Page 67 of Crossing Lines

“Whatever is left will be offered to the staff working today.”

“Okay,” I say quietly, relieved it’s not going to be wasted.

“Shall I give you a bit of everything to try?”

I nod, and he does just that. I grin when he runs out of space on the plate and grabs another one to put a small spoonful of everything on it. Once we both eat, he clears his throat and says, “I wanted to show you around the facility here, but since you’re injured, I can show you a presentation instead? Or do you prefer to go home?”

“I didn’t come all the way here for nothing. Show me this presentation of yours.”

He grins before turning to the TV screen, connecting his laptop. “I had this whole presentation prepared, all about how partnering with me on the apparel line would help fund improvements for the team. But then I realized…that’s not what would sway you.”

With a click, the screen fills with images—logos and photos of at least ten local organizations in Skyrise, from food banks to community centers and homeless shelters.

“So, I asked myself, whatdoyou care about?” His gaze meets mine, voice soft but steady. “And that part was obvious. I don’t broadcast this, but I make sure a good percentage of the team’s profits goes back into the community. Last year alone, I donated almost ten million dollars. Every cent I can spare goes into helping the people who need it most. And as for the rest? It all goes back into the team. I don’t take a salary for myself.”

“But why put it all back into the team?”

“To help them achieve success, but I’m not talking about the coaching staff and the players who are already paid millions. No, a lot of the money goes towards improving the wages of everyone working here, from the janitors to the assistants. I grew up understanding that a single paycheck could make or break a family’s future. And Harold’s pay structure? It wasn’t just unfair—it was impossible for someone to live on. I’ve been working to fix that since day one.”

I’m ashamed I ever lumped Evren into the same group as my father. Evren doesn’t seek accolades orrecognition for his generosity. It’s all hidden, quietly done, because it’s simply the right thing to do.

“I see what you’re doing,” I say.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says innocently.

I roll my eyes. “I get that you’re not a sharky businessman.”

“You do?” he asks.

“Yeah, and I’m willing to accept your offer.”

His jaw drops before he snaps it shut. “And what are your terms?”

“Complete creative control, a massive salary to reflect my genius, and some sort of protection, so, in case we don’t work out, I don’t lose this job.”

“Done.”

“And,” I add, “I don’t want my name or face anywhere attached to this.”

“Because of your mom?”

I nod. “It’s the only way this can happen.”

“Okay,” he says easily, as if he understands everything I’m not saying, which should be annoying, but it’s a relief. “Would you be open to presenting your design ideas, ideally with samples, to Glam Pop? We’d put an NDA in place to make sure they can’t tell anyone about the designs or about you, the designer, to protect you.”

“Isn’t presenting your area of expertise?”

“It is, but I believe your passion and expertise are what’s needed to get them to sign on.”

“But I don’t want to mess it up because I’m not good at presenting.”

“You won’t mess anything up,” he says. “Zeki and I will be there to make sure it’ll all go well, and we’ll answer any questions that arise. Not only that, but I’ll help you make the presentation. I promise it’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.” The words are a simple agreement, but it’s more than that. I trust Evren to help me through this whole thing. I’m not used to relying on anyone but myself, but with Evren? He makes it easy to rely on him, even if I’m scared that I’ll mess it all up.

“Do you feel up to discussing some design ideas now?” he asks.

“Sure.” I stand and walk on bare feet to the whiteboard. “Let’s start with what kind of garments we need.”

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