“I was just wondering.”
There’s a pause while Will balls up the Band-Aid scraps and pockets them. “No, I don’t live here. I live in Manhattan, but I have clients in Austin.”
“Your employer doesn’t compensate your Ubers?”
“Ilikecycling to work,” Will says, his tone indicating he doesn’t expect me to understand the appeal. “And I chose a hotel in Zilker because it’s where I grew up.”
Okay, I willnotbe telling him I also live in Zilker. It wouldborder on creepy, even though I had no idea that’s where he and Zoe lived as kids.
“Where’d the bike come from?”
“It’s a rental,” Will clarifies, eyebrow lifting. “Is this an interrogation?”
I blush and shut up, focusing on the road. “Grumpy,” I mumble.
Beside me, Will’s palms move up and down his thighs in slow slides.
“How can I make this up to you?” he asks a minute later.
“Buy Revenant products,” I joke.
“I already do that.” I glance over to see if he’s kidding, my focus catching on the tiny Band-Aid stuck to his cheekbone. But his eyes are serious and warm on mine. “I like Revenant clothes,” he murmurs. “I like the way they… feel.”
Thatface, coupled with the praise falling off his tongue, is flipping my stomach. It’s not even a direct compliment, and I’m still pretty sure it’s the nicest thing Will Grant has ever said to me. Which isn’t a grand assumption. It’s just factual.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He faces forward, obviously uncomfortable repeating himself. “Besides. Revenant is the Austin cult classic.”
I snort. “Did you just quote thatBite the Handprofile?”
Will laughs deeply. It reverberates around the car, spreading out like it plans to stay once he’s gone. “I did.”
“You obsessed with me or something?”
“I’mprofessionallyintrigued by your business model,” he counters.
“That’s what all the men say to me.”
“Are you insinuating,” Will says, “that a man hasactuallytried to pick you up by hitting on your company?”
“Every year, at the CEO summit I go to.”
After a few seconds of silent thinking he says, “I don’t know how to respond to that,” which makes me laugh out loud.
“Exactly how much do you know about Revenant?” I ask.
He looks back over. Our eyes hold one heartbeat too long. “About as much as was written in that profile. I read it twice.”
Twice. He read it twice. He justadmittedto me he read it twice.
The profile in question was a lengthy piece published by a New York digital media start-up after the editor in chief reached out to me, saying he’d gotten a tip I was one to watch, and could he interview me for a digital spread?
I’d barely had the courage to say yes. Ever since I accepted the fact that Icannotuse social media in a healthy way—the same way others can’t have only two drinks, or go window-shopping butnotspend any (all) of their money—press isn’t something Ieverlook forward to. I become obsessed with my public perception, put too much worth into other people’s opinions of me.
But that editor had seemed intentional. Plus, he never once referred to me as a girl boss (a term and concept Iloathe) in our first phone call. I liked him instantly, and when we set up a call, the conversation flowed.
That was a year and a half ago, right at the cusp of Revenant’s rapid growth. Before, I was doing only drops, making every sale to order with a handful of employees and one manufacturer. Butafterit published—and especially after the TikTok fashion girls covered the highlights in a bunch of viral videos I’ve never personally seen—Revenant exploded.
