Cami
For a moment, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole. I don’t want to admit what’s on my list to this gorgeous, confident man. But then, I’m practicing being brave and owning who I am, and this is the perfect opportunity to do just that. I bring the list up on my phone and hand it to him. He makes a sound in the back of his throat while he reads it.
“Why do you need to make a friend?”
Despite my cheeks heating to two million degrees, I manage not to bury my face in my hands. “Because I’d like to have one, and I don’t at the moment.”
He frowns. “That can’t be right. What about Tony, or the people from CFC? Or surely you have a friend at work?”
“No.” The admission deflates me because it’s embarrassing as hell. What kind of woman in her late twenties doesn’t have at least one close friend? “I have people I get on well with, but no one I’d call if I was upset at three o’clock in the morning.”
“That’s your threshold for friendship?” he asks.
A server chooses that moment to appear with a black coffee for Leo and a latte for me. I pause while she places them on the table, then when she’s gone, I pour two packets of sugar into mine and stir.
“I don’t want a friend for the sake of having a friend,” I tell him. “I want someone to ride all the ups and downs with me. Someone who can be my rock, and I’ll be theirs.”
His lips quirk. “Sounds like you’re looking for a relationship more than a friendship.”
I lift one shoulder and let it fall. “I’ll take a friend in whatever form they come.”
I can tell he wants to say something, but to my surprise, he holds back. Instead, he taps a finger against the phone screen. “You can cross off one and two.”
I roll my eyes, amused he assumes his kiss counts as my mind-blowing kiss. It does, but I’d never admit it to his face.
He passes the phone back and cradles his coffee between both palms. “I’ll go ziplining with you.”
“I didn’t think you liked me.” I slap a hand to my mouth, but the words are already out. I groan in mortification. “I mean….” I straighten my shoulders. No pussy-footing around. “No, that’s exactly what I mean. I understand what you said earlier about judging me based on Karson, but it’s kind of hard to ignore the fact that apart from today, you haven’t given the impression you think much of me as a person.”
He looks put on the spot, but I don’t let up. I’ve spent years believing he thinks poorly of me for no good reason, so he deserves to suffer a moment of discomfort. His expression softens, and he lays a hand on mine. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever had any idea who you really are.” He squeezes gently. “And you can’t dislike what you don’t know. I just didn’t approve of the way you seemed to fit yourself around Karson’s life. It was as though you couldn’t think for yourself. You deferred to him for everything.”
I hang my head because he isn’t wrong. I did do that. I put Karson on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. “Yeah. I can see how you’d think of me as an airhead follower type.”
“Cami, look at me.”
I raise my eyes.
“I’m glad you’re finally doing something for yourself. Whatever happens with Karson, don’t stop being you, okay?”
“I won’t,” I promise, and know deep down it’s the truth. I can’t go back. Everything has changed, and rewinding the clock would be impossible.
“So.” He straightens and removes his hand from mine. I feel a pang in my heart at the loss. “You said you’re working on a plan for your clothing design. Will you tell me about it?”
He’s clearly hoping to lighten the mood, and while I suppose it’s working to a certain extent, design is something that’s very close to my heart. “I’ve been planning to pitch my designs to a clothing company for months now, but there are a couple of things that keep holding me back.” I sip my latte, enjoying the rush of sweetness because I’m still a little shaky from getting the tattoo. Distracted by that thought, I glance down at my forearm and smile at the design wrapping around it. “It came out really well, didn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “What’s been holding you back?”
“Oh.” I look away from my arm. “Just that I’ve been scared they won’t be good enough, or that if I sell them to a company, they’d want to change them without consulting me.” I smile wryly. “Perhaps it’s egotistical, but I like my designs the way they are, and I don’t want anyone messing with them.”
“I get that. I can imagine many artists feel the same way when someone buys the rights to commercialize their work.”
An artist. Is that how he sees me? I love the thought. I consider myself creative, but I’ve never been brave enough to claim the title “artist.”
“It’s not just that,” I explain. “I spend a lot of time figuring out what will make plus-size women feel good about themselves, and a few changes in the wrong direction could totally undermine that.”
He stares at me, and maybe it’s my imagination, but his blue eyes seem to get hotter and darker. A slow heat builds low in my belly. I shift in my chair and squeeze my thighs together, trying to ease the ache. “I think you’d be selling yourself short if you gave your designs to someone else.” His voice is husky and sends a shiver through my body. “You’d be better off pitching to an investor who’s willing to finance you to launch your own line, on your own terms.”
I laugh, because honestly, what kind of investor would be willing to give me money? I have no track record, no practical experience, and no reputation. I’m a nobody. If anyone cared to Google my name, all they’d see is I’m the twin sister of an athlete whose reputation is currently being dragged through the mud.
But I still can’t help but wonder what it would be like to run a show myself. I allow myself a moment to fantasize. I’ve dreamed about it for years and I have so many ideas. But surely even considering the option is crazy, right?
Leo
“Seriously,” I urge. “At least try it. The worst they can do is say no.”
Camile’s face scrunches and she looks like she wants to point out a dozen ways I’m wrong. “They would probably laugh at me,” she mutters. “It’s not like I’m much of an entrepreneur.”
