“Yes.” His dimples flashed. “Kat’s a little shy, but she’s as delighted as I am that our story has inspired so many people.”
“Is there going to be a fairy-tale wedding?”
Ross winked. “Time will tell.”
Katrina shut the TV off with a snap of the remote. “It’s... he...”
“What a motherfucking asshole.” Jas’s calm pronouncement had her turning to face him. He met her gaze. “He’s on TV saying you guys are still talking to each other. This is going beyond the lies he spun before. He’s... he’s enjoying this fame. So is the woman. And you had to leave your own damn home.” He launched to his feet and ran his hands through his hair until it was spiked up. “This is so unfair.”
She watched him, bemused. It was all stuff she’d said yesterday, when he’d sat so calmly and listened to her.
It was like a trade, she supposed. Now that he was upset, her own ire deflated. “It is unfair,” she agreed. “But that’s how it’s going.” Her smile was wobbly. “One superpower my brain gives me is that I’m always low-key prepped for the worst. This scenario wasn’t one I considered, but it’s not the absolute worst.”
He growled.
“To be honest, I truly expected them to go on television and rattle off my name and Social Security number.” Katrina winced. “He gave the internet my nickname, so, like, not great, but it really could have been worse.” She rose and dared to place her hand on Jas’s arm. “You know what? Next couple of days, let’s try to focus on other things. Not stress too much until we have to. It’s okay. We can handle this.”
He looked down at her hand. “You’re right. We can handle it.”
She let her lashes conceal her eyes as she turned away and picked up their plates, Doodle coming to her feet, tongue sticking out in anticipation of returning to the kitchen.
It had sounded a little too much like a vow, those words coming from him.We can handle it.
She’s a client.
She’d take her own advice and stay focused on other things, like enjoying this time, tucked away in this adorable little farmhouse, with her dear friend.
Chapter Fourteen
IFJAS DIDN’Tleave the house soon, Katrina was going to kill him.
Okay, kill was, perhaps, too strong a word.
Tap, tap, tap.
Katrina’s eye twitched. Or not strong enough.
Doubtful anyone else would be annoyed by Jas tapping a pen on the table while he worked on his laptop, but repetitive noises made her head ache. Especially since he’d been doing it for the last two whole hours.
“Katrina?”
She refocused on the computer, where her two employees were gathered around a conference table. Being an investor wasn’t easy when one didn’t leave one’s home, but it was made simpler with a small staff of people she trusted implicitly to handle the face-to-face interactions and judgment calls that were necessary in this game. She leased a small, ridiculously expensive office in Silicon Valley for them.
So far, the system had worked. There was some speculation, but no one closely questioned who the wizard was behind the curtain of the KA Fund. Entrepreneurs were happyto get money, they rarely cared where it came from so long as they could keep building. “I’m sorry, Akash. Can you repeat that?”
Akash fiddled with the precise knot in his tie. He was her newest hire, and happened to be Rhiannon’s assistant’s cousin. Katrina trusted Lakshmi and Akash had struck her as clever and quick. He’d only worked for her for a year, but he’d done well in scouting out some good opportunities. They were working on his impulsiveness. “I was saying I think you ought to reconsider the handbag start-up.”
Carol was already shaking her head before Katrina could respond. She was in her fifties, and had been Katrina’s agent’s assistant many years ago. She was solid and cautious, and possessed an uncanny ability to suss out diamonds in the rough. “There are a million sustainable purse companies out there now. There’s nothing special about this one.” She grimaced. “Their samples are hideous, too.”
“It’s not about the company, it’s the people behind it,” Akash argued. “Two Stanford Ph.D.s.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Katrina glanced at Jas. He wasn’t using the pen anymore, but he was typing. Loudly. Was it his keyboard that was loud or his fingers? “Carol?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What do we say?”
