Page 56 of Lone Hearts

She grins at me, shrugging. “I’m not a fantastic cook,” she admits. “But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“To the thought,” I say, holding up a bottle of water to toast her.

“So what’s new in the world of Cash Creed?” she asks after we’ve both taken a sip.

Nothing. Thinking of you. Pining for a woman against my better judgement. These are the things I should say. But I don’t. I simply shrug, setting down my drink.

“Work. That’s about it. You?”

“Same. Jesus, we’re turning into rather boring people, huh?”

“Speak for yourself,” I tease.

“Well, I am. I’ve spent the week locked away working like crazy.”

“I mean, I assume running Evermore does take a lot of time,” I offer, and she glances at me.

“It does. Not that I’m complaining. I’m proud of what I’ve built. But doing it all from the ground up alone wasn’t a walk in the park. I guess that’s why I work so hard now. I know what it took to build it. I don’t want to slip off, to let it crumble.”

I study the sexy entrepreneur sitting on the blanket beside me, and I see something I didn’t see that first night. Vulnerability. Talking about her fear of failure, I see a softer side to the confident woman she projects. And I recognize it. Because I think deep down, in every confident woman or man, there’s a bit of a fearful side, too.

“Tell me about it. About how you got started,” I say, leaning back on my elbows now as I stare at the waves crashing.

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about my fashion company.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve clearly got mad style. What, you think I’m not into fashion?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Not my kind of fashion.”

“Well, I still want to hear about it. Come on. Isn’t that what tonight’s about?”

She takes another sip of her drink. “Well, I grew up in a bit of a lavish lifestyle. Not that I’m bragging because well, I hated it. I had basically everything I could’ve wanted, material wise. We went on extravagant vacations, and I saw more of the world by the age of eight than most people our age. Still, I never liked what we had as a family.”

She takes another sip of her drink, pausing before continuing. I sense this isn’t easy for her to talk about. Regardless, I don’t interrupt her, letting her get her bearings before continuing on.

“My parents always expected me to just carry on the family legacy, the family business, but I knew by my teens I wanted nothing of the sort. I didn’t want to be my mother, depending on a man who clearly wasn’t trustworthy. I felt like my family was just a lie, a fraud. I wanted to get away and do something on my own without them. I wanted to show them that I wasn’t them.”

“Why was that so important?” I ask, hesitating after the words are out. Maybe I’m prodding too much.

She turns and looks at me, those eyes I’ve come to appreciate showing a lot of pain. “I’ve never talked about this.”

“You can trust me,” I whisper, covering her hand with my own, our skin electric at the touch. She inhales, and I can tell she’s holding back tears.

“My dad had an affair on my mother. For most of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, seeing Sage, the hurt woman instead of Sage the powerful businesswoman before me.

“Well, she wasn’t. My mom knew about it. All of it. She stood by, playing at the façade because she was too afraid to lose the life she had. She depended on my father for everything, and she was so addicted to their lifestyle she was willing to push her pride down for him. When I found out about it, I vowed that would never be me. I wouldn’t let a man or anyone do that to me. I would build myself, my life, on my own. I would find the confidence and pride she didn’t have. That’s why I started Evermore. It’s about me building my life, but it’s also about giving other people confidence in theirs. My pieces are bold, and I want them to be. I want people to be unapologetic in their fashion and in their lives. It was part of my mission.”

“That’s… wow,” I reply, feeling like an idiot but not knowing what to say. So much of her makes sense now.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to dump on you.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you did. It makes sense now.”

“What?” she asks.

“Everything. You. Your rules about love.” I reach up and tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, studying her face. She swipes at her eyes, trying to brush away the tears ready to fall. I grab her hand and pull it away.

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