Page 7 of Bossy Trouble

He didn’t even consider it for a second before he shook his head, watching me with a fathomless gaze when he said, “I don’t do business with friends. You should know that.”

“You wouldn’t be doing business with me,” I insisted, trying not to let soul-crushing despair overwhelm me. Trying to hold out hope. “It would be a loan.”

“That’s even worse. I don’t loan friends money either.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No, you’re not.” He ran his eyes down my body in a smooth move that was somehow simultaneously insulting and arousing. “You’re even better.”

There was a time when a statement like that would have my heart fluttering in my chest, but now I knew it for what it was. Donovan wanted one thing from me, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my heart.

Nor my business plan.

“So if you weren’t going to help me in the first place, why did you ask?” I asked, feeling my voice trembling with the force it took not to smack something. Or cry.

Donovan quirked his lip. “Curiosity.”

Rage burned.

I shouldn’t have even pondered because I already knew the answer. To Donovan, everything about me, my dreams, my problems…all that were just tools for him to play around with. To mess with me. Donovan saw me as his plaything, and everything else he couldn’t use was insignificant.

I should never have come.

The injustice of the whole thing burned in me, but somehow I managed a tight nod, picking up my tote and folder.

I heard him sigh as I headed for the door.

“Georgia, wait,” he said, but I ignored him because I didn’t want to hear anything else. Truly, what else did he have to say? There were only a few ways to crush someone’s spirit, and somehow, he’d already managed to do all that today.

Donovan 1. Georgia 0.

* * *

I didn’t callGarrett on the way home because I was not in the mood for an I told you so. Instead, I walked solemnly to my house, trying to think of what else I could do for my company at this point.

I’d managed to reduce the debt significantly by selling off more shares, just enough so that I still retained the controlling share at 45 percent. I’d also given the bank 10 percent as collateral and begged them to hold off just a little bit, just to give me a little more time.

And now I had nothing to show for it.

Should I just admit defeat? Should I give up?

The thought depressed me and was followed by a denial so strong that I felt the heat of it on my back. Perhaps it was simply pride or hubris, but I didn’t want to give up on Moniche, the company I’d worked my ass off to build from the ground up. No one believed in me when I began because I was not a fashionista growing up. I barely knew half the designers that exist today.

But I have always loved practical handbags.

I bore some ridicule after I dropped out of university to pursue this business, after a moment of epiphany in my third year of college. I figured out then that I didn't want to be a nurse like I originally planned. I hated my nursing classes and wanted to cry every single moment I spent at the bedside. At the time, I sold a few handmade handbags on Etsy and was doing pretty well with that.It was a hobby that was quickly turning into the only escape I had.

My life also kind of imploded around the same time, so I figured it was as good a time as any to drop out and pursue my true passion.

And for a while, it all went surprisingly well.

We got investors, sold some shares, and got the business going. I was on top, articles were being written about me, and my brand was well on its way to becoming a staple in the working woman’s wardrobe.

Only to have it all ripped from under my feet.

“Damn you, Red,” I said, thinking of my former accountant, the cause of all our misery. “I hope wherever you are, there are tiny rocks in your shoes, and your socks never stay up. I hope you get a sunburn so bad that you look silly with your glasses off. I hope you go bald.”

I continued my litany, thinking up a variety of curses, but by the time I got home, I only felt marginally better.

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