The Highest Price to Pay (2 page)

And he would do more than that. Even without his reputation she wouldn’t doubt him. The glint of fire in his golden eyes and the firm set of his angular jaw told her that he was not a man to be taken lightly.

“You’re quite into the party scene, aren’t you?”

Blaise watched as Ella stiffened, her bubblegum-pink lips tightening into a firm line. She didn’t like his assessment of her. She didn’t like his presence full stop, that much was clear.

But she could hardly deny that when her picture made it into the paper, it was because she was at some high profile soiree. It seemed she went to any and every event in Paris, at least those she could gain admittance to. And, from what he’d discovered, there were spare few she couldn’t. A gorgeous American heiress with a sensational, tragic backstory was always in demand. And she took advantage of that.

“It’s called promo, weren’t we discussing that earlier?” she asked, arching one finely groomed brow.

Yes, she was beautiful, fine bone structure, bright blue eyes overly enhanced now by a thick line of blue pencil drawn all the way around them, making them look wider, more cat-shaped. It was obvious that she had no problem drawing attention to herself. She was wearing a short black dress that displayed her long, shapely legs to perfection, and ornate ankle boots with buckles and a cutout at the toe that showed off shockingly pink toenails.

A sharp shot of lust stabbed at his stomach. He dismissed it. This wasn’t about lust; this was about business.

He’d learned long ago to separate the two. Learned never to let desire lead him around like a dog on a leash.

“It’s ineffective,” he said sharply. “Yes, it gets your name in the paper to go to every night club opening in Paris, but it’s not elevating you to the level this boutique suggests you want to be at.”

“At this point, I just need to get my name in the paper. I do what I can to drum up interest in the Ella Stanton label.”

“You don’t do enough.”

“Thank you,” she said, her tone flat.

“It cheapens you.”

Her blue eyes widened. “It isn’t as though I’m out engaging in questionable activities, you make it sound like I’m dancing on tables while shouting the name of my label. I always behave in a professional manner.”

“You have to surround yourself with potential clients. Tell me, are any of those hard-partying patrons of the events you frequent going to come and spend money on your clothes?”

“Some of them…”

“Not enough of them. You need to build connections in the industry. You need to build real connections with the sort of clientele you want.”

“I’m working up to that point but it isn’t as though invitations to exclusive events land in my mailbox every day.” She shifted her weight and put her hand on one shapely hip.

He noticed them then. Patches of pink, shiny skin marring the creamy perfection of her fingers. This was what had made her instantly newsworthy when she’d come to Paris. The scarred, American heiress who wore her pain like a trophy and used her personal tragedy to her best advantage. Her sob story, the house fire that had left her burned, was half of her appeal to the media, and she made the most of it.

A quality he admired. Although, his first thought upon seeing that Ella Stanton’s business loan was rolled in with the others he’d wanted to purchase had been to unload it as quickly as possible. He didn’t have time to waste on a spoiled little rich girl playing at a career that suited her idea of over-the-top glamour.

After looking at her sales figures, he’d been forced to put that idea away, and talking to a couple of industry professionals and gaining insight on their opinion of Ella’s talent had further altered his first impression. She wasn’t playing; she was good at what she did.

She was working hard to advance her line, harder than he’d imagined she might be. But he knew he could take it further. Take her further.

The bottom line was profit; it was all that mattered. And he would wring every ounce of profit possible out of the Ella Stanton label.

“They do land in mine. And I know what to do when such opportunities for networking present themselves. I already have connections you can only dream of. I know you’ve read about my ability to crush companies if the need arises, but I can build them, too. In fact, I excel at it. The only question is which of my famed skills would you like to see employed here?”

There was a determined glint in her eyes, one that only served to add weight to the desire already settled in his gut.

“What exactly do you require of me?” she asked, speaking through her tightly gritted teeth.

“It’s simple. When it comes to matters of business, you do as I say. To the letter.”

“So all you want is total control then? Not too much to ask.” Her tone was even, her expression placid, but he could sense the barely controlled emotion that was all but radiating from her.

“What I want is to take your brand and make it a household name. To have every fashionista wanting the next big thing out of the Ella Stanton line. To have your clothing everywhere, from high-end boutiques to department stores. If I have to take control to see that happen, I will.”

“What if I can buy out the loan?”

“You would rather try to keep going on your own than take this opportunity?”

“This is my business, not your moneymaking venture,” she said, breathing hard, full breasts rising. He couldn’t help but let his eyes linger there, to go further and admire the small indent of her waist, the round curve of her hip. A shame he didn’t mix business with the pleasures of the flesh. It was too complicated, and when it came to women, he didn’t do complicated.

