Smiling over the statement is as mindlessly done as continuing to gush about the remarkable female in my presence. “I’m only saying true shit. You’re the real deal, and I’m sure they saw greatness in you just like I do.”
“Hopefully not just like you do.” Ana playfully winks. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure the outfit helped. And while I don’t care for pencil skirts, I kind of fell in love with this gold top. I put it on, and it just felt…right.” She crosses her ankles. “And it’s gonna sound fucking weird – pretty much like everything else I say lately – but anytime I wear gold, I just get a different vibe. I feel super fucking lucky in it. And I get these feelings of confidence and comfort and support and protection and…and…and…”
“Love?”
She struggles not to grin. “I logically know that you can’t feel shit through a color but-”
“You can.”
Her pierced eyebrow lifts to the ceiling in question.
“At least that’s what I’m told.” There’s reluctance to have another bite of the food in my grip. “I don’t know a shit ton about Fated Mates, given that my parents passed away before they could tell us anything of more value, but according to Z and Dae – and her over highlighted medical books for that matter – our need for our mates to connect to our dragon as much as us is why you’re driven to wear their colors and why when you do, you feel that unusual connection to emotions they can’t speak to convey.”
“That’s fucking weird.”
Chomping down on the celery, I quietly counter, “I kind of thought it was romantic.”
“That, too.”
Happy hums are hidden behind another couple of bites.
Bond.
Not at the office. And probably not after I spit my snack on her.
“When do you start?” I ask as I finish off one rib and reach for another.
“Tuesday. I basically get a long weekend to get my shit together, and by shit together I mean a new wardrobe.”
“I am happy to fucking help with that.”
“I know you are, Peanut Butter.” She flashes me a wide mouthed smile. “And I will let you help me with that when you let me help you with what’s got your silky boxers in a bunch.”
Her accusation receives a small head tilt.
“You’re stress eating.”
Lying to her isn’t something I do.
My mouth can’t even move to make that action.
Keeping the strings tied tight on information I’m not sure she’s ready for? Well, that’s a totally different shoe.
“The bigger the crunch, the higher the stress,” she sings out like a mockingbird. “Three weeks together is long enough for me to know that about you.” Her gaze suddenly fills with levity. “That and bustin’ a nut makes you sing T.V. theme songs like a broken fucking Juke Box.”
My jaw plummets to the ground in shock.
True.
Not. Fucking. Now.
“It makes your vinyls so jelly.”
Her teasing threatens to summon a grin back to my expression.
“What are you stressing about? Your pitch to P again?”
Simply hearing my brother’s name sinks my teeth into the vegetable.
“That’s a yes. Details on the winter line or what you’re wanting to roll out for spring?”
“Winter has been finalized.”
“Yet the plans for spring haven’t been sprung, huh?”
Chewing and smirking are handled simultaneously.
“Refresh my memory,” she casually insists, leaning back in the seat. “I got so focused on the winter pitch, the spring one kind of disappeared.”
Dropping the broken off stick, I grab a napkin, wipe my hands, and casually approach. “Our cliental thrives on the idea of exclusivity. The DL & Co. brand is revered as a sign of opulence and a signature of status. Whether you’re taking home one of our necklaces to your mistress or showing off your new watch on the golf course or drinking tea from our latest set to hit the glass cases, you know that you have a piece of high society not everyone can afford. However,” my hands find their way to my pockets, “what if you could be in an even more exclusive club. What if someone saw that bracelet on your daughter’s arm that you gave her as a birthday gift and knew without you having to tell them, just how rich you are. What if they saw the ruby heart on the accessory and immediately knew you were part of the Ruby Club. Or saw the emeralds on your wife’s neck and knew you were a member of the Emerald Club.” Arriving in front of Ana is accompanied by an arrogant beam. “What if you were given a chance to unlock the most exclusive club in the jewelry world? Would you take it?” Rather than wait for her to reply, I announce, “The idea is to break down the different jewels into imaginary clubs and sell the idea of exclusivity, while in reality, profiting from the opposite. Anyone who can afford something with a DL & Co. is in this pretend elite group, yet to those already in it, being sold the idea that owning something from these collections elevates them to a new level, separates them to an even more exclusive lifestyle, will drive attention and sales. People who spend the type of money of our higher priced items constantly crave that sense of notoriety. I want to give it to them.” Smirking egotistically continues effortlessly. “And expand our profits while feeding the illusion that we are doing so.”
Ana offers me an amused smirk attached to a headshake. “Diabolical.”
“Clever.” I teasingly wink.
“Very,” she agrees prior to noting, “but-”
“I don’t need a but.”
“But-”
“I don’t want a but.”
“But, you hardheaded dragonhole, you need to fucking pitch to P with the same ease you just pitched to me.”
My shoulders unconsciously tense towards my ears.
“You won’t be able to sell it if you’re too stressed out. Too stressed Peanut Butter is fucking anxious and uncertain and desperate and clingy and-”
“We can stop that list of adjectives right there, thank you very fucking much.”
“But-”
“I want this but. No wait. I need this but.”
“But,” she sassily snips at the same time she rises to her feet, “when you’re relaxed, Peanut Butter, you’re charming and suave and admittedly too smooth to say no to.”
Hearing her compliment me, thoughtlessly causes my cock to stir.