The Highest Price to Pay
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“Yes, if you play your cards right. But you’re not exactly a master of the game. I, however, am.” He moved closer to her, ran his hand along the carved wooden back of the chair she’d been sitting in earlier. She took a step back, strangely aware of the movements of his fingers over the intricate carving, almost like he was touching her, not the chair. Her heart pounded a little bit faster.
“I’m hardly a novice. I went to school for business and design. I have a business plan and a couple of investors.”
“Low-level investors that lack the proper connections or sufficient funding. You need more than that.”
“What do I need?”
“Publicity and cash and your five-year plan becomes a six-month plan.”
“That’s not even…”
“It is, Ella. I can have you at Paris Fashion Week next year, and in that time frame your work will have graced magazine covers, billboards. Selling your own work in your own boutique is one thing, but having worldwide distribution and recognition is another. I can give you that.”
She could feel the reins slipping out of her fingers, feel herself losing control. She gritted her teeth. “In return for what? My eternal soul?”
A short chuckle escaped his lips. “While it has been reported that I may be missing my own soul, I have no interest in yours. This is about money.”
It was about more than that for her. Money was money. She could make money doing a lot of different things. But this, this was about being something. Being someone. She didn’t want to have this man, anyone, so involved in her business, so involved in her achievements.
She didn’t want it, but she wasn’t stupid.
The amount of money she owed, money that was now owed to him, was staggering. More than she could hope to pay back with the way things stood. She was in debt to him up to her Petrova diamond earrings and if she ever hoped to get out of that debt, her business had to succeed. More than succeed, it had to reach the kinds of heights that, at the moment, were firmly in the realm of fantasy.
“You think you can just dictate to me?”
“I know I can. As the lien holder I have to be satisfied that you’re doing everything in your power to ensure the success of your business. I’m not overly convinced at the moment,” he said, his eyes sweeping the small boutique in a dismissive manner.
As if it were nothing. As if she were nothing. Her stomach burned with emotion, anger, helplessness. Fear. She hated the fear most of all. In theory she’d gotten over being afraid of bullies a long time ago.
“What if I don’t want you running my business for me?” she asked, despising the slight quiver in her voice. She wasn’t some scared little mouse and she wouldn’t behave like one. She’d endured worse than this, and she’d triumphed. She would do it now, too.
“Then I pull the plug. I don’t have the time to waste on a venture that isn’t going anywhere, and it’s not in my nature to simply sit back.”
“But you’ll be collecting interest on your investment won’t you?”
“Twenty-five percent,” he said.
“Highway robbery,” she responded, her voice finding some of its strength.
“Not in the least. I will be working for that money, and I will expect you to do the same.”
“And you expect me to do as you say?”
He gripped the back of the chair, his large hands drawing her attention again. His appearance was so together, so perfectly polished that it would be easy to assume he was a civilized man. But beneath all of that, beneath the well-fitted suit and hand-crafted Italian shoes that were so gorgeous they gave her heart palpitations, was a hardness that betrayed him. A hardness that spoke of the ruthlessness that he was so famous for. That let her know he wouldn’t hesitate to pull everything out from under her if it was in his best interest.
“Consider yourself lucky, Ella. Normally I would charge a hefty hourly fee to give out business advice. In this scenario, unless you make money, you don’t give me any money. This is fair, more than fair.”
She blinked rapidly. “Are you expecting me to thank you for this hostile takeover?”
“It’s not hostile at all. It’s business. I invest where it is advantageous to do so, I do not waste time when it’s not. There is a place for charity, and this is not it.”
Ella looked around her carefully organized boutique, at the racks of clothing, each one her own design. She’d painted the crisp black and white walls herself, had installed the glossy marble floor with the help of a couple of male models who’d done runway shows for her. It was personal to her, there was no way she could reduce all of her hard work to numbers and projections. But he’d done it.
And he would do more than that. Even without his reputation she wouldn’t doubt him. The glint of fire in his golden eyes and the firm set of his angular jaw told her that he was not a man to be taken lightly.
“You’re quite into the party scene, aren’t you?”
Blaise watched as Ella stiffened, her bubblegum-pink lips tightening into a firm line. She didn’t like his assessment of her. She didn’t like his presence full stop, that much was clear.
But she could hardly deny that when her picture made it into the paper, it was because she was at some high profile soiree. It seemed she went to any and every event in Paris, at least those she could gain admittance to. And, from what he’d discovered, there were spare few she couldn’t. A gorgeous American heiress with a sensational, tragic backstory was always in demand. And she took advantage of that.
“It’s called promo, weren’t we discussing that earlier?” she asked, arching one finely groomed brow.
Yes, she was beautiful, fine bone structure, bright blue eyes overly enhanced now by a thick line of blue pencil drawn all the way around them, making them look wider, more cat-shaped. It was obvious that she had no problem drawing attention to herself. She was wearing a short black dress that displayed her long, shapely legs to perfection, and ornate ankle boots with buckles and a cutout at the toe that showed off shockingly pink toenails.
A sharp shot of lust stabbed at his stomach. He dismissed it. This wasn’t about lust; this was about business.
He’d learned long ago to separate the two. Learned never to let desire lead him around like a dog on a leash.
“It’s ineffective,” he said sharply. “Yes, it gets your name in the paper to go to every night club opening in Paris, but it’s not elevating you to the level this boutique suggests you want to be at.”
“At this point, I just need to get my name in the paper. I do what I can to drum up interest in the Ella Stanton label.”