Page 90 of Bitter Confessions

“You need anything, call, and I’ll come home.”

“Yes, yes. Now, go.”

She watched as he strode to the closet. He was dressed and ready to go in less than ten minutes. He stole a kiss, even though she was in the middle of brushing her teeth. He carelessly wiped his mouth on a towel before exiting, leaving the tantalizing scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

She stared at her reflection and the toothpaste dripping onto her robe and shook her head. She was so fucked.

CHAPTER 17

Her phone pinged. It had been doing that a lot lately. Unfortunately, she couldn’t turn it off or put it on silent since she was expecting some calls. Whoever was texting her could wait.

The kitchen island was covered in stacks of papers and folders. Colorful sticky notes covered the sparkly quartz countertops. As Roth walked into the increasingly messy kitchen, she finally accepted the fact she needed her own office. She’d chosen a talented interior designer from the list Sarai sent her. During their meeting to discuss what she wanted, she apologized to Cazandra for being a boring client. Furniture-wise, all she required was a desk, bookshelf, filing cabinet, and possibly an armchair. She made up some lame story about not being sure if the room would remain her office, so they shouldn’t make too many changes. Sarai (who insisted on being present) and Cazandra had given each other sidelong looks and told her they’d take care of it.

For nearly a week, she heard the distant sounds of drilling and pounding. She had no idea what the hell they were doing, but she’d passed men wheeling in massive pieces of furniture and carrying paint cans. Though they did their best to be quiet, the distant murmur of half a dozen people was driving her a little crazy. She hated having so many people milling around, and she really did need a place to work and think in peace.

Those ambitious plans she made in Berlin had come back to haunt her when her board of advisors and classmates from Whartons followed up with her to meet. She’d reluctantly agreed to one appointment, which had led to another, and another. Suddenly, every day she had an engagement—and lately, two or more. The flurry of business meetings and reunions with old friends was dragging her out of her fictional daze and plunking her firmly back in reality, where she now managed more than three hundred million dollars of assets.

She’d met with her tax and estate-planning attorney first and now had her own trust in place. As it stood, her nieces and nephew would inherit her fortune if something were to happen to her, but she planned to allocate a portion of the money to a worthy cause and had lists of charities and foundations she needed to research. She’d also met with CPAs, financial advisors, and a handful of Whartons classmates. That wasn’t counting the endless phone calls from other people who now answered to her. She’d created a spreadsheet to keep track of everyone and wondered how the hell her sisters did this for Hennessy & Co.

She flipped through a report, highlighting and making notes for a follow-up meeting with her financial advisor next week. She squelched the urge to ask her sisters for advice. This was why she had advisors. She could do this on her own. But that didn’t stop her from wanting a second or third opinion. Making decisions involving millions of dollars was nerve-racking, but the anxiety of doing nothing was worse. There were risks, whether she kept her investments as they were or switched to something she suspected may be more lucrative but had a higher chance of failing.

Her friends from Whartons had been a great source of information and quickly caught her up on industry news, stocks, and start-ups. Becoming an angel investor was downright reckless, but there were several small businesses that sounded extremely promising. She wanted Roth’s take, but he’d been preoccupied with his work project, and she wasn’t sure she should cross that line. Asking him to look through financial statements and business plans after he spent his day making countless decisions for his own company didn’t feel right, so she sought counsel elsewhere.

The past two weeks had been rough. He was back to working insane hours. She hoped for his sake the project would wrap up soon. They had dinner together only a handful of times. After, he’d retired to the home office and hadn’t emerged until the wee hours of the morning. She missed him, but with her own schedule suddenly taking on a life of its own, she wasn’t in a position to complain when she too was on the go and absorbed in her own business decisions.

A series of insistent pings from her phone let her know someone really wanted an answer to something. She made a few more notes before tearing herself away from the report and walked over to the stove, where she’d left her phone.

Daiyu: I need to talk to you!

Daiyu: Are you avoiding me?

Jasmine rolled her eyes. After countless unanswered calls, Daiyu was finally catching the hint. She’d been annoyingly persistent about this fashion-show thing, and there was no way in hell she was doing it. She was about to turn her back on the phone to go back to her report when another message appeared.

Daiyu: If you don’t call me, I’m telling everyone what you and Roth did in my dressing room.

She froze. Daiyu wouldn’t... Jasmine cursed as she snatched up the phone. Daiyu fucking would. Part of her knew the story was already circulating. Her friend was a notorious gossip and couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, but so far, the juicy details hadn’t been leaked to the press. On the heels of her father’s death and her recent nuptials, such a story would cause a sensation neither she nor Roth needed.

Daiyu answered halfway through the first ring. “Finally.”

“Blackmail, Dai? Really?”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Daiyu said, all business. “Why are you playing hard to get? Do you or do you not want to walk in my show for Fashion Week?”

“I do not,” she said vehemently.

“I designed this dress you’re going to love,” Daiyu gushed, ignoring her outburst. “I think it should be the opening look. It’s ready for your first fitting, which is why I’m calling. If it requires alterations, I want to get them done ASAP. When can you come down?”

“Never.”

Daiyu ignored her snarl. “What are your thoughts on closing the show in your wedding gown? Everyone’s dying to see it in person. It’ll be great for the masses to see it in all its glory before it shows up in Vogue.”

“Hell no.”

“Jasmine.”

Daiyu’s admonishing tone made her grind her teeth.

“All I’m asking for is a little favor from an old friend.”

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