The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient #3)(16)
“I can’t imagine any scenario where they wouldn’t keep you,” I say, shaking my head at him in amusement. I’m not worried about myself, either. I’m no fashion designer, but Michael Larsen Apparel wouldn’t be where it is today without me. I built the team at MLA from the ground up, formed the valuable connections with our suppliers, guided our marketing and PR efforts. When Michael lets me, I steer his designs in more profitable directions. We did this together. No matter how this goes, I’m fucking proud of us. “And I think our brand—MLA and your name—has value, so they wouldn’t mess with it. What usually happens is they buy owners out for a certain amount, but we stay to lead the company under contract. The best thing is they’re an enormous multinational company and they have the connections and resources to really get MLA out there. We could end up in malls and department stores worldwide, instead of selling mostly online and domestically like we do now.”
Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, Michael rubs his face. After a moment, the first sign of a smile breaks through. “I can’t wait to tell Stella. She’s going to have a zillion questions. You should brace yourself.”
I laugh, but I also make a mental note to be extra detail oriented and meticulous with everything LVMH related—if anything LVMH related happens. Because Stella will ask a ton of questions in that case, and as a genius numbers person, she tends to ask people things that make them squirm if they don’t know their shit. “Well, all I know is what’s in the email, so tell her to wait.”
Michael gives me a thumbs-up and then focuses on packing up his gear, gloves inside the helmet, helmet inside the chest armor, everything wrapped up with the heavy fabric guard that ties around the waist. He makes sure the front flap, which is embroidered with the name of our school and his last name, is centered and facing outward.
When I’m done packing up my own stuff, I put my gear on the shelf in its assigned spot, and there our names are, side by side, LARSEN and DIEP, just like when our moms signed us up for lessons when we were in kindergarten. A lot has changed since then—I’m hardly the same person that I used to be, he isn’t either—but it’s still me and him. I think it’s always going to be this way, and the knowledge is deeply, deeply comforting.
EIGHT
Anna
VIOLIN, PRACTICED (I PLAYED IN CIRCLES AGAIN). APARTMENT, cleaned (even my bathtub). Groceries, purchased. White wine, chilling in the freezer. Me, freshly showered and wearing a black wrap dress. Condoms, in my nightstand drawer.
Now I wait.
I’m too jittery to sit still, so I pace back and forth across my living room. Rock watches me quietly, and after several passes, I stop to pet him, hoping it’ll calm me down.
“We’re having a visitor tonight,” I tell him.
He looks surprised by the news.
“We really are,” I say. “Julian sent me a weird message today. What did it say?” I pull my phone out of my dress’s pocket and find his message, so I can read it out loud: “Can’t stop thinking about you. Last night was amazing. Same time, same place, next week?”
Rock’s eyes bulge, and his smiling mouth looks more like a horrified grimace.
“That was my reaction, too. I told him that he probably messaged the wrong person, and he apologized right away, saying that it’s not what it looks like—which I doubt. I’m not stupid. He said he misses me and asked if I want to meet up for lunch one of these days. I said I was busy and would catch up later. And then I called Quan and invited him over. It seemed like the perfect thing to do at the time, but now …” I sigh. “I’m so nervous.”
Rock’s smile turns apologetic, and I pat him on the head again before I hug my arms to my chest and get back to pacing. Fourteen strides there, fourteen strides back. Repeat.
When I notice I’m tapping my top teeth against my bottom teeth, I stretch out my jaw and then massage it. My dentist says if I don’t stop, I’m going to wear down all the bone in my jaw and lose my teeth. There’s a horrible irony there. During my childhood, I began tapping my teeth as an alternative to tapping my fingers, which is distracting and annoys people. Tapping my teeth, on the other hand, is silent and invisible. It can’t harm anyone. Except for me, apparently.
I’m mid-step, halfway across the room, when the intercom buzzes. My heart squeezes painfully as adrenaline shoots through my body, and I race to the front door and hit the talk button on the intercom.
“Hello?” I say, wincing at how trembly and embarrassingly pathetic my voice sounds.
There’s a short pause before he says, “Are you okay, Anna? We don’t have to do this. We can rain-check or just watch TV again.”
I worry my bottom lip as I internally debate this. I’m extremely tempted to take the out he’s offered. But I need to do this.
It’s time.
I hit the button that allows him to enter the building. “Come on up.”
In the seconds that follow, disjointed thoughts flit through my head. I need to flirt. I need to have fun. I need to show Julian. I need to not care what people think. I need to overcome my insecurities. I want to be empowered, just like Rose described.
A knock sounds on my door. I’m expecting it, but I still flinch. My heart ramps up to warp speed, and my skin goes numb. I look through the peephole. Yes, it’s him. One breath in. One breath out.