I wish I could blame my current bad luck on a curse I picked up from an antique, a planet being in retrograde, or even a broken mirror. I’ve not crossed paths with a black cat, walked under a ladder, or opened an umbrella indoors. However, my life—personal and professional—sucks. That’s putting it lightly. Unfortunately, I have nothing to blame for my current misfortunes other than myself. Every action has a consequence. Choose wisely. It’s something my father drilled into me when I was a kid, living in the shadows of my genius brothers. They’re nine years older than me. My father was the CEO of Calloway Diamonds for nearly four decades before he retired six months ago. The Calloway children were educated and raised to run a multibillion-dollar company. When I turned eighteen, I was offered a position working beside my father with a guaranteed path that would lead me straight to the top. I declined and chose to carve my path forward in the fashion world. Basically, if I don’t solve my company’s financial problems immediately, I’ll be forced to ask a man for help. The fun part is choosing which man. Eye roll. There are my identical twin brothers—Easton or Weston. They’re the most powerful men in the world, Easton is the CEO and Weston is the COO of Calloway Diamonds. Throughout my life, they’ve always saved their baby sister. I can’t allow them to do that this time. I’ll be thirty-one soon, and I need to learn how to solve things like this without their help. Next up is my father. He never wanted me to create Bellamore and hated the idea because fashion was my mother’s passion. I genuinely believe he’s always resented my decision to do what I love instead of giving myself to the Calloway crown. Running to him with my tail between my legs would only prove him right, and I cannot give him that satisfaction. Then there’s my mortal enemy—Asher Banks. Total asshole. Annoying billionaire, trust-fund fuckboy. He’s ridiculously attractive with honey-colored brown eyes and dark hair. High cheekbones and a chiseled jaw that’s lined with scruff. The man is a sculpture, pure art, and he ruins it anytime he opens his gorgeous mouth. Not to mention, he comes from an extremely influential family. Some believe they’re a part of a shadow government because in the financial world, the Banks are pure royalty. Oh, and he’s one of the smartest men I’ve ever regretfully been introduced to. Hate at first sight. It’s the only way to describe how our first meeting went. I stare off into the distance as my vision blurs. Stanford is magical in the fall when the leaves begin to change. I’ve always loved the ber months, and they’re upon us now that we’re suddenly at the end of August. With my book bag tossed over my shoulder, I turn the hallway’s corner and crash into brick. Strong hands grab and steady me, and I look up into light-brown eyes. Kind eyes. “Um, hi,” he says, smiling. It’s the perfect smile too. “Hi,” I tell him, and time feels like it stands still. “You can let go of me now.” “Oh, right. I’m Asher Banks.” He moves his hands from my arms, still smiling. “Ah. I’m Billie Calloway,” I say, and his brows rise. “The diamond princess. You’re Weston and Easton’s little sister?” he asks. I nod. “Great,” he mutters. “Great? You said it like it’s not your greatest honor,” I tell him. He scoffs, leaning in. “What they say about you is true.” “Yeah? And what do they say?” I ask, not liking the way my heart races as he challenges me. “That you’re a little miss know-it-all who demands the peasants bow down to her,” he says. “That’s utter bullshit,” I tell him, growing offended. “You don’t know me.” He blinks down at me. “I do though. Stay away from me.” I storm away from him with a groan. “What the fuck?” I whisper and immediately pull my phone from my backpack. Billie: You’re never going to guess who I just met. Harper: Who? Billie: Asher Banks. Harper: Banks? Wow. Royalty, just like the Calloways. And is he as hot as they say he is? Billie: If by hot, you mean asshole, yes. He told me to stay away from him. Why? Harper: Probably scared of your brothers. They put a target on anyone who dates you. Billie: Too bad I can’t divorce them. Harper: Too bad I can’t marry them. Both of them. Mmm. Twins. Billie: GROSS!!! Anyway, I gotta go. Class is starting soon. Have a great first day. Harper: You too! Try to be nice. Smile some. Okay? Billie: I’m good. I need the next four years to fly by so we can start our company! Harper: It will! Love ya, bestie! Try not to fall in love with Asher Banks. Billie: Please STFU. I find a seat in the middle of the room in my Economics class. Just after the professor walks in, Asher enters, and his eyes slide to mine. Our gazes lock, and I don’t look away when it grows uncomfortable. He moves down the aisle, taking the seat directly beside me. I smell his cologne—a