Page 41 of Crazy In Love
“Well, a photo, a lamp, maybe a plant… any sign of life would go a long way. You have a blank canvas, and you could do a lot to the place,” I said as he turned down my street.
“What are we, girlfriends now? You’re giving me home décor advice?” he asked dryly.
“You’re the one who asked.”
“I have another question,” he said.
“I thought you were a man of few words?”
He completely ignored me and continued to his question. “Why did you say it was the worst dinner tonight?”
He came to a stop in my driveway, and he turned to face me.
“What are we, girlfriends now? You’re asking me personal questions?” I mimicked his words, but he just continued to hold my stare as if he was waiting.
“So, I’ve told you about my silly crush, I’ve cried about my night, yet you want more? Tell me something about your dinner, and then I’ll tell you why mine sucked,” I said.
“My dinner was fine. Good company. Too much chatter. I ate a lot, and I came home.” His lips made a flat line as if he’d done his part, and now it was my turn.
“My mother is not pleased that I’m pursuing a business of my own.” I glanced out the window, suddenly uncomfortable with how small the space was. Bridger Chadwick was all-consuming. His big body. Broody personality. Gray eyes.
All of it.
It was too much.
“You already own your own business, do you not?” he asked.
“No. That’s my family business. I just run the flower shop.”
“You don’t have a piece of the company? You’re just an employee?” he asked, and his words rubbed me wrong.
“I’m not ‘just an employee.’ I run the whole thing. I’ve tripled the annual income, for your information.”
“Then why wouldn’t you be a partial owner?” he asked.
“Well, that is none of your business, actually. It’s a family thing.”
“Fine. So why does your mother care that you want to start your own business?” he pressed.
I sighed as I unbuckled my seat belt. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. We aren’t friends. Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I’m a businessman. I’m curious.”
I huffed a few times before realizing I was uncomfortable because the truth was embarrassing. “She doesn’t think I can do it. She thinks I’ll fail.”
“Emilia.” He shook his head, and there was something about the way he said my name. With this deep, husky, commanding voice. “If I quit every time someone thought I would fail, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Prove her wrong.”
“You say it like you care. You’d probably be happy to see me fall on my face.”
“I thought you were the enemy for a multitude of reasons, which you’ve since proven wrong. But I don’t want you to fail. What’s the business? Do not tell me you’re going to start writing your own gossip column?”
I rolled my eyes. “I went to school for interior design. I’ve opened the business officially. It’s called Vintage Interiors,” I said, tipping my chin up, feigning confidence because I had exactly zero clients.
Zilch. Nada.
Not a single one.
So it wasn’t much of a business just yet.
