and still lost the race.

The numbers bleed together on the screen. Every time I go over purchasing orders, I see Nick’s eyes instead. And when I reach for fabric samples, the memory of his lips on mine threatens to overwhelm me. Nick had kissed me.

After nearly a decade of admiring him from afar, the experience has been overwhelming. Sure, he might still think of me as Cole’s spoiled little sister, or as a socialite in need of a hobby, but he also kissed me like he needed me more than he needed air-and there was no way he could deny that.

We haven’t spoken since. No, in the six days that have passed, he hasn’t been around at all. Not at work, where he’s either out with investors or taking meetings, and not at Cole’s, where I’d been invited for dinner one evening.

He’s avoiding me.

After walking out like that without a word, he seems intent on not giving me another. I’d chalked it up to Nick being Nick at first. To the words we’ve spoken before-my hasty assertion that he wants to push the world away-and not the kiss itself.

But as Thursday becomes Friday, and Friday bleeds into the weekend, his silence starts to grate on my self-confidence. It had been an absolutely unreal kiss, hadn’t it?

On Saturday morning, I pack up a box of samples for my new company and ignore the churning of nerves in my stomach. First Nick, and now this, all in the span of a week. Be brave, Blair.

The route to my brother’s house in Greenwood Hills has become so familiar to me now that I could probably drive it blindfolded. Cole isn’t in when I enter, but that matters little. It’s his wife I’m here to see.

“Skye?”

“I’m upstairs!” she calls, and I hurry up the steps, my bag slung over my shoulder. Filled with all my hard work and plans and hopes, it feels far heavier than its actual weight.

“Where?”

“Over here!”

I find her in the room adjoining the master, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her small stomach is really starting to show now, despite the flowy dress.

“I don’t have any maternity clothes,” she says sheepishly when she sees me looking. “So I’m wearing a summer dress in fall. Whoops.”

“We can go shopping,” I suggest, the idea momentarily cheering me up. “There are great maternity options, you know.”

Skye’s eyes lighten. “Do you want to play personal stylist again?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” she laughs, reaching over to put a hand on my knee. She tugs me down to the floor beside her. “But I don’t mind. You know what I like.”

Excitement floods to my lips before I can stop it. “Oh, we’ll have so much fun. I already have a ton of ideas… maybe we can go tomorrow.”

“We have time,” Skye says, putting a hand over her stomach. “Months of it, in fact.”

“Why are you in here?” I look around at the empty room, my hand fisting in the plush fabric of the carpet. “Oh! The nursery?”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

She nods. “I’ve been sitting here looking at paint samples and ideas and trying to figure out how I want it to look.”

“Will you show me?” My niece or nephew will sleep in this room. It’s easy to picture a little girl or boy with Cole and Skye’s dark hair, grinning just like my brother over the bars of her crib.

“Yes, but first, will you tell me what’s in your bag? Are you planning on moving in?”

I laugh, but it’s a bit high-pitched. Pulling my bag into the space between us, I pause with my hands on the zipper. Courage.

“So… I’ve been keeping a little secret.”

Skye’s eyes widen in mock horror. “I can’t help you bury a body.”

I laugh, a bit of tension draining off. It’s just Skye, after all. “Ouch, but no, that’s not what I’m asking. I’ve been working on something and I want your feedback.” With more composure than I feel, I unzip the bag and start pulling out samples.

One by one, I lay them out beside us. A silky slip. A nude-colored bra. Seamless underwear, all packaged in little silken bags. A pair of Spanx-like shorts. A negligee, made from the same silk mix as the slip.

“What’s this?” Skye carefully reaches out to touch the soft material. “These are gorgeous.”

“They’re all my design,” I say. “Instead of a fashion line, I’ve been working on a brand that supplies undergarments and fashion… solutions, I guess I’d call them, like fashion tape. Everything you need to make your already existing wardrobe work better, but sold together under one brand.”

Skye is lifting up the slip, looking at the lace. “This is gorgeous. The finishing…”

I nod, excited now, my words spilling fast. “It took me forever to find the perfect fabric, and then the right maker. I want it to be the best quality-they’ll last forever.”

“When have you had time to do this?”

“I’ve had nothing but time until I started working for Nick,” I say. It’s liberating to finally admit it.

“When are you going to launch?”

“Not yet. I want to think this through,” I say. “I want it to launch as a coherent brand, with a web presence, and online store, all of it.”

“Cole would love-”

“No,” I say immediately. “Cole can’t know. Not yet.”

Skye’s face drops. “Blair, he’d be nothing but supportive.”

Guilt twists my insides. “Oh, I know that, trust me. But…” And here it is, the thing I don’t want to say. He would offer to invest, just like he had with my previous fashion line, which had failed so catastrophically.

Or even worse-he wouldn’t offer, and I’d know that he didn’t believe in me anymore. I wouldn’t give him the choice until I had something working that was up and running.

“This needs to be mine,” I say finally, thinking of all my own money I’m sinking into this. “I want to prove it to myself. That I can do it on my own.”