Page 128 of Always

“So,” she continues, “I thought about it. They offered me ten grand each, so I had to think about it, Braden.”

I nod. Ten grand is like ten cents to me, but to Skye, it’s still a fortune in her mind.

“By the way,” she says with an eye roll, “Eugenie is simply thrilled that you and I worked things out.”

“Skye…”

“No. It’s okay. I get that being with you helps me as an influencer. I’d be a fool to waste the opportunity, as you alwayssay. But that’s important. I made a decision that I would sell the rights to Susieglow but not to simplyskye. I told Eugenie I’d need to use simplyskye with other businesses and also for my personal posts.”

“And what did she say?”

“She tried to talk me out of it. Gave me a guilt trip about how they’d have to redo all the paperwork.”

“And…?”

“And”—she smiles—“I held firm. She said simplyskye was a gold mine, but I figured it should be my gold mine. I wanted to call you, and I almost did, but then I decided I had to rely on my own instincts for this.”

“Good for you. You shouldn’t sell simplyskye. It’s yours.”

“And Susieglow?”

“I’m okay with that,” I say. “You wouldn’t be using it for anything other than your work with Susanne anyway. Companies pay for creations all the time.”

Skye looks visibly relieved that I agree with her decision. And that’s okay. She’ll eventually have enough confidence in herself that she won’t need my approval.

“How did the rest of it go?” I ask.

“The meeting about the new color campaign?”

I nod.

“It went great. The team is awesome, and I got the final say on the color. It was amazing!”

I give her a searing kiss. “I have to go. I’m sorry. The limo is downstairs and will take you to dinner when you’re ready.”

“I understand. And thanks.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

I nod briefly, and within a few seconds, I’m in the elevator heading down.

I’m not looking forward to this.

But it has to be done.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Sometimes I wish I were still broke, living in South Boston, making an honest living in construction working for my father.

Those times are few and far between, of course, as an infinite amount of money can solve a lot of problems.

However, no amount of money makes dealing with some things any less unpleasant.

I wait in the back room of an Italian restaurant in Little Italy on Mulberry Street in Lower Manhattan. Mama Louisa makes a ziti to die for, and I’m enjoying a hearty portion with a glass of Barbera d’Alba. Seated with me are two men and a woman.

They’re not your typical dinner guests, these three. To my left is Dino, a tall, intimidating figure with a sharp jawline and an even sharper suit. His eyes are a piercing gray with a coldness that could give the Arctic a run for its money.

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