“Do you think anyone would loan you money at this point, Ella? Your debt to income ratio is not the sort of thing a bank would want to see.”

Color flooded her pale cheeks. “I know it’s not what it could be but my plan is good and…”

“There are a lot of variables in your plan, from what I hear. And while it may be good in a general sense, it is not going to be guarantee enough for most banks as things stand. You’ve accumulated a lot more debt in the time since you took out this loan.”

“Fashion shows are expensive. The last one I did cost me five figures, and I only earned a percentage back.” Her voice cracked.

Ella felt like she was watching everything slide through her fingers. All the years of working toward something no one had believed she could achieve. She’d pushed herself so hard to make it this far. She’d done it on her own, without support from her family. The boutiques, the fashion line, they were hers. They were everything.

But now they were his. And unless she wanted to lose them altogether, she had to play his game. She’d known it would come down to that, from the second he’d shown her the paperwork, she’d known. She just hadn’t wanted to accept it. But she had to now. There wasn’t another choice.

Giving up her control, inviting someone else into her life, her business, was as close to a living nightmare as she could imagine. But losing everything went so far beyond a nightmare that she couldn’t even think about it.

She sucked in a sharp breath and schooled her face into what she hoped was an expression of calm serenity. “I’m willing to work with you in whatever way I can to ensure our success.”

A wry smile curved his wicked mouth. He wasn’t fooled by her display of calm, and that made her angry. He could see through her, was amused by her. She curled her hands into fists and dug her fingernails into her palms.

“This isn’t personal, Ella. This is about the bottom line, and I intend to see a substantial profit. If at any point it becomes clear that isn’t going to happen, I will abandon the project.”

Ella extended her hand and he grasped it. Lightning shot through her, unexpected, instant, as if she’d touched a naked wire. It mingled with the anger, the adrenaline that was already pounding through her and made her feel shaky, like her knees might give out at any moment.

She looked up and met his eyes, and saw heat. Attraction. He looked down at where their hands were joined, his large and dark, hers small and pale and marred. He ran his thumb over one of the scars that blazed a jagged path over the back of her hand.

The heat fled her, leaving in its place an icy shiver that made her feel cold inside. She pulled her hand from his grasp.

His gaze lingered on her. “It will be a pleasure doing business with you.”

“H
ERE
it is.” Ella pushed open the door to her workshop and led the way in and Blaise followed. It had been a couple of days since their meeting in her boutique.

It had given him time to assess some of the other companies he now held loans for, and it had also given him the chance to decide that Ella’s was the one he wanted to focus on. The more research he’d done, the more he’d become convinced that the moneymaking potential was there.

When he’d called this morning about seeing her studio she’d been irritated. Even now she was barely looking at him, blue eyes slanted the other way when she spoke to him. He found it highly amusing.

The workshop was spacious, with a flair that matched its owner. Each steel beam that ran the length of the ceiling was painted a different bright color, and the ceiling itself was done in black. It reminded him of how she dressed.

Today she was wearing black leggings and a long shirt that was belted at the waist. The top clung to her curves and he was hard-pressed to keep his eyes off her tight, rounded bottom as she walked ahead of him and to the back of the room.

“I keep all of my samples and patterns here.” She gestured to the back wall that was lined with rows of full racks, filled with brightly colored clothing.

“You have a large body of work.”

She put her hands on her waist and blew out a breath. “I do. It’s expensive work, though. I have a couple of investors, but the start-up alone was huge and shows are…well, they’re more than I have at my disposal.”

His eyes were drawn to her lips again, still painted that same bubblegum-pink. He couldn’t help but wonder if she tasted like bubblegum. Or if she just tasted like a woman, sweet and earthy at the same time.

His body responded to the idea of that and he had to grit his teeth hard to fight the rising tide of attraction that was building inside of him.

“I’d like to take a closer look at some of the sales records for your boutique,” he said, moving to stand in front of one of the racks, pretending to look at the clothing there.

He could hear her teeth click together. “All right.” She definitely wasn’t happy.

He turned to her and she looked away again. He cupped her chin gently and her blue eyes flew to his, wide and utterly shocked. It was the first time he’d seen her mask come down completely. It was fleeting.

“Did you need something?” she asked.

He ignored his body’s emphatic
hell yes.
“Just those sales records. It’s business, Ella. I need to know what I’m working with here.”

“Sorry,” she said curtly, stepping away from his touch. “I’m not accustomed to people rooting around in my things.” She pulled a laptop out of the oversize bag she was carrying with her and set it on one of the worktables. She hit the power button then leaned forward, idly twisting the large, flower-shaped ring on her finger.

