“Easy, cancel your plans for tonight. You’re getting your wardrobe assessed.” I smiled at how little Easton seemed to be looking forward to the assessment. Made me look forward to it a little bit more. The guy's fashion was the least of his problems. He was bad-tempered and didn’t know how to behave nicely around others, even though that wasn’t necessarily what he felt. I practically had a degree in small talk and faking congeniality. He needed that too.
“So, it’s all settled then?”
“My assistant will be in contact with the details.” I cast one final look at Easton. You know what? This was going to be fun.
7
Easton
I glanced at the corner of my phone to check the time. It was almost seven, Missy was coming at seven. I sighed and shoveled another mouthful of cold low mein into my mouth. The TV was on, but I wasn’t watching it. I surveyed the living room. There was a tower of old pizza boxes that had been getting higher by the week. What could I say? Pizza was easy. I could cook if I wanted to, I just didn’t want to. It was messy. Kind of dirty but I hadn’t gotten roaches or bugs yet so it could be worse. My dirty laundry had started to make its way out of my bedroom and there were a couple of dirty towels thrown over the back of the couch I was sitting on.
I had gotten my loft by pure luck. Looking for a place in New York, all I wanted was no roommates. I knew the way rents were set up and that it wasn’t uncommon for four or five people to be living in a place together. I had not lived in army barracks for my entire adult life just to keep having a bunch of roommates when I finally became a civilian. I started looking for a place and came across this one. The previous owner needed someone urgently to take over their lease and it happened to be in my budget.
I was uptown, literally less than ten blocks from work. I could afford something even closer, but I was happy here. I didn’t need that much in terms of space or luxuries. I didn’t care about what my money could possibly buy me when it was all stuff I didn’t need and would never use.
Cleaning up probably wouldn’t hurt though, seeing as Missy was coming over.
Or I could just not.
Who the hell was she anyway? The fucking queen of England? I wouldn’t clean-up for her either. She knew what she was getting into. She had met me twice. Wasn’t she supposed to fix this shit for me?
Right on cue, the intercom buzzed.
Oh no, I was totally gonna do a little cleanup before she came, what was I going to do?
I got up, leaving the box on the table, and opened the door downstairs. The elevator opened into the foyer area so I didn’t have to let her in. The elevator dinged and I heard her heels click-clack on the floor. Then she gasped. I turned and looked at her.
“You’re two minutes early.”
She was in a dress that hit her knees and was tight just under her tits but loose flowing down her body. Not that it did anything to obscure her figure from me. She looked great, it almost made me feel bad about not cleaning up a little.
“Look at the state of this place. Are you having me on?”
Scratch that, I didn’t feel bad. I had seen this woman a total of three times and I felt like that was enough for a lifetime. Just her presence exhausted me. Seeing her and getting ready for the onslaught that was to come because she always had some shit to say.
“Isn’t that your job?” I said to her.
“I’m here to fix your image, not clean up after you.” She walked into my loft, taking it all in. The food boxes on the table in the living room, the random items on the floor, the used towel thrown over the back of the couch. She made a face. “What kind of billionaire doesn’t have a cleaning staff?”
The way she said cleaning staff made me feel like she was very familiar with ordering people around to do stuff for her. I didn’t know that much about her background. I didn’t know anything about her background, but it seemed like she came from money or had a lot of it. I wasn’t sure why, but it amused me that she was so appalled with my living conditions. What the hell was I supposed to do? Commit the biggest sin of the nouveau riche by buying a huge mansion and filling it with disgusting, gaudy stuff that was so expensive that it looked cheap?
“Well, the position is open if you’re interested.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you at least live alone? Or will I have to contend with a roommate?”
“All alone.”
“How could any one person generate this much of a mess?” She wasn’t talking to me just then, she was thinking out loud, but I answered her anyway.
“You think it’s messy? I think of my home the way I think of my clothes.”
“What? Moth-eaten? Old? Several decades off trend?”
I deadpanned. “Lived-in.”
“Lived-in by a pack of wolves more like,” she said, sighing. “I don’t suppose you’re offering me anything to drink so we might as well get started.”
I laughed. “Do you want anything to drink?”
“I can’t imagine the state of your kitchen. Drink something from in there and risk E. coli? I think not. Show me your wardrobe.”
“Right. In America by the way we call that a closet,” I said as we walked down the hallway towards my bedroom. The hallway took the first bill from my bedroom. I had some abandoned gym equipment lying there, as well as some clothes that I wasn’t sure were clean or not. I had a bookshelf in the living room, but a lot of my books had ended up in the hallway too. The bedroom wasn’t great either. I never made my bed, what was the point when I was just going to get into it again and mess it up? Besides that, there were clothes, clean and dirty everywhere.
“Jesus Christ, is your mattress on the floor?”
“No. It’s on the fucking ceiling.” She glared at me.
“Why don’t you have a box spring? A bed frame? Anything?”
