“Yeah, I know. I hope whatever she said helped.”
“It did. A lot.”
“And that dinner wasn’t too excruciating?”
“Nah. Your parents are nice.”
“You have to say that.”
“I mean it. I never say anything to you that I don’t mean.” I put my finger over his lips before he has a chance to say anything. “Except for the photo comment. But that was a one-off.”
He laughs. “If you say so. You’re meant to be looking at my designs.”
He leads me to his desk, opens a huge black folder, and leafs through the designs slowly so I can take in each one before he moves on. I can see the ‘urban nature’ influence in the designs through his use of colour, shapes, and texture. The clothes are edgy but wearable. He’s designed items for men, women, and children; some are gender-neutral.
“These are amazing.”
“You think so?”
“Fuck, yes. Please tell me you’re sending these to every fashion house you’ve applied to.”
“No. I’ve sent them my CV. They’ll see my portfolio if—when—they invite me for an interview.”
I cup his jaw in both hands. “No, baby. You need to send them these designs. Get them under their noses. Show them how brilliant you are.” Every word I say is a dagger twisting into my heart, but I have to be his biggest champion. I have to show him he can fly.
“That’s not how it works, Sir.”
“Make it work that way, beautiful. Do I need to stand over you while you email these designs to the companies you want to work for the most?”
“I doubt I’ll get any response. They don’t like being sent unsolicited designs.”
“Have they replied to you anyway?”
“Well, no—”
“Then what harm could it do?”
Haru gnaws his bottom lip for several seconds. In the end, he shrugs. “None, I guess.”
“Do it.” I speak in a commanding tone.
Haru shivers and stands tall. “Yes, Sir.”
Fuck, I love it when he calls me that. “Good boy.”
His lashes flutter. “You weren’t going to praise me while you were here.”
“No, I said I wouldn’t do it in front of your parents, and I didn’t.”
“You were very well behaved.” His voice has become soft and husky.
I suck his bottom lip into my mouth while tickling my fingers along his smooth, rounded jaw. “I think that’s my line, beautiful.”
“Probably.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head up.
I kiss my way down his throat to the collar of his T-shirt.
“My parents are downstairs.”