mixture of mint and cedar. “Billie,” he whispers. “Don’t talk to me,” I tell him as my body temperature rises. “It’s best if you pretend I don’t exist.” “Cold,” he whispers. “A fucking ice queen.” I glance over at him, and our eyes meet again. “Don’t call me that.” He smirks. “Okay … Ice Queen.” If there were a word worse than hate, I’d use it to describe how I feel about him, how I’ve always felt about him. Unfortunately for me, he owns the best marketing firm in the world and is incredible at what he does. The man is strategic and innovative and consistently delivers fresh go to hell looks and fuck-offs when we’re in the same room. Being around him is infuriating, and don’t even get me started on how fucking good he smells—a scent that has always been distinctly him. It’s a guilty pleasure, and I’m sure I could find him by smell while blindfolded in a crowd. And I hate that about myself. Now that Banks is uber-successful, he’s become more insufferable than he was thirteen years ago, when we attended Stanford together. I didn’t think his ego could grow any larger, but I was wrong. I think I’d rather go bankrupt before I ever dropped to my knees and begged for his help. He’d enjoy it too much and not let me live it down for the rest of his miserable existence. Guaranteed. Oh, and there is one other desperate option—the most desperate of them all—find a temporary fill-in husband and cash in my inheritance. I have billions locked away that I can’t access until I’m married. Harper’s is locked away until she turns thirty-five. Bellamore, in its current state, won’t survive that long. Right now, my choices are to beg Asher Banks on my knees or find a husband. After Banks cockily strolled into my office, I’m five hundred miles past staying positive. “Double espresso for Billie,” the barista calls out, pulling me from my thoughts. My heels click on the tiled floor as I go to grab my drink and offer a small smile. “Good luck, Ms. Calloway,” Ellis, the barista, tells me. He’s cute, but he’s also a twenty-two-year-old film student. If his age doesn’t start with a three, no thanks. I’m not made to be a sugar mama to fuckboys, even if they’re sexy. “Thanks. I could use a lot of luck,” I say. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Calloway.” Ellis shoots me a flirtatious wink. It’s routine for him—something he does each morning. “Tomorrow,” I repeat. I stop by Roosters Café every day before work and grab a double espresso. I’ve done this since I purchased the Crystal Palace and moved my headquarters into the glass building that looks like a castle. I’m married to my job, and I wonder if that’s why it’s failing. Maybe I’m smothering it. I’ve always sucked at relationships, especially long-term ones. Let’s be honest—short-term ones too. I’m beginning to believe that I’m difficult to be with. I’m the common denominator, and I recognize that. I’ll know when I’ve finally met my person because they’ll want to spend time with me, doing absolutely nothing. They’ll challenge me. They’ll truly love me for exactly who I am and not expect me to change. Does Prince Charming exist? Hell no. I remove the lid from my tiny cup and step outside, breathing in fresh air. The sun beams against the sidewalk, lighting the path like it’s a yellow brick road. Spring is upon us, which means Harper and I have to nail down the fall fashion line within the next month. Afterward, we’ll pitch to merchandisers and make our order for production. We need to triple our baseline orders to survive until next year. Harper and I can turn the shit show around, can’t we? If she called Banks and somehow convinced him to meet with me, knowing how we feel about one another, then she believes our problem is beyond our control. That’s the hard reality I’m trying to swallow. The espresso doesn’t help force it down. Has my best friend given up hope? Two blocks later, I approach the Crystal Palace. Right across the street is his company: Banks Advertising and Marketing Firm. The gold letters reflect sunlight, making it shine. I shake my head. He purchased that building as soon as it was posted for sale. It was on the market for less than a day. I’m convinced he did it so I’d see his stupid fucking name in gold every day. It’s like he wanted me to have a front-row seat to watch him climb to the top of the business world. Yes, he’s that petty, and he always has been. Even at Stanford, he was like my shadow lurking close by. He even changed his schedule several times to match my classes. I had to see his stupid face for four torturous years. It didn’t help that he was one of the most liked men on campus. Athletic. He even played soccer on the university team. Then there was me, the girl who spent her weekends studying and designing outfits for Fashion Week and the Met. While he was having fun, fucking random