Page 9 of Nothing More

Smith popped the chocolate in his mouth and nodded. “Mmhm. Yes,” he said around the candy. “No sense muddying the waters.”

If Toly hadn’t hated him the moment he entered, he would have started hating him now.

“As for the menswear–” Raven began.

Smith cut her off. “It’s really good-looking stuff, Miss Blake. We’d wear it, wouldn’t he?” he asked with a gesture to Greg.

“Real sharp lines,” Greg put in.

Smith nodded. “Yes, well put. In fact, that’s why we’re here. Smith & Associates has agreed to host a charity gala for the upcoming holiday season. Well, us and several other firms. Given the exclusivity of the attendees, and the cost per plate, it’s a bit out of my price range, personally, to foot the bill.” He forced out a falsely deprecating laugh.

Raven, whose face had gone rigid at his earlier interruption, tilted her head, brows twitched fractionally together in a bland show of confusion. “Mr. Smith, if you’re hoping that Intemporelle will assist you in–”

“No, no,” he broke in again, lifting a hand to stay her.

Her nostrils flared in a dangerous way and Toly smiled inwardly.

“We have hosting duty sorted. We are, however, searching for upscale donations for our silent auction.”

Raven uncrossed, and recrossed her legs. “I’m certain,” she said, crisply, “that everyone attending your gala can afford to buy one of my suits. Why would they bid on one?”

Greg cleared his throat and scooted forward in his chair, a self-conscious movement that seemed better suited for a smaller man. “Actually, we were thinking of something a little less traditional.” From inside his jacket, he produced a folded sheet of paper that he offered to her across the table.

Again, Toly felt that pulse ofI should do that. He chased it away, as he had before, but with more difficulty.

Raven let the paper hover a long heartbeat, until its edges began to tremble while Greg maintained the reach. Then she plucked it away and made a show of unfolding it and scanning its contents. When she lifted her head, a single brow lifted, too. “A ‘custom styling experience’?”

Smith started to speak, but Greg beat him to it, hands spread in a placating manner, smile sheepish. “I know it sounds a little tacky.”

Raven’s expression clearly said,You don’t say.

“And you’re probably thinking,” he went on, “that it sounds like nothing more than a simple makeover. But it isn’t. This Christmas is going to be stupid with balls, and charity events, and movie premieres. Our gala will be one of the first events of the season, and the attendees will be going to all the major events in December. The mockup you have there” – he nodded to the paper in Raven’s hand – “is just what we’ve come up with, and you would of course be able to narrow the parameters, or expand them, however you see fit. We thought the prize could be for a couple, or even a group: a chance to wear your latest designs, the prototypes that aren’t even in stores yet. Then, when the press asks Charlize who she’s wearing, she can say, ‘Raven Blake’s Intemporelle.’”

Raven’s gaze narrowed; she was thinking.

“I’m afraid we’ve taken a gamble,” Smith said. “You’re already a staple in the modeling industry, but we’re betting that your clothing line isn’t quite to household name status yet.”

Her gaze narrowed another fraction; a muscle leaped in her clenched jaw.

“You’re the first designer we thought of, and the first we’ve approached. Understandably, if you’re not interested” – he sat back in his chair, fingers lacing together over his knee, far too self-satisfied – “we’ll move to the next on our list.”

“Yes,” Raven drawled. “Understandably.”

A stare-down ensued. Greg shifted, fingers twitching on his thigh, clearly uncomfortable. But Smith held Raven’s gaze unflinching, his smile small and smug.

Still standing in attendance, unnoticed, Toly took one last opportunity to study the man. His face bore the smooth, plasticky look of Botox injections around the eyes and mouth, his tan deep and orange-tinted: spray-on rather than tanning bed dark. His age showed in his hands, the raised veins and sun spots; his nails were buffed to a high shine, the beds tidy and cuticles pushed back. Typical rich man.

The single point of interest was his insistence on maintaining his stare with Raven. Under ordinary circumstances, Toly would have chalked it up to a rich, chauvinist asshole who enjoyed intimidating women, overly used to slinging his figurative business-dick around as compensation for the doubtless shriveled one in his designer pants.

But circumstances were anything but normal, and he had to view everything through the lens ofpossible threat.

The young guy, Greg, kept fidgeting – but his gaze was trained on Raven, intense in a way Toly didn’t like. It was virtually impossible for men not to stare at her, but watching someone do it left Toly’s knuckles itching for a cheekbone to smash.

As the silence stretched uncomfortably, he decided that, even if he hated them, these two were simply businessmen. Dickheads, yes; pieces of shit, sure. But he’d sat in plenty of rooms with real monsters; had done their bidding, even. Smith and his lackey were the sorts of men who wound up taped to chairs in fancy rooms belonging to men like Andrei Kozlov.

In other words: harmless.

Finally, Raven drew in an audible breath and stood. Smoothed her skirt. “Well. It’s a polite offer.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m considering it. I can give you an affirmative by end of business day.”