Page 118 of Cashmere Ruin

“… Okay. I’ll do it.”

His half-smile spreads into a full grin. “You’ll lead the project?”

“I’ll lead the project.”

“You’ll sign the line?”

“I’ll sign the line.”

“You’ll take the money?”

I sigh, exasperated. “I still think it’s a ridiculous amount.”

“It’s not. You should see what we spend on marketing.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ve already deducted room and board.”

I blink. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m not. I’m a businessman.”

Unbelievable.I roll my eyes and finally blink back the tears. “Thanks. That actually makes me feel better about taking this.”

“So that’s a yes?”

I push myself up on my tiptoes. “Yes,” I murmur against Matvey’s lips. “Yes, Mr. Groza. I’ll take your big, fat, shameless check.”

I watch his pupils dilate. Black holes, eating away at the ice in his irises. “Good. Because I’m gonna run you ragged, Ms. Flowers.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmm. In fact…” He leads me into a side office and hoists me up on the desk. “I’m gonna start right now.”

36

APRIL

Time starts flying. And I mean, like,flying.Hurtling towards the horizon at rocket speed, with a big, fat cloud in its wake.

Me? I’m just trying not to get left behind in the dust.

“How about we increase the percentage of Kevlar nanofibers?” Dr. Reznikov asks.

Professor Simmons frowns. “That’s going to be tricky. Too much and the clothes won’t be flexible enough for movement.”

“Flexibility is a must,” I stress. “We need to walk the line between ‘suit’ and ‘suit of armor.’ Try a wool mix—that should even it out. We’ll figure out the spring/summer line later.”

“On it,” Professor Simmons says.

“I’ll run the numbers.” Dr. Reznikov grins. “Be on your desk by three, boss.”

It takes me a full five minutes to realize he means me.I’mthe boss.

Which leads to an awkward conversation with myoldboss. “It just happened so fast,” I mumble to Elias, filled with guilt.

Over the phone, he laughs. “Child, please. All I ever wanted was for you to get your big break. You think I’m gonna go sour on you now that it’s finally happening?”

“It’s just one project,” I counter. “It might not lead anywhere. We’re on a three-month timeline for a functioning prototype, so maybe afterwards…”

I could come back.The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back. After all, can I even make that promise? Can I swear that I’ll be back at Third Chance, that everything will go back to the way it used to be?

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