women at frat parties, I was busy building Bellamore in my dorm. After graduation, I officially asked Harper to partner with me to make our dream legitimate. Our dreams were endless, and now they’re ending. It hurts so much. Our entire lives, we were never given the proper credit for our accomplishments because of who we were. It’s why Harper and I created Bellamore. We are more than our names or our looks. This company represents our hearts, and it means everything to me. But still, failure looms on the horizon. This is personal for me. I take the elevator to my office, and as I move down the hallway, no one speaks to me, which I prefer. I’m an introvert, like my brother Easton, and prefer silence. While Easton and I have a lot in common, I’m closer with Weston. He’s the comedic relief, my fun, extroverted brother who always brings out the best in me. Weston is pure sunshine, just like Harper. The rumor is, I’m unapproachable, and sometimes, it’s easier to let people believe whatever they want. And when they finally get the balls to approach me, they realize how wrong they were. I can hold a conversation, and I’m kind to those who deserve my kindness. I might not always smile or go out of my way to be friendly, but it doesn’t mean I’m not. Why would I randomly approach someone if I don’t want to be approached? The nicknames are endless too. Last year, an article coined me as the Wednesday Addams of Fashion, and it stuck. Every picture they captured of me for the next year, I made sure I was wearing black. The styles changed with the season, but the color never did. I leaned so heavily into it that I became an icon. It’s been said that I’m the only woman who can make black look great in the spring. The world wanted Miranda from The Devil Wears Prada, so I gave it to them. The badass-bitch persona saves me a lot of headaches. One look, and most people just stop talking. Most sentences need to end a few words earlier anyway. Before I enter my office, my assistant, Hannah, meets my eyes. “Your eight o’clock is confirmed.” “Thank you,” I tell her, closing the door behind me. When I approach my desk, I look toward Banks’s office. Across the glass is a sign taped to his window. I step forward to read it. YOU WILL BEG! My mouth falls open. He even underlined it. I scream at the top of my lungs, unable to control the rage that soars through me. There’s nothing I can do about what’s in his office. I will have to look at that for who knows how long. “I cannot do this,” I mutter, shaking my head. I pick up the phone and call Harper. Her office is on the opposite side of the building, so I know she hasn’t seen it yet. “Good morning,” she singsongs, and I can hear Taylor Swift playing in the background. “You’re listening to Reputation?” I ask. “It’s my fight-song album. It motivates me,” she says, and I can tell she’s smiling. “Anyway, what’s up?” “Can you pretty please come to my office?” I try to stay calm. “Give me five.” The call ends, and I slam my phone on the base and sit at my desk. Harper walks in and glances at the window. She immediately tries to hold back laughter. She keeps it in for five seconds before it bursts out of her. She nearly folds over, gasping for air. “He’s hilarious.” “It’s not funny! I’m pissed,” I growl out with frustration. “I have a meeting at eight. I cannot have Benjamin Gibson, the editor of Fashion News, witnessing that. We need that fall feature.” I point back at Banks’s office. “This message will have everyone talking.” “No problem,” she says, sitting. “Have you reconsidered him? He could actually save us.” “I won’t beg him,” I tell her. “What if you just tried asking? Nicely?” “He won’t accept anything else, Harp. Not with me. He’s trying to humiliate me, like he always does.” She huffs. “This vendetta you two have has to end.” “Impossible,” I say between gritted teeth. “Why? I don’t understand it. You can’t even tell me why you hate him.” My heart races. “I hate him because he’s a dickhead and he treats me like shit. He’s humiliated and embarrassed me countless times. He purposely does things to poke at me and drive me insane. He bought that building. Now he has a thirty-foot sign stretched across his office. He claims he’s so fucking busy, but he has plenty of time to write a message and hang it. He’s an inconsiderate jerk. Do you want me to keep going? Egomaniac. Man-whore. One-upper. He probably kicks puppies for fun and laughs afterward.” Harper laughs. “He’s not that bad.” “I know exactly who he is and the mask he wears.” “The one he wears or the one you put on him?” I glare at her. “When did you become a Banks apologist?” “Your brothers wouldn’t be friends with him if he were awful. They’re very careful about who they get close to, Billie. I find it hard to believe he’s horrible if he has Easton’s and Weston’s friendship.” “I’m