Page 51 of Fashionista's Playbook

“Are you kidding me?” The small, angry man laughed. “Wait, you hire this—whatever she is, and suddenly you aren’t going to listen to the man who made you rich?”

Travis’ head tilted to one side. “You’re going to act like a child when I refuse your dating advice? Hell, Ace, Moriah is calling it like it is.” Travis pointed toward the door. “You know the way out.”

With a glare and muttered curse, he stomped off, without saying goodbye.

I waited a few beats before pursing my lips to hide my grin. “That went well.”

Travis snorted. “He’ll get over it. He’s a great manager, he’s just greedy. Which, incidentally, iswhyhe’s good at his job.”

“You could have given him a shot at playing match maker.” I pointed out. “I’ve not finished my dress yet.”

Travis crossed the office and leaned over my desk, gently snapping the laptop shut as he did. “That’s funny. I was picturing you without it.”

We weren’t going to get much more work done.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Travis

I’d stood in this same spot and stared down this same salesguy a few months ago. Dude was a whiny little prick, but that didn’t matter.

“Mr. Madera, welcome back!” He oozed with fake enthusiasm.

But I was glad to see the smug bastard here. “When I was in last time, a young woman helped me pick out a watch.”

The guy’s eyes narrowed. He definitely remembered her. “Yes sir, I remember.”

“She sold a watch. A Rolex, if I remember. Would you still have it?”

His eyes darted from left to right, as he considered whether or not he should answer my question truthfully. Probably still pissed that my girl had cost him a chunk of commission. I leaned forward on the counter. My shadow stretched across his face.

Off the field, I rarely used my size to intimidate. I’d been bigger than most kids by sixth grade. My parents didn’t want me to be a bully, and it was made perfectly clear not to do it or face the one man who was bigger than me even as a memory—my dad.

When I did, there was usually a punch of guilt. Not today.

“I’ll check on that for you.” He didn’t stutter, but his words were quick and rattled as he shuffled off.

I glanced around the shop. Jewelry was more a Clutch or DeSean thing. Some of my teammates had a flare for the flashy shit. I stuck with a simple chain and a nice watch. I straightened mine now and thought of Moriah, again. I’d been doing a lot of that lately.

In my life, I’d been so focused on where football could take me, on making my parents proud, even if they weren’t here, I hadn’t wasted time on relationships. There’d been women, sure. A few even stuck around longer than a few months.

But I’d never been invested in making a woman want to stay, until now.

I wanted to know her more, spend more time with her, find out what made her tick. Those desires were new to me, and I liked them. And when she smiled, it was like my gray world erupted with color. Not that I’d say that out loud. Vin would give me shit for waxing poetic about a woman.

But it was the truth. She was vibrant, bright, and all the things I hadn’t realized I was missing.

Holy shit.Those were real feelings, for a woman who worked for me. Not just an attraction, an itch I couldn’t scratch.

I roamed the shop. This was one of those places where I wouldn’t get hammered by people. The clientele was affluent to an extent that most of them didn’t recognize me and gave the big guy with all the tattoos judging glances.

Definitely not my kind of people. But if not for this place, I’d have never mether.

My eyes caught a jeweled piece in one of the cases. A pendant, shaped like a butterfly, bursting with colored jewels. The price on it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help but keep going back to it. The blues, reds, and greens were stunning, much like her.

“Those are all natural-colored diamonds.” The saleswoman said, almost fidgeting to get away from me. The tall guy with all the muscles, tats, not flashing a ton of diamonds made her nervous. “I have a similar setting, with lab made diamonds that is more affordable.”

I was buying the fucking necklace for sure now.

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