“I promise, it will be quick and painless.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a sideways glance. “Is that what you say to your dates?”

The minute the words came out of her mouth, Ella knew she’d overdone it. There was a small, nearly imperceptible change in Blaise’s expression, a curve to his full lips, a golden glint in his eyes. He moved to where she was standing at the table and leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers.

“My dates never need the reassurance,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft, his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath fanning over the bare skin of her neck. She shivered slightly, hoped he didn’t notice. “They know what they want, and they know I will give it to them.”

Another biting retort clung to the tip of her tongue, but she held it back. Blaise had a well-established reputation, and he wasn’t the only one.

She was known in the industry for being bold, even a little bit brash at times, but that was an act, a wall she put up to separate herself from the world. It was to keep the woman she was inside safe, protected by her facade. And in the context of small parties and backstage at shows, it worked well, helped her establish dominance.

But here and now, with Blaise, she was in over her head.

They were alone, and he was close enough that if she moved, just a little bit, her lips would touch his cheek. That thought made her throat go dry, made her stomach tighten almost painfully.

She turned her focus back to the computer and cleared her throat. She clicked on the folder that had all of her business stuff in it and turned the laptop so that it was facing Blaise.

He scrolled through a couple of spreadsheets, his expression never changing. He was like a solid piece of mahogany. Hard and unforgiving. Beautiful, too, but it didn’t change the fact that a collision with him would be absolutely devastating.

“You do pretty well,” he said, closing the laptop screen.

She let out a breath, one she didn’t realize she’d been holding. But with Blaise, it always felt like she was waiting for the guillotine to drop. Waiting for him to decide none of this was worth it, to have him decide to call the loan in. Like it or not, their unwanted alliance was her best hope for a future for her clothing line, and that meant she needed to keep working with him, no matter how much it made her want to scream.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. It’s a small boutique, but it’s in a prime location.”

“And yet you have very little profit.”

“I have almost no profit,” she said dryly. “It’s an expensive business. And now that the boutique has gotten busier, I’ve had to get employees.”

No matter how successful she got in the industry, it required more of her. More time, more money, more manpower, and with every increase in income, there was an increase in cost. It made it nearly impossible for her to get ahead, and certainly impossible to make the kind of jump in status that Blaise seemed to want her to make.

“I like what I’ve seen here. I’d like to invest more.” He named a sum that made her feel slightly ill.

He said it so casually, as though it meant nothing. Although, to a man with a billion dollars, or whatever it was he had these days, it likely was nothing. To a woman who ate instant noodle soup for dinner most nights, it definitely wasn’t nothing.

She dealt in large amounts of money, but almost the moment they hit her bank account they were gone again, going to the next big thing. And this was more money than she’d ever thought to see in a lifetime.

“That’s…a lot of money,” she said.

“Yes, it is. But I don’t believe in going halfway. I want this to be a success, and that means putting in the necessary investment to ensure that it is.”

It was a slippery slope. It wasn’t a loan: it was an investment, but this put her over her head in debt as far as she was concerned. It gave him more power. It pushed her out further.

But what choice was there? If she didn’t take it she would keep on with her tortoise pace and Blaise would grow impatient. And that would be the end of everything.

None of this had mattered three days ago when Blaise Chevalier was just a name in the tabloids. But now he was the driving force behind the Ella Stanton label. Ironic that he even owned her name. It felt like he owned her. Allowing him to invest that much money would only tighten the chains that she felt closing around her wrists.

But it was all she could do, accept the fact the she was indebted to him until she could buy her freedom. At least at some point she would have the hope of paying him back, of buying him out. If she didn’t go along with him she wouldn’t have anything.

The bottom line, the amount earned, had never mattered as much to her as the level of success. She’d happily keep eating instant soup for the next ten years if it meant making herself a success at what she loved. But that wasn’t an option anymore, and what had only ever been a concern for her out of practicality had now become the primary focus.

“Then we both want the same thing,” she said, even though it was a lie. He wanted money, and while she did want to make money, it was about more than that to her. It was about being something, accomplishing her goals. Becoming more than anyone around her had ever believed she would be.

A slow smile spread over his face and her heart thundered in response. She didn’t know why. Except that when he smiled, it didn’t look like an expression of happiness. It was more like watching a predator, satisfied in the knowledge that he was closing in on his prey.

She had a feeling that, in this scenario, she was very much the gazelle to his panther. She also knew that he was more than comfortable going in for the kill. A little blood on his hands wouldn’t cause him to lose a moment of sleep. He was a man who accomplished his goals no matter who got in his way. Not a comforting thought.

