Admit You Want Me: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Irresistible Billionaires Book 3)

by Ajme Williams

  And that was why I was here, unofficially. Officially, I was trying to get my business off the ground as a personal stylist. Oh yes, no men for me in New York. There were tons of men here, everywhere, very cute American men with accents who drank cold beer right out of the bottle, but I wasn't interested. I wasn't looking. For once in my life, I was putting myself first. You would have thought that since I never really had anything shaped like a career in my life that that's what I was doing all along, but not really. Floating from party to party, from fashion show to yacht was really for the benefit of other people. I only attended those events to be seen. Here in New York, besides my friends, nobody really knew me. I was gaining a public persona, however, but it was for professional rather than personal reasons.

  I had followed my longtime friend Eddy here when she and her husband Niall decided to take some time off of living in their home in the English countryside, swapping it for New York City where Niall used to live. I figured, why not? Nothing was really keeping me there. As far as friends went, Eddy was my closest one. A real friend; not just someone I associated with because we attended all the same parties or because our parents were friends. Eddy and Niall lived right next door and their home connected to this one like two islands with a little causeway between them so they could split childcare. Brenna’s husband, Charlie, and Niall were cousins, so the living arrangement worked.

  When they got to the city a few months ago, they had all attended a function for charity and asked me for help getting them into some good clothes. I dressed them, and by the end of the night, people were clamoring for my contact information, asking whether I offered personal styling services. I didn't then, but I accepted one offer and boom, my business was born. It hadn't been long, but I had had some really great features in magazines and blogs and had been building up a client list of the city's rich and famous.

  Look at that, little old me with a real job. I had played around on the editorial staff of a fashion magazine back home, but I hadn't had any passion for the job, and let's be honest never really had expectations from the managerial staff as far as actually putting in any work. I had gotten it through family contacts which made it feel like it didn’t really count. Since I lived and breathed couture, it felt like this job was right up my alley. The money didn't mean much to me at all, I had never really had much need for it, but the satisfaction that came with the work was intoxicating.

  At twenty-seven, I didn't have kids, I didn't have a boyfriend, I had left my old life behind, but I finally had a career. Perhaps it wasn't much by other people's standards, but it was the world to me. It was me finally applying myself in a way that mattered and receiving appreciation for it. It was great to have an outlet for myself, energetically as well as creatively. Twenty-seven years of bad relationships had done a number on my self-esteem, but now that was building back up. I was done looking for men, only clients from now on. It was my job to make them fabulous and it was one I did well.

  I heard a baby crying. Brenna, harried and stressed, shuffled into the room holding her baby, Hannah. Riley, Eddy’s five-year-old son bounced in after her.

  “Why is Hannah crying, Aunty Eddy?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know, Riley, why don’t you ask her?” she said, sighing. Putting the baby down on the sofa, she checked her diaper to make sure it wasn’t wet. I looked on with mild amusement. Riley was five and Hannah was still an infant; Eddy and Brenna, their mothers were right around the same age as I was. It was sobering to have both my closest friends experiencing something as lifechanging as motherhood together while I wasn’t. Whenever I felt left out, I just remembered moments like this, I just remembered Brenna telling me when she popped her episiotomy stitches and got an infection after delivering Hannah and I snapped right out of it.

  Brenna called for Prue, the kids’ nanny. Riley ran around the room and came back to the sofa with something in his hand, a key. He jingled it above Hannah’s face, which distracted her enough from whatever was bothering her to stop her crying.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” Brenna sighed, stroking Riley’s red mass of hair, inherited from his mother Eddy. Prue walked into the room as the commotion calmed.

  “Was that Hannah making all that racket?” she asked. “Somebody needs a nap I think.” Brenna handed the child over like she had just returned home from war. Maybe one day I would dip my toe in that pond but not for a long time. One adventure at a time, please. I was still coming to grips with being a career woman. Prue left with the children and I walked over to the sofa where Brenna had collapsed.

  “You alright there, mama?”

  “If I ever decide to have another one, please shoot me,” she said.

  I laughed and sat, putting my cup on the coffee table. “Likewise.”

  “Wait, you don’t want kids?” she asked.

  “With a front-row seat to this circus, how could I?” I asked.

  “Guys, I did it,” Eddy said, strutting into the room. “Riley’s down for his nap.”

  I shot Brenna a pointed look. “I know the two of you must miss the days when you were childfree but don’t rope me in just because you’re nostalgic.”

  “What are you two on about?” Eddy asked, sitting.

  “Tell Missy that she needs to have a baby,” Brenna said.

  “Missy, you need to have a baby,” she said dutifully.

  I shook my head. “Now how in the world am I supposed to do something like that?

  “Well, it’s all very simple. When and man and a woman love each other very much…”

  “I’ve heard enough. You guys cover the parenting. I’ll be over here managing the fashion department.”

  “By the way, we have a charity event early next week, don’t we?” Eddy said.

  “Missy. We need you. What do you say to a shopping trip for the special occasion?” Brenna asked me.

