Billionaires Dollar Series

“Well,” Gina says beside me. “This is going to take a bit of work?”

I feel like laughing at the understatement. Is that why Nick hired me? Because he expected me to give up, or worse still, fail spectacularly? Would that give him satisfaction?

“Unfortunately, yes,” I say. “So let’s dive right in.”

For the coming hour, we make a list of everything we need to change. My hands fly across my phone as I take notes. Re-organize sale section. Push inventory that skews younger to the front. Create a new marketing campaign. Shown around the back by a friendly employee, Gina and I make a survey of all the inventory.

And it’s a lot.

“Why did they stock four hundred and fifty orange T-shirts? There’s no logo on it. It’s quite literally just an orange T-shirt for grown women.”

For the first time since meeting her, Gina’s eyes crinkle in amusement. But her tone is professional. “Some women probably like it.”

“Some probably do,” I concede, “and more power to them. But ordering this huge quantity of them is crazy.”

“If they’d been good at business we wouldn’t be here,” she says, heading into the next aisle. And so it continues. By late afternoon, my head is spinning with all the ideas we’ve discussed for restructuring the store.

My mind runs further ahead still-to a complete revamp of the entire brand. Commissioning a new logo and a new marketing profile entirely. I’ll have to talk to Nick about how much money he’s willing to put into this project. One thing is for sure, however. It’ll cost money to make money with this store.

Gina and I don’t leave until the store closes. My phone is filled to the brim with pictures of racks and clothing and inventory.

“We’ll create a set of guidelines for changes tomorrow,” Gina says, “and then we’ll present it to Mr. Park.”

I nod, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel. “Sounds great.”

The cab ride to my brother’s new house is one of deep contemplation. My hands play with the belt of my trench coat, thinking of tomorrow. Of standing in front of Nick and presenting my ideas. Of his dark eyes, which have never looked at me with anything but disapproval or indifference.

It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I’m doing this to prove something to him, yes, but mostly to myself and to my brother. That I’m not a quitter. That I’m more than my failed clothing line. That I’m not just the glorified socialite Nick thinks I am.

The cab drops me off outside of the giant wrought-iron gate to Cole and Skye’s house in Greenwood Hills. I type in the passcode and head up the driveway, walking along a carefully landscaped path. Seeing the giant house now, it strikes me again just how much my brother’s life has changed compared to only two years ago. An inveterate bachelor since his disastrous break-up, he’d shown no permanent interest in women until Skye.

Now he has a house and a wife. He’s home in time for dinner in the evenings, not slaving away at a desk. I might tease him that she’s completely tamed him, but truth be told, I’m more grateful to Skye than I could ever say for granting my brother happiness.

I ring the doorbell and try the handle simultaneously. It swings open. “It’s just me!” I call, sinking down into one of the chairs artfully placed in the hallway.

“I can see that.” The voice is deep and gravelly and not at all what I expected. Nick stands by the staircase, arching a dark eyebrow as he sees me struggling out of my thigh-high boots. I’d put them on impulsively this morning, but after a whole day on my feet, they’ve betrayed me. My feet are killing me. “Do you always get undressed in your brother’s hallway?”

“I’m just taking off my shoes,” I say tersely. “I didn’t know you’d be here, boss.”

Nick snorts. He’s as aware as I am that the epitaph is not meant in a positive way. “I didn’t know you’d be here, either,” he says. “Would have skipped on dinner if I had.”

The silence between us stretches on. I work the zipper down on my right boot but can’t quite get it over my heel. My feet have probably swollen in the damnable things too, for all my luck, and I’m stuck here in front of the most intimidating man I know with my boots around my ankles.

He watches, relentless. “Struggling?”

“No, I’m fine.”

I tug so hard that my knuckles whiten but the boot barely moves an inch. The damn thing is glued to my leg. I try wiggling the heel, but it won’t budge.

“Fucking hell, just ask for help.” Large, swarthy hands are on my ankle the next moment. Nick grips the bottom of my shoe with surprising gentleness and tugs and it slips right off.

He holds out his hands for my other leg and I lift it up, barely breathing as he undoes the zipper from knee to ankle. He yanks it off smoothly.

Embarrassment and an odd, tingly excitement are at war inside me. No doubt this is another strike in his Blair-isn’t-capable column, or perhaps his I-only-see-Blair-as-Cole’s-little-sister notebook.

He takes a step back and looks at my stockinged feet like they hold all the answers. I open my mouth to say thank you, but the arrival of my sister-in-law disrupts the moment.

Skye is beaming. “You’re both here! Nick, have you been waiting for long?”

“Not at all,” he says smoothly. For all my problems with him, I’ve never seen him be anything but unfailingly polite to my brother’s wife.

Probably because he knows he’d be thrown on his ass if he ever slipped. Not that he’s ever had such qualms with me.

Cole has his back to us, mixing drinks from the bar cart in the living room. He doesn’t need to ask what we like.

Nick and I stand awkwardly side by side, waiting to be served our brandy and martini. Why have we both been invited to dinner? It’s been months and months since the last time this happened.

“We’ve ordered in,” Cole says. Skye shoots us a guilty look at that, but my brother just grins. “There was no time to cook. Besides, they cook better than we ever could.”

“Taki’s?” I ask.

“Farang,” Cole says. “But good thinking with Taki. That’ll be next time.”

Skye takes a seat on one of the low couches and gestures for me to join her. “You two have started working together now, right? Tell us everything.”

Oh no.

Is this why Nick and I have been invited? To report on our progress? I see the same pained realization in Nick’s eyes, but he takes a sip of his whiskey, clearly leaving the answering to me.

“It’s good,” I hedge. “I mean, it’s only been two days. I spent this one deep in the storage room of one of his stores, trying to sort through their inventory.”

“And?” Cole asks, now sprawled in one of the armchairs. “Can they be turned around?”

My brother is asking, but Nick is the one observing me over the rim of his glass. Whatever I say will be commented upon tomorrow, no doubt.

“I think so,” I say carefully, “but it’s too early to tell. I think it’ll be an expensive endeavor, though.”

“Oh?”

My eyes flit to Nick’s without my consent. They’re narrowed, but with what emotion I can’t tell. “Well, truly revamping their brand might include a new marketing campaign, new models, a new logo… I’m sure we’ll talk about it more tomorrow.”

Nick still hasn’t acknowledged my words. He’s just looking at me, and not knowing if it’s in disapproval or interest makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

Cole snorts, turning to Nick. “Good thing you bought it when you did, man. Given another month, the Adams would have driven it into the ground.”

“Most likely,” he responds. “But they’re also going around and giving interviews to any journalist who’ll listen with their sob story.”Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

“I saw that,” Skye adds. “What did the Wall Street Journal call it? ‘The American Gem’?”