Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
“Was that a blow-off, or are you going to see him at some point?”
I sighed. “I guess I’ll see him. We left it that he was going to call me in a few weeks, when things settled down at work. But after yesterday, I’m not sure that’s going to be happening anytime soon.”
“What happened yesterday?”
I filled Brock in on the board member I’d caught trying to sell part of my company, and how I’d made the bold—and possibly stupid—announcement that I was going to buy out the investors.
“You have the cash to do that?”
“I’m a little short…”
Brock was quiet for a moment. “I still have a little money left from the inheritance I got from my uncle, if you need it. It’s just sitting in the bank.”
“I need six-million dollars.”
Brock’s eyes flared wide. “Shit. That’s a little out of my league.”
I smiled. “I wouldn’t take your money anyway. But it’s sweet of you to offer. Thank you.”
“Where are you going to get that kind of dough?”
“The bank, I hope. Two years ago, when I took on the investors, we had a business valuation done. They estimated Amourette at twenty million.”
Brock whistled. “I didn’t realize you were my sugar momma, Red. Hell, you’re paying for dinner tonight.”
I laughed. “Most of that estimate is goodwill for the brand, not actual physical assets.”
“Still.” He shrugged. “That’s impressive. You started the company less than a decade ago, and now you’ve got a name worth that kind of money.”
“I am proud of what I’ve built. Though it’s cost me a lot personally to do it.” I looked over and caught Brock’s eyes. “And apparently, it’s still costing me.”
Brock wrapped his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. Silence hung heavy in the air. I hadn’t meant to put a damper on the day when we had so little time together. So after a few minutes, I stood and tugged at his hand. “You up for me to show you two more places?”
“Is one of them inside of you?”
I smiled. “Okay, how about three more places today?”
Brock stood. “I’m up for whatever you want, as long as the day ends the same way it started, with you beneath me.”
I liked the sound of that. A lot. Nevertheless, my heart grew heavy. I wish every day could be like that.
Brock and I rode the subway down to Penn Station. It was amusing as hell to watch him watch people. The young guy sitting across from us on this trip had a long, bleached-blond Mohawk and dozens of safety pins piercing his face. The older man standing to our left was clearly drunk. He wore a trench coat and wobbled while he held up a sign offering to show his dick for a dollar. A woman who must have been eighty took him up on it. Most of the time, I didn’t even pay attention to the people around me on the trains. I was usually too busy answering emails on my phone or prepping for whatever meeting I was late to. The absurdity of New York had grown commonplace to me, but I couldn’t imagine Brock ever getting used to it.
Once we were off the subway, we took the escalator up to street level, and I navigated the walk to the garment district—what’s left of it these days, anyway. A lot of the shops were closed on the weekends, but Mood Fabrics was always open on Saturdays. I took Brock in and walked the long aisles. “My grandmother was a seamstress. She was a piece-garment worker at a knitting mill, which means she got paid per piece that she produced, not by the hour. The money wasn’t great, and my grandfather had passed away when my mom was little, so Gram had to support the house herself. She made custom dresses on the side to help pay the rent, and this place is where she always came to buy her fabrics. I loved coming with her on Saturday mornings. I would spend hours perusing the fabric samples and dreaming up what I might make out of each. Gram was the one who taught me how to sew and started me on my journey in the fashion world.”
“She ever teach you how to make a jacket?”
I laughed. “I swear, I have plenty of outerwear. I just didn’t pack something that went with all my outfits when I was getting ready to go to Sierra.”
Brock winked. “I think the one you had on this morning goes with anything.”
My smile widened. I’d slipped on Brock’s flannel with nothing underneath to go out to the kitchen and flip on the coffee machine.
“Come on.” I tilted my head toward the stairs. “I want to show you something on the second floor.”
I guided Brock to the cutting table, where a dressed mannequin stood nearby. Stopping, I did a little Vanna White hand waving. “This is Filomena.”