“After sleeping in a military issue cot for six years, this is a hundred percent more comfortable.”
“What excuse does a man your age have to be living like this? I’m sure 19-year-olds in college dorms live under better conditions. You have more than enough money so a lack of it is not going to fly as an excuse.”
“You’re right, I do have a lot of money. Do you think I made all that money because I spent all my time here, making sure all my socks were folded correctly?”
“Do you invite women over with your home looking like this?” She asked.
I scoffed. “Why the sudden interest in my sex life? Are you being paid to help me with that too?” I kicked the towel out of the way into the walk-in closet.
“Here it is. The wardrobe,” I said, imitating her accent. I had a lot of clothes, even though it was a lot of the same thing. I hated doing laundry, so what I did a lot of the time was just buy new clothes when I ran out. I didn’t do it as much anymore, but that meant I had a lot of stuff, sometimes multiples of the same shirt or pair of shorts. I looked at Missy. She wasn’t even trying to disguise the disgust on her face. Until this point, it had been amusing, even kind of fun to get on her bad side, but suddenly, I felt a little weird. I wanted to kick her out of my house. I didn’t like that she was seeing it the way it was.
I was angry. She was only here to judge me. This snooty British chick was going to look through my stuff and tell me that it wasn’t good enough. I was in the army for God’s sake. I had given up most of my twenties to serve my country and this chick was going to come all the way from across the ocean to tell me what I was doing wrong. Didn’t we have a revolution to get rid of her people a few hundred years ago?
Where did she get off telling me that I didn’t look right? What were her credentials besides probably a mile-long credit card bill? She started looking over my clothes, touching them with just her fingertips like they were covered in rabies or something. All I wore were T-shirts, jeans, sweats and basketball shorts.
“Is this everything?” she asked. She was holding a black T-shirt with the Misfits logo on it.
“The stuff on the floor is supposed to go in there too, bu
t yeah, this is it. What grade are you giving me?”
“I was hoping you had another wardrobe somewhere in this house where you kept your suits, ties and button-down shirts.”
“Well, you’re shit out of luck.”
She looked at me like it was the first time she was seeing me. “Do you even own a tie?”
“Nope.”
“When you get invited to weddings, what do you wear?”
“Ties are uncomfortable. You might as well have a noose around your neck. Suits are the same thing. Why would I wear one when I had to use a uniform for so many years?”
“So, you sit in meetings…wearing this?” she asked, dropping the t-shirt in her hands.
“I co-own my company. I make my own rules. I vowed that I wouldn’t wear a suit anymore now that I don’t have to.”
“How nice. Now tell me how that’s different from a five-year-old being upset that he can't eat ice cream for breakfast, waiting until he gets older, and doing it all the time just because he can?”
“You don’t get to do things just because you’re an adult. I co-founded a business that rose to a billion-dollar valuation in less than five years. If I want to dress like this or eat ice cream three meals a day, I’ve earned it.
“Do you realize how that decision could jeopardize business opportunities?”
“Hasn’t yet.”
“Yes, I guarantee it has. Image is everything in a job where you have to network and attract clients to you.”
I shrugged. “Fuck them then. I’d rather be comfortable. If they judge me by my appearance and not my products, how is it my fault?”
“Your argument against dressing well isn’t strong enough to justify it.”
“I don’t need to argue it. I simply do not want to change the way I dress. End of story.”
She sighed. “Look here, suits don’t have to feel like a uniform, you know. You have a point. The modern men’s suit is very much modeled after military uniform, but designers and tailors personalize them. Make them functional and fashionable, even casual. You might feel that way because you don’t know what designers are working on these days. I could get you into something you quite like.”
It was the accent. I swear it made her sound like she knew what she was talking about. It was also a little hot. I bet she used that on guys all the time. She was making me actually consider putting on a damn monkey suit.
“I got my business to a billion-dollar valuation dressing like this so what’s the truth?”
“That may be true but what do your employees think about you? What about your clients? Do they respect you? Do they trust you? What do they say behind your back?”
I swallowed. “Everyone who works at the company likes me.”
“Yeah, but what do they say behind your back? It's not hard to get people to like you but do they respect you?”
“Of course.”
“Their boss who walks around the office in clothes that look like he slept in them?”
“They're on my payroll. They better respect me.”
“That’s not respect, it’s fear. Do they believe you’re competent? Do you inspire confidence in them? Do they believe your company will last into the future?”
“Of… of course.”
“When they ask for letters of recommendation when they are looking for new work, will they be afraid that their new employers will know who you are and hold it against them?” she asked. Wait, wait, wait, all that from the way I dress? My worn-out shirts were going to do all that? No way. It was a t-shirt, not a blood feud. She was acting like my fucking beard was going to ruin my employees' future prospects. Working for me was the end of the line and they were all fucking blackballed in the industry. Where did she get off saying wild shit like that? Like she even fucking knew better. Unbelievable. She was blowing shit way out of proportion. I hadn’t allowed this woman into my house to talk to me like that. Not on my watch.