“How do you know that?”
She blinks slowly. “I barely passed math.”
“So?” I challenge, mentally sifting through ideas to fire her up. “Do you think that Chanel lady pours over the accounts each day? I bet she hires someone to do it for her because her time is too precious. Being an entrepreneur doesn’t mean you have to do everything yourself. It means finding the right people to fill the gaps.” I can see she’s listening to me, so I barrel on. “What are you really afraid of?”
She catches her lower lip between her teeth, and my dick starts to thicken in response, but I will it to calm the fuck down. Now isn’t the time to get carried away. I’d just freak her out. I’m already pushing the boundaries, having shown up at the tattoo parlor without an invitation and then talking her into coming for coffee.
“What if I suck?” she asks. “If a clothing company turns me down, I can tell myself it’s because my designs aren’t a good fit. But if an investor does the same, it’s because they don’t think I’m a good investment. Those people know a lot about business. I don’t know if I could handle it if I put my best foot forward and they weren’t interested.”
My heart aches for her because clearly nobody has ever given her their unwavering faith, but at the same time, her attitude frustrates me. She’s full of talk about being her own person and going after what she wants, but she’s letting her old fears and insecurities hold her back. If she takes a punt without having her whole soul in it, I worry it will turn out as she’s predicted because it’ll be obvious to anyone listening that she doesn’t believe in herself. If that’s the case, why would they be willing to take a chance on her? But something tells me I need to be gentle, or she’ll retreat into her shell.
“What if you don’t suck?” I ask quietly. “What if they love you and give you everything you need to make your dream come true? Isn’t it worth risking a few minutes of pain?”
She cocks her head. “What if it’s a few days of pain? Or weeks? Because let’s be real, I’m not the sort of person who bounces back quickly.”
“Then you have a few days or weeks of pain.” I shrug. “Worst-case scenario, you’ll still survive.” I straighten, deciding it’s time to end the conversation while I’m ahead. I’ve stirred her thoughts. Hopefully she can muster enough confidence in herself to do something about it. “It’s your choice. Do whatever you think is best. Just make sure you’re doing it because it’s what you want.”
“I will.” She nibbles her lip again, and this time, I can’t resist the urge to reach over and smooth a thumb across it. She freezes. So do I. What was I thinking? I can’t touch her like that. She’s not for me. But to my surprise, she doesn’t flinch. I retract my thumb, which is still tingling from her lips. “Would you like to see what I’ve been working on?”
My stomach lurches, and my heart takes off. “I thought you hadn’t showed anyone before?”
“I haven’t.” She smiles tentatively. “But I’d like you to be the first.”
“Absolutely.” I may not have had any interest in women’s fashion before today, but when it comes to Camile, I want to know everything. “I’d love that.”
“Great. Can you drive me back to my place?”
She doesn’t mean that the way it sounds. But damn, my body wishes she did.
“No problem.”
We finish our drinks and head to the car. She directs me to an apartment building, and we park in the basement. As we climb the stairs, I sense her body tensing with each step.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask as we leave the stairwell and enter a corridor.
“Absolutely.” Her tone is firm with no sign of the quiver I see in her hands. “It’s this one.” She stops outside a door. “Excuse the mess. I don’t have visitors often, and I can get a little carried away when I’m on a roll.”
I hide a smile. I doubt Camile’s mess is anything compared to some of the guys I’ve lived with. But my eyes widen as the door swings open. Holy crap. It’s not so much that the place is a mess. It’s more that pieces of paper and scraps of fabric cover nearly every surface. I don’t even know where to start looking. There must be dozens of designs littering the table and floor. I cross to the coffee table, figuring that’s where she’s most likely to keep whatever she’s currently working on. As gently as possible, I touch one of the sheets of paper and orient it so I can see what I’m looking at. A flowing dress with a low-cut front is sketched in the same careful lines as the tattoo design had been. Even with my limited experience, I can tell the outfit would look beautiful on her.
“This is amazing,” I breathe, and scan another piece of paper. Then another. With each new design, my admiration increases. Eventually, I stop and face her. “You’re really fucking talented.”
She blushes and bites her lower lip. “You think?”
I nod. “These should be on display. There’s no doubt in my mind that someone would pay you to make these.”
Her smile nearly blinds me with its brilliance. “Thank you.” The air leaves her in a gust. “I always thought they were nice, but it’s kind of hard to judge your own work.”
“Don’t ever doubt yourself again.” Before I can think about it, I grab her and kiss those pouty lips of hers. They taste just as good as they did on Sunday, and when she gives a little gasp of surrender, my cock stiffens to the point of discomfort. I rock forward, then freeze and force myself to back off. God, I can’t go humping her like an animal. We might be getting on well, but she’s shy and skittish—at least, she is when she’s not handing me my ass. “You’re good.” I brush one more kiss over her mouth so she knows I don’t think it was a mistake. “Really good.”
“You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that.” She smiles slyly. “Even if you’re not exactly an expert on fashion.”
I narrow my eyes at the saucy comment, but my heart lifts. I love when she teases me. “I could be an expert if I wanted to be.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure you could.” She saunters across the room, her hips swaying, and settles onto the sofa. “So, what say we make a plan for ziplining?”