  I shrugged and sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t really feel up to shopping at the moment.” Brenna looked at me, I looked at Eddy and Eddy looked at Brenna. We burst out laughing. The day I tired of shopping would be the day that I died. There was something so therapeutic about the racks of clothes, running a hand over the fabric, and leaving loaded with branded shopping bags. I loved it.

  “How’s business going?” Eddy asked me.

  “She’s making a killing, obviously,” Brenna said. I smiled at the compliment. I didn’t know how I had gotten so lucky with the two of them as friends. Eddy and I went way back, growing up together in London, but Brenna was American and had met her before meeting me through her husband’s cousin. When we were all together, it never felt like I was third-wheeling. It was the first time in my life that I had had a close group of friends to share the adventure of life with. I never felt out of place even though I was the only single and childless one.

  “I’m having fun if you can believe it. I didn’t know this was what having a job felt like.” The women shared a look and I blanched. Both of them had been through financial hardship in the past couple of years. Brenna’s mother had gotten cancer and she had been buried under hospital bills worth thousands of dollars. Eddy had been widowed and left in tremendous debt by her ex-husband. It was so bad that she had almost lost her home.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Eddy said. “It’s about time you made yourself useful.” We laughed at the joke, some of the tension diffusing. Everything was fine now. They were both married to old money billionaires but sometimes I put my foot in my mouth. I didn’t have to work for money. I had never struggled for money at all but in a way, I thought that that made my work that much more important to me. I was doing it purely for personal reasons, to make something of myself like Eddy said. To make sure that on my deathbed, I was happy that I had done more than shop and attend fashion shows all my life.

  “It was about time. You’re right.”

  “Then you’re styling us for the event?” Eddy asked. Of course, I was. It went without saying. I’d be offended the day they decided they no
longer needed my services. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and took it out.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I said.

  “What?” Brenna asked.

  “It’s Stacey,” I said. My PA. I didn’t know that people came as ditzy as Stacey did until I met her. There was nothing in the world that she was unable to fuck up. She was a nice girl, a sweetheart, really but incredibly ineffectual. Her text was a mess of emojis and typos.

  “What’s she saying?” Eddy asked.

  “I think she’s saying we have a new job request. A man.”

  “Ooh, your first male client,” Brenna said. “Are you taking it?” I read the text. The prospective client in question was a billionaire businessman who needed a total style overhaul with branding and grooming advice. I told the girls.

  “Sounds like a lot. Is his name on there? I want to google him,” Brenna said.

  “Easton Schultz,” I said. I replied to Stacey that I wanted an appointment. She replied with a gif. “Guys? I think I need to fire my PA.”

  “What did she do?” Eddy asked. I showed them the messages.

  “Have mercy on the poor thing. This is probably her first job like it is yours,” Eddy said.

  “But I need a professional. This is not professional.”

  “I have a friend if you’re looking to hire. She’s a trained accountant on top of being organized and dependable.”

  “Do her texts look anything like this?” I asked, brandishing the phone again.

  “No, nothing like that.” My phone went off again. A gif of a man getting his dog to play dead. Now, what on earth told her that it was a good idea to send her boss something like that? It was my first time being an employer and I didn’t think I was being too tough asking for someone who would text me in full sentences. Surely not. I couldn’t work like this.

  “Give me her number.”

  3

  Easton

  “Remind me why you have to be here for this?” The elevator rose smoothly up the floors, delivering us to our destination.

  “Because you have proven your incompetence time and time again when it comes to basic people skills,” Toby said. I shook my head as the elevator doors opened. The restaurant was on the top floor of a thirty-floor skyscraper. Italian food, or French food, whatever. To be honest, I didn't really know the difference or care to learn.

  Today was the big day. I was meeting my personal stylist. It was the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life but I was going with it. Toby would finally get off my back and even if I didn't show it, our company was important to me. I could sense the way that people reacted to me, I just didn't care very much. Nothing bad had happened up to this point, but I didn't want to handicap anything going forward. It wasn't just me. Toby’s blood, sweat and tears had gone into our company, Rotorhead as much as mine had. I didn’t like the thought that something as trivial as the way I looked could get in the way of our future success.

  How hard could it possibly be? I could suck it up and wear a suit to the next contract negotiation if that meant people would be talking about Rotorhead in one hundred years the way they talked about Google or Amazon today.

  The fact that this stylist person was the hottest woman I had ever seen in my life was a definite upside though. Maybe the only bright spot in this whole ridiculous game. A maitre’d met us at the entrance of the restaurant.

  “Good afternoon, do you gentlemen have a reservation?” he asked. No, we didn't. I shot a glance at Toby.

  “Something under Toby Anderson?” he asked.

  The man went silent briefly looking for the reservation that I knew very well was not there. Suddenly his eyes lit up and he looked back at us. “Mr. Anderson, Mr. Schultz, welcome.” He ushered us into the restaurant and started leading us to a table. It was pretty full. I knew that I hadn't booked the reservation and I was pretty certain that Toby hadn't either.

