The Highest Price to Pay
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“You don’t do enough.”
“Thank you,” she said, her tone flat.
“It cheapens you.”
Her blue eyes widened. “It isn’t as though I’m out engaging in questionable activities, you make it sound like I’m dancing on tables while shouting the name of my label. I always behave in a professional manner.”
“You have to surround yourself with potential clients. Tell me, are any of those hard-partying patrons of the events you frequent going to come and spend money on your clothes?”
“Some of them…”
“Not enough of them. You need to build connections in the industry. You need to build real connections with the sort of clientele you want.”
“I’m working up to that point but it isn’t as though invitations to exclusive events land in my mailbox every day.” She shifted her weight and put her hand on one shapely hip.
He noticed them then. Patches of pink, shiny skin marring the creamy perfection of her fingers. This was what had made her instantly newsworthy when she’d come to Paris. The scarred, American heiress who wore her pain like a trophy and used her personal tragedy to her best advantage. Her sob story, the house fire that had left her burned, was half of her appeal to the media, and she made the most of it.
A quality he admired. Although, his first thought upon seeing that Ella Stanton’s business loan was rolled in with the others he’d wanted to purchase had been to unload it as quickly as possible. He didn’t have time to waste on a spoiled little rich girl playing at a career that suited her idea of over-the-top glamour.
After looking at her sales figures, he’d been forced to put that idea away, and talking to a couple of industry professionals and gaining insight on their opinion of Ella’s talent had further altered his first impression. She wasn’t playing; she was good at what she did.
She was working hard to advance her line, harder than he’d imagined she might be. But he knew he could take it further. Take her further.
The bottom line was profit; it was all that mattered. And he would wring every ounce of profit possible out of the Ella Stanton label.
“They do land in mine. And I know what to do when such opportunities for networking present themselves. I already have connections you can only dream of. I know you’ve read about my ability to crush companies if the need arises, but I can build them, too. In fact, I excel at it. The only question is which of my famed skills would you like to see employed here?”
There was a determined glint in her eyes, one that only served to add weight to the desire already settled in his gut.
“What exactly do you require of me?” she asked, speaking through her tightly gritted teeth.
“It’s simple. When it comes to matters of business, you do as I say. To the letter.”
“So all you want is total control then? Not too much to ask.” Her tone was even, her expression placid, but he could sense the barely controlled emotion that was all but radiating from her.
“What I want is to take your brand and make it a household name. To have every fashionista wanting the next big thing out of the Ella Stanton line. To have your clothing everywhere, from high-end boutiques to department stores. If I have to take control to see that happen, I will.”
“What if I can buy out the loan?”
“You would rather try to keep going on your own than take this opportunity?”
“This is my business, not your moneymaking venture,” she said, breathing hard, full breasts rising. He couldn’t help but let his eyes linger there, to go further and admire the small indent of her waist, the round curve of her hip. A shame he didn’t mix business with the pleasures of the flesh. It was too complicated, and when it came to women, he didn’t do complicated.
“Do you think anyone would loan you money at this point, Ella? Your debt to income ratio is not the sort of thing a bank would want to see.”
Color flooded her pale cheeks. “I know it’s not what it could be but my plan is good and…”
“There are a lot of variables in your plan, from what I hear. And while it may be good in a general sense, it is not going to be guarantee enough for most banks as things stand. You’ve accumulated a lot more debt in the time since you took out this loan.”
“Fashion shows are expensive. The last one I did cost me five figures, and I only earned a percentage back.” Her voice cracked.
Ella felt like she was watching everything slide through her fingers. All the years of working toward something no one had believed she could achieve. She’d pushed herself so hard to make it this far. She’d done it on her own, without support from her family. The boutiques, the fashion line, they were hers. They were everything.
But now they were his. And unless she wanted to lose them altogether, she had to play his game. She’d known it would come down to that, from the second he’d shown her the paperwork, she’d known. She just hadn’t wanted to accept it. But she had to now. There wasn’t another choice.
Giving up her control, inviting someone else into her life, her business, was as close to a living nightmare as she could imagine. But losing everything went so far beyond a nightmare that she couldn’t even think about it.
She sucked in a sharp breath and schooled her face into what she hoped was an expression of calm serenity. “I’m willing to work with you in whatever way I can to ensure our success.”
A wry smile curved his wicked mouth. He wasn’t fooled by her display of calm, and that made her angry. He could see through her, was amused by her. She curled her hands into fists and dug her fingernails into her palms.
“This isn’t personal, Ella. This is about the bottom line, and I intend to see a substantial profit. If at any point it becomes clear that isn’t going to happen, I will abandon the project.”
Ella extended her hand and he grasped it. Lightning shot through her, unexpected, instant, as if she’d touched a naked wire. It mingled with the anger, the adrenaline that was already pounding through her and made her feel shaky, like her knees might give out at any moment.
She looked up and met his eyes, and saw heat. Attraction. He looked down at where their hands were joined, his large and dark, hers small and pale and marred. He ran his thumb over one of the scars that blazed a jagged path over the back of her hand.