To scratch an itch? I’m all for that. But the determination on her soft face tells me her pitch has nothing to do with sex. “You’re not here to invest.”
“No.”
“You led my assistant to believe you were.” There’s a chiding note to my tone.
She’s unapologetic. “Would you have seen me if I hadn’t?”
If I’d known how beautiful she was, yes. But that’s not what she’s asking. “Probably not. I’m a busy man.”
“I know. I’ll make this as quick as possible.” She sets her clutch on the edge of the desk, then takes a deep breath and lifts her chin. “I’m Corinne Emerson, Parker’s sister.”
Her admission is like a slap. No wonder she looked familiar. I see it now, though her face is less round and her curves more filled out. She grew from a cute kid into a drop-dead gorgeous woman. And Parker knows my weaknesses… Goddamn it.
I stand. “Get out.”
As I march toward the door, she grabs my arm, her grip desperate. “Please. Just listen. Three minutes. If you still want me to leave then, I will.”
“Since your brother sent you to spy on me, everything you’re going to say is a lie. His ploy doesn’t surprise me, but it’s low—even for him—to dangle his eminently fuckable sister in my face. You should think twice about letting him use you as bait.” I pull free from her hold and yank open the door to my office. “Go. We don’t have anything to say.”
“We do if you want revenge.”
I shouldn’t be taken in by her BS or her pretty face, but that grabs my attention. “Explain.”
She side-eyes the yawning portal. “Shut the door and I will.”
I’ll probably regret this, but she said the magic word—revenge. Slowly, I comply. Of course I know Parker sent her to befuddle me with lust, gain my trust, and find out what I’m up to so he can devise new ways to bury me in the press. Or find fodder for his next book. Either way, I’m not falling for his bullshit. But I will take advantage of Corinne’s visit. If I keep her talking, she might divulge something useful, something I can use to destroy her brother once and for all.
Slowly, I shut the door and return to my seat. “Three minutes. If you don’t answer every one of my questions wholly and truthfully—”
“I will.”
Casting her a skeptical glance, I set a timer on my phone. “The clock is ticking. Let’s pretend you’re not lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
I scowl. “Why would you come to help me, of all people, get revenge against your brother?”
“It’s a valid question…with a long explanation.”
Is she trying to buy more time to lure me in? “Make it short.”
She lets out a breath. “I run my own business. I started it in college as a fun way to make ends meet. Three weeks ago, everything changed and I’m in a financial bind. I need assistance now.” She pauses. “Or a fiancé.”
For ten silent seconds, I simply stare. What she said doesn’t make sense, probably by design. I’m reluctant to get drawn into her sob story since I’m already too interested in the rest of her, but… “All right. I’ll bite. Your brother won’t help you with an investment or a loan?”
Corinne shakes her head. “He’s the roadblock, and he’ll kill four years of my work if I can’t find a way around him.”
Her problem isn’t mine. It’s likely all bullshit anyway…but what if it’s not? What if her quandary really does give me the opportunity for sweet revenge against Parker? Since he can’t stand being thwarted, he would absolutely hate it if I helped her with whatever business issue he’s blocking.
But even if I don’t, I could still win. Corinne and I share a mutual attraction. If we spent a filthy fuckfest of a weekend in my bed, my nemesis would absolutely despise that.
That possibility alone makes her spiel worth listening to.
“Tell me more.” I kill the timer on my phone.
“Thank you.” She sounds as if she genuinely means that.
I’m not convinced she would willingly traipse into my office to backstab her one-and-only brother. Corinne used to worship him. Then again, she was a kid. It’s possible she grew up, realized what a self-serving shitbag Parker is, and decided to take action so he can no longer hold her back.
“I’ve always wanted to make jewelry,” she continues. “It’s something my mom and I enjoyed doing together when I was a kid. After she and my dad died, I kept doing it. I got good at it.”
Since I have a vague recollection of her making a necklace for a friend the Christmas we met, I simply nod. “Go on.”
“When I started college, my tuition, room, and books were paid for, thanks to an educational fund my parents started for me, but I needed money for food and expenses.”
“Parker had money.” He inherited a fortune from his late grandparents our junior year of college. The party we had in Vegas that spring break with a tiny fraction of it was sick.
“I didn’t want his. I still don’t. Too many strings. And he’s always been big on me earning my own way so I could learn the value of a dollar and all that. That’s fine with me.”
Something Parker himself never had to do. “And?”
“I fell back on making jewelry. It was better than waiting tables until two a.m.” She shrugs. “So, as a freshman, I started an online store, selling my handcrafted jewelry.”
“Makes sense.” I’m impatient to get to the point. “What does this have to do with me?”
“During the last four years, my business grew from something that paid for a few extra bowls of ramen each week to something that afforded me a nice little living. Nothing extravagant, but I could keep a roof over my head and have an occasional splurge, especially once I homed in on hand-beading bands for smart watches.”
Like the unusual one she’s wearing? “Where’s the problem? Did business drop off?”
She shakes her head. “The opposite, actually. Three weeks ago, one of the Real Housewives, with millions of Instagram followers, made a completely unsponsored video, raving about the beaded smart watch band she bought from me. Orders blew up, and since then I’ve sold what I normally would in a year.”
“That sounds like a good problem to have.”
“Yes…and no. I make everything myself in a corner of the lone bedroom in my seven-hundred-square-foot apartment in LA. I need a bigger space. I need some new tools. I need to hire staff to pack and ship all this stuff, handle customer service calls, and make me an occasional sandwich. I can’t do everything on my own anymore.”
That sounds like a genuine problem, but… “Your brother still won’t help you?”
She shakes her head. “He told me to get a ‘real job.’”
Of course he did, while he’s living in a fucking McMansion in Malibu putting the shit he makes up in his head down on paper. The asshole. “If you’re working full-time and making a living, you have one.”
“Exactly.” She throws her hands in the air. “He keeps insisting I could be hired by a Fortune Ten company since I have a business degree with an emphasis in entrepreneurship. He conveniently forgets that I was a double major and I also have a BA in fashion design. But according to him, that isn’t worth the paper it was printed on. The thing is, I don’t want another job.”