Page 64 of Billionaire Devil

“Sloane, I have to go, but I’ll call you soon. What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday night.”

That gives us tonight and three more nights.

“Are you going to reply to Ralph Lauren?”

“Of course I am.”

“What are you going to say?”

So maybe I’m not moving back to L.A. for good after all. “Depending on how the interview goes, if they offer me a job, I’m going to say yes.”

18

“Cole?”

“Mmhm?”

We’re sitting by the fire. We just finished dinner. Yet another of the best meals I’ve ever eaten.

I’m curled up next to Colton on the couch, sipping a glass of French red wine he poured me and gazing out at the view of the purple mountains and the starry night sky. We haven’t bothered turning on the t.v. or anything else. The view is too beautiful.

Being with Colton is so different to my usual life. So unfamiliarly comfortable. I remember thinking he was like a buffer against reality and the feeling only compounds itself the more time I spend with him. “Remember how I told you my favorite designer is Ralph Lauren?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, believe it or not, I got an email from them today.”

“Yeah?” The casualness of his reply answers my question before I even ask it.

“You don’t by any chance know anyone there, do you?”

“I’ve been to a few of their shows. I get invited to a lot of fashion shows for some reason. They tell me I liven up the front row.”

“With your killer sense of humor?” It’s a petulant thing to say and I didn’t really mean for it to be, but I’m picturing Colton flirting with gorgeous supermodels and A-list celebrities and a little devil in me wants to bite him.

He narrows his eyes at me. His slow smile is more like a sneer. “Something like that.”

“You didn’t happen to…like, mention me to anyone, did you?”

He crooks a burly arm along the back of the couch behind my shoulders and I stiffen a little. “One of their design coordinators invests with us in a minor account. She emailed me this morning for an update.”

I wait for it.

“I might have mentioned a young designer people are raving about.”

At least he’s honest about it. And, obviously, it’s not a terrible thing for him to have done. But still. It feels like he’s playing with my life, in more ways than I can handle. “I kind of wish you’d asked me first.”

“All I said was that a couple of my assistants and theirfriends were going crazy over your designs and she should check out your Instagram.”

“You said that?”

“Yeah. What’s the problem?”

“Theproblemis that she emailed me today and she invited me to interview for a job. In New York.”

“And?” Like he can’t see the problem at all.

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