Page 14 of The Boss I Can't Stand
Okay. I’d had enough. In the background on that last call, I’d caught someone asking about fabric bolts in the background, and I suspected she was at In Stitches. I grabbed my keys and raced over there.
When I arrived, I spotted Sierra behind the cutting table, talking animatedly to a short blond woman with the energy of a cat that would scratch if I got too close.
I adjusted my jacket, plastered on my brightest smile, pulled thecontract up on my phone, and walked over there with determination filling every step. I’d won over tougher people than Sierra Banks.
“Lord,” she said when she spotted me, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “How hard is it to take a hint?”
“I’m trying to give you a job,” I said. “Most people would be grateful.”
“Yeah, well most people don’t have to deal withyou,” she said. “I don’t want your job. You can take your Armani-clad self and head out the way you came.”
“Make sure to let the door hit you on the way out,” her friend said.
I gritted my teeth and decided to try diplomacy. “Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot, but you’ve got a skillset that I want to employ. And Iknowyou want this job.”
I put my phone on the cutting table, contract in view, and stared her down. “We both know this kind of production is a costume designer’s wet dream. I can help you take your career to the next level, Sierra.”
She blinked at me, looking like she was seriously considering it. God, she had nice eyes. And I couldn’t help but notice the way some of her auburn hair had slipped out of the clip at the back of her head. The strands fell in an unruly swirl, with no rhyme or reason, and the desire to reach out and tuck those hairs behind her ear was so strong I curled my fingers back.
Then her brow furrowed. “I don’t want my career anywhere near you, thanks!” She picked up a stack of fabric bolts and set off down an aisle.
“Now you did it,” her friend said, arching her eyebrow in my direction.
I rolled my eyes and set off after Sierra. “Why are you being so difficult?”
“I’mbeing difficult?” she cried, returning one of the bolts to the shelf. “Okay, Mr. Bigshot.”
My smile faltered for real. I wasn’t here to play games with her. I needed to get down to business. “It’s a competitive contract. You won’t find a better offer on a production like this.”
“I’m not interested in your money,” she called over her shoulder as she turned the corner at the end of the aisle. “I already told you that you couldn’t afford my expert consultation!”
“Everyone has a number,” I said, following her. I’d done my research on her last night. I’d reviewed her IMDb page top to bottom and scrolled through her social media. I never walked into a negotiation without knowing exactly what every player brought to the table—as well as what they lacked that I could provide—and I never walked away anything less than satisfied. This would be no different.
“Then go talk to those people.”
“If you sign the contract today, I’ll make sure you get that customized fabric dying kit you mentioned during the interview.”
She paused, considering my words as she put another bolt of fabric on a shelf. I reached out and straightened it.
“Don’t touch things,” she said.
“It was crooked. So? What do you think?”
“No.”
“I’ll outfit your studio with all the bells and whistles you ask for. Get me a list, and you’ll have every gadget you want before you even start.” I’d come up with all the knickknacks her little costume designer heart desired. What more could she want?
Sierra bit her lip in that way that was highly distracting, and after a beat, she put her hand out for my phone. I felt a surge of triumph as I handed it over, watching as she scrolled through the contract.
I couldn’t help but notice her fingers. Long. Lithe. Delicate. I’d noticed them earlier, too, when they’d been smudged with pencil. My thoughts trailed off, chasing the way those hands might run over silk, over skin?—
“You want the costumes done in a month?” she snapped, eyes narrowing. “Are you kidding me?”
Dammit! She really did have an eye for detail. She’d picked that line out of paragraphs of legal mumbo-jumbo. “With hired staff, that’s plenty of time to finish the costumes,” I said.
“I told you I needed two months to do this properly.” Sierra shoved the phone back at me with force. “If you even want me toconsiderthis job, that timeline is nonnegotiable.”
I fought the urge to bang my head against the nearest wall. Who wassheto be telling me about non-negotiables? “I can do six weeks,” I countered.
