Page 43 of Plus-Size Curves for the Bratva

"This blazer is exquisite," he murmurs, running his fingers along the lapel of a piece I worked extremely hard on. "The attention to detail is remarkable. I’ll take this one too."

“That’s six thousand dollars,” I say, wondering if he’d change his mind.

“Money’s no issue.”

"Thank you," I beam, momentarily forgetting my unease. "You’ve got good taste. I believe that the little details are what make an outfit truly special."

He leans in slightly, his cologne tickling my nose. "And what makes you so special, Natalia?"

I laugh, a bit too loudly, taking a step back from the discomfort that rises again. "Oh, you know, just a girl with a sewing machine and big dreams," I deflect, getting worried now. That’s not a usual question I hear around here.

"Big dreams, indeed," he says. "Tell me, how long have you been in business?"

I maintain my cheerful demeanor, even as my guard rises. "Just over a month now in this location," I respond, fiddling with a nearby fabric swatch. "It's been quite the adventure."

He nods, his gaze sweeping across the store. "And how's business been? I imagine it's not easy competing with the big brands."

I resist the urge to fidget under his scrutiny. "It has its challenges," I admit, keeping my tone light. "But we've found our niche. Our customers appreciate the personal touch."

"I can see why," he says, his smile widening. "Your passion is evident. Have you considered expanding?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "Expanding? Well, I've thought about it, but—”

"What if I told you that expansion could be a reality sooner than you think?" he interrupts, his tone shifting from casual to business-like in an instant.

My heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a sleek business card. "I represent a private investor," he explains, handing it to me. "We're very interested in your business, Natalia. The client discovered you on an influencer’s Instagram and apparently, that reel’s been getting a ton of visibility. People are talking…about you."

I stare at the card, my mind reeling. An investor? Here? In my little shop? Suddenly, it all makes sense. His adamant interest in knowing everything he could, his keen sense of observing my every move. He wasassessingme. "I… wow," I stammer, a giddy laugh bubbling up. "This is unexpected."

"The best opportunities often are," he says, his earlier charm returning. "We believe your talent deserves a bigger stage. What do you say to setting up a meeting to discuss the possibilities?"

Excitement floods through me, chasing away my earlier unease. This could be huge for my business, for my dreams. "I'd love to get back to you," I breathe, clutching the business card like a lifeline.

As he leaves, promising to be in touch soon, I can't help but spin in a circle, my skirt twirling around me. An investor! Wait until Denis hears about this!

My excitement quickly gives way to determination as I clutch the business card, running my thumb over its embossed surface. This is my chance to prove myself, to show everyone—especially Denis and my family—that I can make it on my own without their help. I've poured my heart and soul into this store, and now it's time to take it to the next level.

As the day progresses, I find myself stealing glances at the card, my mind racing with possibilities. By closing time, I've already drafted a rough business plan in my head, eager to impress at the meeting once I set it up.

Just as I'm locking up, a familiar figure appears at the door, his tall frame casting a shadow across the threshold. Denis.

"Knock knock, little tycoon," he calls out, a playful grin lighting up his handsome face. "Still open for your favorite customer?"

I can't help but laugh, the fatigue from the long day melting away at the sight of him. "For you? Always," I tease and he walks in.

"So," he says, leaning against the counter with an air of casual grace that makes my heart flutter, "how was your day? Sell any daring designs to unsuspecting babushkas?"

I roll my eyes, but the image he puts in my head makes me giggle. "That’s one way to kill my career. For your information, I had a very productive day. In fact, you might be looking at the next big thing in fashion."

Denis's eyebrows shoot up, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh? Did you finally invent those self-ironing pants you've been dreaming about?"

I swat his arm playfully, feeling a surge of electricity at the brief contact. "Even better. I might have had my biggest ever single-day sales."

“Really?” His face beams with pride. "Just promise me you won't forget about your favorite customer when you're a big-shot fashion mogul."

I playfully swat his arm. "As if I could ever forget you, Denis Zolotov. You're like a persistent stain on a fancy blouse."

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