convinced it’s all strategic,” I tell her. “My brothers keep the right people around just in case they need them.” “Weston proposed to his current wife at Asher’s house.” She blinks at me, not buying it. “No way your brother would’ve felt comfortable doing something like that just anywhere. Not to mention, they hang out all the time. They were together twice last week.” My face contorts. “How do you know that?” “Weston told me. He was the one who suggested I contact Asher. You think no one knows we’re struggling, but everyone does. We needed help three months ago, and right now, we’re losing time. Don’t forget, Lustre approached Asher, and Josh won’t stop until you’re nothing. He hates you more than Asher ever could. Choose your poison.” Lustre is our number one competitor. They play dirty. Not to mention, the CEO, Josh Lustre, is my ex. Fuck him too. My shit list is written on a scroll, and it’s full of men. I’m convinced Lustre has access to our designs. What he’s launched is slightly different so I can’t sue them, but the color schemes are exact. Lustre produces the clothing faster, releases their line close to ours, and sells it to customers at a cheaper. By the time we launch, we look like copycats. He’s nothing more than a cheap Bellamore knock-off. We haven’t discovered how he’s gaining access. Josh—because it’s always a fucking Josh—was a dream at first. He very quickly became a nightmare. With Lustre copying our designs and undercutting us, our market share has dropped significantly this past quarter. This competition began after I dumped his ass because I’d finally snapped and had enough. “I will not work with Asher Banks. We can hire someone else to help us with this. Who’s number two in the world?” “If Asher signs with us first, he won’t work with Josh. It’s a safe move,” she says. “Together, they will become supervillains, Billie. We will lose. Asher will not half-ass it. He knows our weaknesses. He will exploit them and ruin us while wearing a smirk.” I place my head on my desk. “I hate them. Knowing they’d work together to destroy me … I’m fucking livid! What choice does this give me? Work with one devil to obliterate another?” “It’s the only option,” she says. “I’d love to see Josh get what he has coming. Asher will go all in without backing down. Even you know that. Sure, he’s a total asshole, but he’s also unafraid.” Her face softens, and she smiles. “I’d rather have him work for us than against us. He single-handedly raised handfuls of companies from the bottom to the very top.” I turn in my chair and focus on the sign. “We can’t afford him.” “We can’t afford to lose him to Lustre. A classic example of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.” She stands. “Asher will be at the CEO ball on Saturday. You should make an appearance. Talk to him there.” I glare at her. “I never attend.” She grows serious. “You were nominated for the Cityscape Award. It’s an honor after everything we’ve been through. Skipping this year isn’t an option. I must be at another event the same night, and Bellamore must be seen. Show Josh we’re not backing down and not selling to him.” “Selling to him?” I ask. Harper comes around my side of the desk and slides the keyboard close to her. She opens a web browser and loads Fashion Network—a site that posts industry news. Front and center is Josh’s face. Underneath, it says, Inside the mind of fashion’s hottest trendsetting designer. I groan. “Trendsetting designer, my ass. He stole our shit.” “I know. It gets worse,” she tells me, clicking on the article and scrolling to the bottom. She highlights a direct quote, where he was asked about competition. “Bellamore is no longer fresh. I know it’s not for sale, but I dream of purchasing it and merging it with Lustre. We’d become a superpower then. Considering their designs are so eerily similar, it only makes sense for it to be a sister company. Not to mention, they’re struggling. Billie, if you’re reading, babe, let’s join forces. I miss you and still love you.” I can hear my racing heart pounding in my ears. It’s too early to be this upset. “I miss you? Still love you?! Screw him! I cannot believe this is happening,” I state, my nostrils flaring. “After everything he did to me? How about I’m sorry?” Harper sits on the edge of my desk, inhaling with her arms crossed over her chest. “That’s why we need Asher.” “This is an actual nightmare,” I breathe, the weight of despair heavy on my shoulders. My gaze locks on to her crystal blue eyes that are almost gray, and I can feel my body tensing, muscle by muscle. “How long do I have to decide?” I ask, each word laced with urgency as the air around us nearly suffocates me. “Two weeks, maybe less,” she tells me, hopping off my desk. “Basically, the sooner, the better.”
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