Page 23 of My Enemy, My Obsession

I believe he just gave me the breakup line equivalent to: It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve failed at the Ethan challenge of getting the job and turning it down. Now I just want the job. “I really want the opportunity,” I say. “If you can just consider—”

“We will. We are. We like the idea of doing a Zoey line, an elite, high-end label for next season. Or two seasons out to do this right. But the board wants to see and meet our proposed designer, which would be you. We need you to come to New York City.”

My eyes light, and joy fills me. “Are you serious? Really?”

“Really. And yes, Ms. Cameron, I’m quite serious. Can you join us Monday morning? We’ll fly you in Sunday night.”

“Of course. I’d be honored.”

“Then watch your email for details. I’ll see you soon.”

We disconnect, and I’m on my feet, rounding the desk to hug my father. “I guess your life selling beer is no more,” my father teases.

“Maybe I’ll make enough to be your investor, and then it won’t be over at all.”

The big, alpha man that he is, tears up, and hugs me all over again.

An hour later, I’m stuffing my face with celebratory cookies my father offered, reading through the material that was sent to me, when reality hits me. There’s a board I’m presenting to. Who is on that board? I tab through the documents and go cold. Ethan is on the board. Of course he is. He told me he was when we were in Hawaii.

How did I not remember this?

And how can I go to New York and present as Sofia Cameron when he knows me as Zoey?

He’ll laugh me right out of the boardroom.

Chapter Twenty

Ihave seventy-two hoursto decide if I’m going to New York City.

With the letter from Moore’s Department Store printed and beside me, I sit on my bed, legs crisscross, Ethan’s Wikipedia page open on my MacBook screen. There’s also a glass of wine in my hand, though I’m not sure the wine is my best move. I set it aside and do so decisively. A level head is critical when I’m about to make a life-changing decision. There are so many things that could be happening with Ethan and Moore’s.

Ethan might not even know I’m involved in this yet. Of course, if they gave him the Zoey designs, he’s smart enough to figure out the name and who I am. In which case, he’s either decided business is business, he’s that kind of guy, and he’s dismissed what was nothing to him. Or he plans to humiliate me in front of the board, but truly, that doesn’t seem his style at all.

He’s too in control to do something so out of control with anger.

On the other hand—and this is my biggest fear—he doesn’t know the designer’s name, and he has such bigger fish to fry that he hasn’t even looked at the designs. In which case, he’d be sideswiped when Iwalk into the boardroom. The problem with this scenario is that he’s human, and he’d have all kinds of emotions and thoughts he would not have time to work through. For instance, I was using him to get to the top. It would be the first moment he knew I’d lied to him, so he wouldn’t have time to process anything but that, and a liar is not the best of partners.

Any scenario still paints me as a liar, and that’s not a good thing.

If I could just explain to him…

Unfortunately, I can’t even fly into the city early and meet him. Apparently, he’s been operating and working out of Paris the past year and is rarely in New York City. The chances of him being in the Moore’s offices are next to zero.

My gaze lands on the photo on his Wikipedia page that is about as hot and handsome as any one man can be. He’s perfection, and while sleeping with him has now proven problematic, it’s hard to regret living that night. There was something about him—something alluring and addictive. Something strong, and powerful, but somehow real in a way no one else has ever been with me. I admired him for his success and envied his confidence that allowed him to share his advice and opinions so readily, without hesitation. I fear…I fear working for him and letting him down. I crave learning from him, when I’d probably never even see him beyond the board meeting, or maybe a few board meetings.

I need his confidence in my product, which means me, and how do I create that if he doesn’t trust me? I’m back to—I have to talk to him. I could call him, but I quickly shove that idea aside. If he’s already made up his mind about me, I need to look him in the eyes when I tell him why I did what I did and why he can trust me. Decision made, I pull up the email again, and type a reply.

I will be honored to join you in New York City.Then I shut my computer. It’s decided. I will come face to face with Ethan again, but this time I’ll keep my clothes on and my head on straight. Which is the definition of keeping my clothes on.

We can talk clothes, though. Beautiful, amazing clothing that I design, I hope.

I’m going to New York City.

By the time I arrive in New York, I’ve created so many scenarios in my head about how wrong this could go and how embarrassed I may end up in the board meeting. But none of my thoughts talk me out of moving forward with this. I have an open door that only shuts with certainty if I decide not to walk through it.

I step off of the plane with nerves jumping about inside my belly. He could be here at the airport. What if I run into him? Of course, most likely he’s flown into some private airport and done so before tonight. And it’s a huge airport, and one of several in New York. We won’t run into each other. Of this, I’m certain. Or pretty certain.

Okay, certain, I think, after I’m finally in the back of a car Moore’s sent for me, on my way to my hotel. One thing is for absolute certainty, and this really is certain, I won’t run into Ethan at the hotel. Per Google, he owns an apartment in Central Park. The next time I will see Ethan Dalton will be tomorrow, in a boardroom. With this knowledge, I let out a breath and sink into my seat. I think I need a drink. I really, really need a drink.

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