  “What's up with that?” I asked him when we were seated. Our table was placed near a window so we had an unobstructed view of the whole city. It was too nice of a spot to be able to get on such short notice.

  “What?”

  “Did you make a reservation ahead of time? Was it the stylist?”

  “No. I told him who we were, and he knew, and he decided we deserved a table.”

  Right, preferential treatment. I wasn't complaining although it felt a little weird. There were probably people who weren't getting a table because we had gotten it instead. It was interesting how many doors money could open for you. Even doors that you didn't necessarily want to open. Doors that you weren't interested in. My family was never poor, but I knew what the value of a dollar was, and I was trained to work for the things that I wanted. Having people throw things at you was nice, but it taught you pretty quickly that your worth as a human being depended on how much money you had. How much money another person could hope to extract from you.

  Toby and I had gone from a couple of guys straight out of the army to stinking rich in a matter of years. Neither of us had started at zero but coming out of the force was as good as trying to learn how to ride a bike again. Since neither of us wanted to go into the police or the other popular jobs that former military members gravitated towards, we made good on the business idea that we would idly discuss when night fell in our barracks. It had paid off tremendously. I didn’t get out as much as Toby did, so I was constantly surprised to see the way our new status played out in the real world.

  A server appeared with the menus and the wine list. Toby told them that we were waiting for someone. My mind went to her, Artemis James. My soon-to-be personal stylist. She was beautiful and only a fool was going to say no to spending time with her. Toby didn't know that that was more than half of the reason why I was here. I was still having a hard time believing that we lost that contract the other day because I wore flannel to the negotiation.

  “We should have a bet.”

  “A bet? For what?” Toby asked.

  “A bet for whether or not I need a stylist. That woman is going to show up here and tell you that it's a waste of time. There's nothing wrong with what I wear and in our industry nobody cares anyway.”

  “If you want to make a bet, I just hope you are ready to part with your money.”

  “Nobody gives a shit what I look like. They're interested in our product. Maybe I'm a little rough around the edges in meetings but that's what you are here for.”

  “We're not discussing this, East.” At that very moment, Toby was wearing a suit with the jacket taken off and I was in some sweats and a t-shirt. Come to think of it, if we weren't who we were, we would probably have been turned away at the door coming to a place like this. Well, I would have been turned away at the door. Toby would have no problem getting in. I let my hair and beard grow out, but he kept both short, only allowing a light scruff to grow out on his jaw. He carried the look well. He looked at home in settings like this. Image did matter, but I didn't feel like it was more important than what we had to offer as a business. However, I was going to at least give this a try if it meant that much to Toby.

  “I'm just saying. Nobody talks about Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg always wearing the same outfit. When have you ever seen either of them in a suit and tie?”

  “One of them is dead and the other one is one of the most memed people in history. What's your point?”

  The maitre d' appeared leading a woman to our table. I was about to give Toby my point, but the words left right out of my head. It was her, Artemis James.

  Okay, I wasn't mad anymore.

  The woman was hot on paper but in 3D, she took my breath away. She was wearing a blue dress that wrapped at her waist and she had this aura, this air of just being better than everyone around her. She looked like she had walked right off the pages of a magazine. I had met some celebrities and it was true that they didn’t look human. Having money and fame just seemed to give you this otherworldly glow that the commoners couldn’t replicate. Artemis James was no commoner. The maitre d' introduced her.
Toby stood up and I followed his lead.

  “Artemis James? So nice to meet you. I'm Toby Anderson, this is my partner Easton Schultz.” We shook hands. She smiled politely.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you both. Please call me Missy. Everyone does.” British accent. So fucking hot. Just kill me now, why don't you. We all sat.

  “I think it's easy to see why we needed to have a meeting with you,” Toby said, motioning at me. I rolled my eyes. Missy looked over at me, briefly taking in my outfit.

  “Well, I don't want to make any assumptions. That's why I'm here. To get a real impression of what the issues are.” The two of them kept talking but I wasn't really paying attention. She was absolutely stunning. I was staring at her and I felt like maybe she could feel it, but I couldn't stop. She was the kind of beautiful that made you stop and look twice. Her gray eyes were bright and intelligent. Her hair looked like it would feel like silk through my fingers. It might have been the dress, but it draped and fell over her curves in a way that was making me hard and making it hard to look away.

  “How do you feel about the process, Easton?”

  “What? I don't really care; I mean I don't really feel like I need a makeover.” She smiled and laughed a little. It felt like she kicked me in my chest, all the air left my body. “But I'm open to the process I mean. You came all the way here. Wouldn't want to waste your time or anything.”

  I could see Toby smirking from my peripheral vision but I ignored him. He was totally eating this up.

  “I'm glad that you are going into this with an open mind. If I can say, just at a glance, having met you for a few minutes, I can see several things which can do with changing.” I blinked. That knocked about two points off her total attractiveness for me.