“More or less,” he said, slowly, his accent pronounced as he drew out the syllables, his voice enticing, despite the underlying danger. He didn’t need to pounce on his prey, he could talk his prey into coming to him, and that made him even more deadly.

“Somehow I think as far as the method goes we might be more on the ‘less’ side than the ‘more’ side.”

“Certainly possible.” The deep, husky quality to his voice was shiver inducing. It made her stomach clench tight, made her entire body feel jittery, like she’d overindulged in espresso at one of the local cafés.

“Where are you from originally?” she asked, feeling stupid the minute the words left her mouth. Because it was his accent, and the strange curling sensation created in her stomach, that had prompted her to ask. And she really didn’t want him to know that.

Didn’t want him to think that anything about him interested her at all. Who knows what he might do with that bit of information.

“France, originally. My father is a very wealthy businessman, a native of France. But I spent a portion of my childhood in Malawi, with my mother.”

“Why wasn’t she in Paris?”

He shrugged. “My parents divorced. She wished to return to her homeland.” He said it with as little interest, as little emotion, as he said everything. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had really been so casual as he made it sound. To go from Paris to Malawi as a child couldn’t possibly be a nonevent; neither could being separated from his father.

Although, she knew as well as anyone that sometimes cutting ties with family wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Still, it made her wonder about him. Made her feel a small sliver of sympathy for the boy he’d been. Why? He clearly didn’t feel anything for her, and she wasn’t asking for it.

They might have a tentative truce, but it was tenuous. She had his word, and his word alone that they would work on her business, rather than him simply wiping it out of existence by demanding money she didn’t have.

Not a comforting thought considering his reputation. And that meant her mind had to stay on matters of business, and not the exotic flavor of his accent. Not on the boy he’d been, but the man he’d become.

“So, being that you’re the mastermind,” she said, breaking the silence, hoping to do something about the odd, thick tension that had settled between them, to get rid of that strange, tight feeling in her chest, “what are your plans?”

“I was thinking a Times Square billboard and a cover for
Look
magazine.”

She coughed. “What?”

“I know the editor for the magazine. She said if I could get a look from you that would go well with a spring editorial that she would use it for an ad and the cover.”

“But that’s…that’s huge exposure.”

“
Oui.
I told you I was good.”

“Very good.” She felt like she’d been hit in the head, dazed and a little bit woozy. “It doesn’t seem possible. She would do that, just because she knows you?”

“I had her look up your work online. She was impressed by you. It’s hardly charity.”

“But it’s…”

“I told you I could turn your five-year plan into a six-month plan,” he said, his tone laced with arrogance. “She might like to interview you, too. Do a designer profile.”

It was the kind of exposure she both dreamed of and dreaded. The kind that would give her the success she knew she was capable of. The kind that would give her a lot of exposure, both personal and private.

She’d already dealt with it on a small scale. It was easy to just put up the wall, smile and laugh, turn for the picture to expose the scar on her neck. Give the people what they wanted. She didn’t bother to hide the past, the marks it had left on her skin.

She also kept some of it to herself. She didn’t want to flaunt the worst of it. She gave just enough, just enough that no one pressed for more. Not that there was anything left to be said that could hurt her. She’d heard every insult, every cutting remark. Some of it from the mouth of her own mother. She’d survived. She hadn’t crumbled then, she wouldn’t crumble now.

She was going to grasp the opportunity with both hands. Make the most of her unasked for association with Blaise. If the man could get her a billboard ad, a cover and an interview, she might grow to resent him less.

“That would be great, more than that, it would be amazing.”

“I know you love publicity,” he said, one side of his mouth curved up.

“I like the sales that come with it,” she said, her voice flat.

Publicity, in a certain sense, she could take or leave.

“What would you pick for the shoot?”

Ella crossed the room, grateful for the distance between them. She didn’t know what it was about him that made her feel tight and jittery inside.

His looks, his reputation, it all combined to make him a pretty potent mix. One she was afraid she didn’t know how to handle. She worked with male models all the time, and their boyish quality didn’t bother her at all. Sure, sometimes when she measured their finely toned physiques she got a mild thrill, but she was a woman after all, and they were men.

But it was nothing like the intense jumble of feeling she got when she just looked at Blaise. One part attraction mingled with a lot of nerves and anger.

And he was no boyish model. He was a man, a man who, if the tabloids were to be believed, knew exactly how to handle a woman in the bedroom.

She felt her cheeks getting hot and she turned her face away from him, pretending to study some clothes on another rack. She bit her cheek again, harder this time. She had to focus, and not on how good Blaise’s physique looked in his suit.