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. Ididdo 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?”
