Page 15 of The Bargain (Dalton Family #2)

Chapter Fifteen

Sofia

E than came for me. He’s planning on leaving with me.

I’m about to leave my store in the hands of someone else while I’m in an entirely different country.

It’s scary. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And so is he. And me with him. He’s making me step out of my comfort zone.

He’s making me find myself outside my grief.

I sit down at my desk and pull out the instructions I’ve already written up for Lily, and that’s when she appears in the doorway.

“What is happening right now?” she demands. “Who is he, and how do I not know about him?”

I slide my MacBook in its case and then open a drawer and pull out my purse. “I’ll tell you, but you need to keep it between you and me. Don’t tell anyone, and most importantly, not my father.”

At this point, she’s in front of my desk as if closer to me translates to more information. “Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you who he is without sharing how we met.”

“Start talking,” she urges.

“This has to be fast. He’s waiting next door. I went to Hawaii, and low and behold, the hot, rich investor who turned my father down for a financial investment is there. I want to hate him—”

“You slept with him.”

“I did. And I really liked him, but I snuck out before the awkward goodbyes. I’m certain I will never see him again but then I get to New York, and right there in my hotel is him. Again. And guess who’s in the lead seat at the board meeting I’m presenting to for the Zoey line?”

“Him.”

“Yes. Him. And instead of learning my lesson, I slept with him again and then ran. Also, again .”

“I knew something was weird with you since you got back. You were worried this was going to backfire on you.”

“Yes. Exactly, but instead of pulling the contract, he swore his devotion to the Zoey brand. He offered me a contract, or the board did, with him at the helm. There’s a lot more to this but it’s too much to tell right now.”

“Why is he here now, aside from wanting to see you? Is it about the contract?”

“He wants me to travel with him to Paris.”

“And the problem is?”

“My father hates him, and maybe he’ll hate me if this turns sour.”

“Okay that is never going to happen. That’s silly. Your dad adores you. You still haven’t told me the hot, rich guy’s name.”

“Ethan Dalton. If you Google him, he’s not just rich. He’s filthy rich.”

“Then he’s hot. He’s loaded. He’s protective. He came here for you. What else does your father need to know? What else do you need to know? Go get your man.”

I blink and blink again. “Really? You think?”

“I know. One hundred thousand percent. And if you don’t, I’ll go ask him if he’s taking applications. Which is a joke, but come on, Sofia, wake up. I could feel his energy when he walked into the office, the charge in the air when he saw you. He’s all in with you.”

All in . Could it really be true? I want it to be true, and I don’t know why I’m even asking her what to do. I know what to do, and that’s go with Ethan. I point at the notebook on the desk. “I wrote you notes.”

“I don’t need notes. I know the store. Why are you still standing here?”

“My father—”

“Stop with that. He’ll be happy if you’re happy, but he won’t hear about Ethan from me. Now, go be with him before he thinks you changed your mind. You ran out on him twice. Don’t let him think it’s three times.”

She’s right. I dash for the door, and I’m at the exit when I pause and look at my store, at the rows of clothing I designed.

Designing is a dream for many that I’ve made my career.

I’m so very close to taking it all the way.

And as a bonus, this incredible man has stepped into my path, and I don’t know where he or this career move are taking me, but I know I’m blessed.

If Ethan’s all in, I’m all in, wherever that leads, and as for the Zoey brand, the sky is the limit right now, and I want the moon and stars with it.

I exit the store and walk to the coffee shop, entering to find the owner, Martha, behind the counter.

Martha is forty-five and tiny everywhere but the top, and I swear I’ve seen her tip over a few times.

She loves it, too, often calling herself the little teacup of big joy.

I don’t want to know what “joy” she refers to.

The door shuts behind me, and I scan for Ethan, only to have Martha answer my quest. “In the back room, honey, but feel free to stop by the counter and tell me all about Mr. Hottie.”

“Later,” I say, walking right on past her, and I don’t stop until I’m at the door of the small private work area, where I find Ethan on his phone. And no wonder Martha wants to know more about him. He’s gorgeous, a man who personifies power, control, and good looks by doing nothing but existing.

He disconnects his call. “Hello, beautiful. I was afraid you were going to run again.”

I sit down across from him. “I’m not running. I’m all in.”

His eyes warm with approval. “That’s exactly what I want to hear.

” He glances at his watch, a blue-faced Rolex with a white gold band.

“If we can get to the passport office before ten, I suspect we can pay a rush fee and get it tonight. We can decide when we leave after we find out what they can do.”

“I’m not even sure how to pack for such a long trip. Can my bag be like two hundred pounds?”

He laughs. “We’re flying private, so it can be whatever you like, but don’t overpack.

It’s hard to plan for that long anyway. And remember, you’ll be hanging out in Paris.

You’ll want to pick out some things there, I promise you.

It’s interesting to try their products, too.

” He sets a cup in front of me. “Your usual, which I now know to be a white mocha with a pump of hazelnut. I tried it. It’s pretty good. ”

“Your nickname is now Mr. Hottie, per Martha upfront.”

“Is that right?” he chuckles.

“Yes. She’s the owner and the self-proclaimed little teacup of big joy, whatever that means.”

“Let’s not find out. You ready to go?”

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

“Yes, baby, we are.”

Baby.

Sweetheart.

He uses these endearments for me that, from someone else, wouldn’t mean anything, but from him, they set my belly fluttering.

“And I’m really happy you’re coming with me, Sofia,” he says, pushing to his feet and offering me his hand.

I accept, pressing my palm to his, oh so aware of his long fingers closing around mine as he eases me to my feet. “You and me,” he murmurs. “I think I could get used to us . The question is, can you?”

“I’m afraid that might be a little too easy,” I dare to admit, wondering how his version of “us” might vary from mine. Us in bed could well be what he means, but for me, he might not just drag me under the sheets. He might drag me to heartache.

“But that’s just it,” he says. “Easy isn’t so easy to find. It just feels like it is when you happen upon it.”

“Are we? Easy? We’ve had some drama.”

“Nothing we can’t work out naked,” he assures me, his eyes as warm as my cheeks feel. “Let’s go get your passport so you’re free to roam the world with me. And get naked sooner than later.” His hand settles on my waist, his fingers flexing intimately. “But that’s not all we are.”

It is everything I want to hear from him, but it’s also terrifying. When the clothes come off, it’s just two people enjoying each other. Once it’s more, it’s romance and happiness.

Or pain.

He picks up my cup and hands it to me before reaching for his own, and his hand settles on my lower back as he guides me into the main coffee shop. Of course, Martha and her barista gape as we walk by, and I can feel how eager they are to know our story.

But right now, we’re only on about page ten of the book of us, and I don’t need Martha, or anyone else, trying to write our ending.