8
Artemis
“I thought you were here to give me fashion tips, where do you get off talking to me about respect?” Easton said as he approached me. He started circling me.
“I’m trying to. You aren’t being very cooperative.” I turned around so I was facing him, but he was walking in circles around me, like a vulture waiting for something to die.
“You walking around in that frilly skirt, you think it makes people respect you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I’m just curious where you think you got your credentials.”
My knowledge came the best way any knowledge is gained. Through infinite swipes of my credit card, and a standing invitation to the front row of every international fashion show that mattered. I wasn’t going to tell him that though because he would just laugh in my face. He didn’t respect my work.
“Sorry, but any high schooler could tell you the difference between appropriate formal wear and what you’re wearing now.”
“So, nothing?” he asked.
“I know fashion. I was on the staff of a magazine previously and I have a growing list of satisfied clients.”
“Is that what passes as experience in your field?”
I straightened my back. He was trying to intimidate me. He was using the most obvious method to try and do it. Walking around me the way that he was, he was making the room smaller and limiting my exit options. He wasn’t scary. At this point, he was annoying me. In addition to that, he was also wasting my time. Ideally, we could have been done by now. He, for whatever reason, I was going to guess a bruised ego, wanted to throw his weight around. We weren’t even in competition; I didn’t know what he was on about.
“Does your husband like the way you dress?” he asked. Ah, so this was what he was doing. It wasn’t enough to try and intimidate me, so he had resorted to personal attacks. I knew that he didn’t like me. I knew it, and I didn’t care. I wasn’t there to be liked; I was there to do my job. Rather than let me do my job, he was letting his pride get in the way and was making this whole process longer and worse than it needed to be. All things considered, I didn’t much like him either. I wasn’t sure how he and his business partner had managed to have such an enduring relationship. He was temperamental, he was petty, he had a chronic foul mood, no matter the occasion, and he thought my career was a joke.
It was a little late to regret taking Toby up on his offer, but the regret was making itself known.
“I dress very well, but for your information, I am not married.” He laughed and it made my stomach clench. He wanted that. He wanted ammunition and I had just given it to him.
“Boyfriend then.”
“None of this is any of your business,” I said.
“Alright, no boyfriend. Girlfriend perhaps?”
I rolled my eyes. “If you are making your way towards a point, hurry up and get there.”
“You’re single. How surprising.” He had some nerve trying to talk to me like this. I didn’t know his situation, and I didn’t care but any self-respecting woman in this city would turn their nose up at him with the way he presented himself. If they hung around him long enough to get a whiff of his foul personality, that would send them running if his general aura didn’t. He really wanted to attack me for being single? I was twenty-seven, not eighty. So what I didn’t have anybody yet? Was there someone keeping count? Had the hourglass been turned over? I didn’t have anything to prove to him or anybody else with a significant other. Rather than jump into something unfulfilling, wasn’t it better that I was waiting?
As if I actually needed his approval! I didn’t care what he thought.
“Your point, Easton. Make it now or I’m leaving.” He hadn’t stopped circling me. I tried to calm my breathing down because I knew he was just trying to rile me up. He had decided that this was some sort of competition. We were opponents, and he was trying to win, whatever that would earn for him. I never could have predicted this when I took the assignment. Toby had warned me that Easton would be di
fficult, but he forgot to mention that his partner was needlessly hostile and chose violence when he didn’t get his way.
“Why should I respect you?” he asked.
“I’m sorry?” I asked. I didn’t want respect from a man like him. He was exposing himself as more and more detestable as the minutes passed. We needed at least some sort of rapport in order to work together, but I wasn’t even keen on that anymore. He was difficult and argumentative.
“I said, why should I respect you? What are your qualifications? Awards? Degrees? These are the things that people care about. What are yours?”
He came back around me making his circle and I grabbed his arm so that he stopped walking. It was hard, completely solid muscle under my fingers.
“Stop that, you’re making me dizzy.”
“You have none then.” I dropped his arm.
“It should be enough that I don’t leave the house in the same clothes I slept in.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a charlatan on top of everything else.”
“I’m good at what I do regardless of what you think. If you care suddenly about whether I’m equipped for the job, you can look at my past record of satisfied clients. This is probably a game to you, and you might think that you are being cute, but your non-compliance is frankly annoying.”
“Oh, noncompliance? What are you going to do? Tell on me again?”
“We’re going to settle this like adults. I can only help you and do my job if you let me. If this is a waste of my time and yours, then neither of us needs to be here.”
“You’re leaving? Finally.” He laughed again. I stared at him honestly bewildered. I had never dealt with a person like him before. I had never met somebody who delighted in frustrating other people who are trying to help him so much. There was honestly no reason for his obstinance. He was just having me on. He was being forced to do something he did not want to do and instead of sucking it up for a few weeks, he had decided that if he wasn’t having fun, nobody got to have fun.
Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3) Page 6