Page 49 of Unbind

Ouch. But also—interesting that she’s gone straight there. I wasn’t sure if she’d opt to ignore our scorching hookup.

‘My bad.’ I pick up my coffee cup. ‘Seems I had other things on my mind. And, from the excellent memories I have, I wouldn’t have guessed that was yourfavouritething about last night.’

‘Maybe you should stop trying to guess what I’m thinking then,’ she retorts with a flush.

‘I can’t imagine you’ll welcome more interference, in that case, but you looked a little upset when I walked in. I stopped by because I wanted to check you were okay with what had gone down’—unfortunate choice of words, but I forge gamely ahead—‘and you weren’t regretting ittoomuch.’

Jesus, that sounds like a plea for her to admit the exact opposite. I’m not sure what I’m expecting—probably an outright denial that she’s upset or a vehement protestation that she hasn’t given her orgasming all over my tongue a second thought.

As usual, she surprises me.

‘It has nothing at all to do with last night. You just caught me at a bad time.’ She looks down at her coffee cup and carefully peels the lid off it. I survey her.

‘Work stuff?’ I guess.

She shrugs without looking at me. ‘And then some.’

I’m treading carefully here. ‘So you’re okay about last night? You don’t have any more regrets than I’d expect?’

She sighs. ‘Not everything is about you, Adam, shocking though that may be. But I have far bigger things to worry about right now than how much I should slut shame myself, so honestly, you should just leave me to it.’

‘You know,’ I begin slowly, ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of running a luxury brand like you do, but I do know how fucking brutal things can be in this industry, so if you want to talk it through with someone who has some grasp of the lay of the land then I’m happy to listen.’

That gets me a mirthless little laugh. ‘Yeah, right. I’m sure things are brutal over at Omar Vega’s.’

Gaining her trust and, perhaps, the opportunity to help her, is more important than discretion right now.

‘They’re difficult. Omar has to be kept on a tight rein, creatively and financially. He’s very much Creative Director only. His decisions on what to produce and how much he can spend doing it are driven by the Finance Director and the merchandising teams. He’s told how many dresses to design versus trousers and jackets each season. He’s told what colours will be most commercial.

‘What I’m trying to say is that he’s operating within far tighter parameters than you are and he only has to wear one hat. You have to wear all of them. You’re CEO and FD as well as creating. It’s tough. So please know how genuine I am when I say I’m impressed and I’m sympathetic.’

What Idon’texplicitly say is that Vega is an unhinged coke head who’s a fucking liability, and that Natalie has more professionalism—not to mention discipline—than a guy like him could ever hope for. Right now he’s playing ball, but Vega’s perception of his disposability is vastly different from mine and that of his management team.

I also don’t say that my ability to provide level-headed advice right now is being seriously tested by the sight of Natalie’s neck, slim and pale and showcased to perfection by her low, sleek bun. That I had my nose and mouth buried in that neck last night, let alone in more sacred, delicious places, seems miraculous to me.

‘Well, thank you for saying that.’ She sounds not prickly, exactly, but brusque. Still, it’s not a total brush-off.

‘Cash flow problems?’ I hazard.

She stiffens, wrapping her delicate hands around her coffee cup. ‘Understatement.’

‘Can I ask how bad it is?’

There’s a pause where she’s clearly evaluating my entitlement to any of her confidences. Then she sighs, yielding. ‘There’s a supplier I need to pay tomorrow. It’s a hefty invoice, and it leaves payroll next week looking… difficult.’

I grimace. ‘Okay. Will they give you credit?’

‘They don’t do terms,’ she says quickly. ‘They’ve made that clear before. They have a strict policy of not releasing the fabric unless they’ve got their payment, or at least proof that it’s been sent.’

‘Have you pushed them recently to see if they can change that?’

‘No. There’s no point.’ Her shoulders are rounded like they’re bearing the weight of the world, and it kills me. I need to tread carefully here. She must feel so alone in this, yet I’m not someone whose help or pity she wants. I’m surethis invoice is looming large in her head, but I bet it’s no more than ten grand. Obviously, that’s still a sizeable chunk for a company of Gossamer’s size, but it’s also something I could write a cheque for right now and not bat an eyelash.

Not that that would ever be an option in this reality we have. So I’ll give her the next best things: advice and perspective.

‘Look.’ I lean forward and rest my elbows on my thighs, steepling my fingers and enjoying far too much the way her gaze brushes over my hands and back to my face. ‘You’d be amazed at what they may be willing to do if you just put your cards on the table and ask. If you’re not already aware, then you need to be very clear that you’re not the only person in this industry who can’t pay their bills.

‘I mean, the entire fucking fashion sector is built on sketchy shit and everybody constantly cajoling and begging and going quiet when bills are due. It’s a bloody nightmare. The cash flow model is heinous, and you guys, as a small outfit with no economies of scale and no critical mass are always going to get squeezed at both ends.’

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