Page 39 of The Billionaire's Ride

“Call me,” he says, taking his exit, and we wave goodbye.

“So . . .” Beau begins. “I don’t know how to sew.”

This is a fun fact I’m well aware of after she did her best helping me with a junior design show in L.A. Let’s just say she is much better at modeling the clothes than she is at creating them.

“Leave that to me. You’ll be my live mannequin.”

She gasps. “Like Kim Cattrall in that ’80s movie?”

“Sure,” I say and immediately get to work.

A few hours in, I’ve found my footing and my flow. The machine’s clicking hums are mesmerizing. For now, I work on the pieces that don’t require custom lace. Tomorrow, I’ll need to find lace makers who can work fast. I’m completely focused on the task at hand, but every so often, my mind wanders to my night with Drew.

I drape a new piece over Beau’s body. Likely still jetlagged, she’s been incredibly patient throughout this whole day. “You’re a saint,” I tell her.

“I’m glad someone thinks so.”

My phone buzzes, vibrating against the nearby table, and I rush over to it in case it’s another contact calling me back. But this time, it’s Drew.

A huge grin spreads across my face, and my entire body ignites in excited tingles. I give Beau thejust one-secsymbol and step into the other room.

“Hi,” I answer.

“Hey,” he says, low and seductive. Almost like he’s in bed waiting for me to join him. “That was some ride last night.”

I let out a breath as my pulse quickens. “Yes, it was.”

“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses for a moment, and I run my thumb across my lip. “I need to see you again. How’s tonight?”

A mix of excitement and disappointment swirls in my chest. “I want to see you too, but I can’t tonight. I’m in Soho working on some new pieces for the show this week.”

“Where?”

“Jean-Charles Monreau’s studio.”

“On Berwick?”

“You know it?” I ask.

“I’m in the business. I know all the big designers in London,” he says. “Why don’t I take you to dinner? You’ll need to eat sometime.”

That’s true. When I’m in this kind of mode, I don’t really think about food. “Beau’s here helping me. I don’t want to leave her by herself.”

“Bring her along.”

It’s a sweet offer, but there’s enough tension today without piling on Beau’s third-degree. “How about tomorrow night?”

“Sure. But if you change your mind, you know where I live.”

As the afternoon transitions into the evening, I can’t get Drew’s words out of my head—you know where I live. An open invitation. The day’s been so tense with me scrambling to bring my new lingerie to life. I thought back to my all-nighters before. About how I passed out, how that decision to pound away again and again led to the worst burnout of my life and set my business back big time. I need to take a break if I know what’s good for me.

Just as I decide to end my work day at a somewhat decent hour, my phone dings. It’s a text from a random London number. “That’s weird.”

“What’s up?” Beau asks, looking up from her phone.

“I just got a message saying I have a delivery at the front.”

Beau rises from lounging on the narrow sofa in the corner of the room and tosses her golden locks over her shoulder. “I’ll go check. Finally, something for me to do.” She’s only gone a few minutes before she returns with a large paper bag. “It’s from your boyfriend.”

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