The Highest Price to Pay. Maisey Yates

for me?” she asked, despising the slight quiver in her voice. She wasn’t some scared little mouse and she wouldn’t behave like one. She’d endured worse than this, and she’d triumphed. She would do it now, too.

      “Then I pull the plug. I don’t have the time to waste on a venture that isn’t going anywhere, and it’s not in my nature to simply sit back.”

      “But you’ll be collecting interest on your investment won’t you?”

      “Twenty-five percent,” he said.

      “Highway robbery,” she responded, her voice finding some of its strength.

      “Not in the least. I will be working for that money, and I will expect you to do the same.”

      “And you expect me to do as you say?”

      He gripped the back of the chair, his large hands drawing her attention again. His appearance was so together, so perfectly polished that it would be easy to assume he was a civilized man. But beneath all of that, beneath the well-fitted suit and hand-crafted Italian shoes that were so gorgeous they gave her heart palpitations, was a hardness that betrayed him. A hardness that spoke of the ruthlessness that he was so famous for. That let her know he wouldn’t hesitate to pull everything out from under her if it was in his best interest.

      “Consider yourself lucky, Ella. Normally I would charge a hefty hourly fee to give out business advice. In this scenario, unless you make money, you don’t give me any money. This is fair, more than fair.”

      She blinked rapidly. “Are you expecting me to thank you for this hostile takeover?”

      “It’s not hostile at all. It’s business. I invest where it is advantageous to do so, I do not waste time when it’s not. There is a place for charity, and this is not it.”

      Ella looked around her carefully organized boutique, at the racks of clothing, each one her own design. She’d painted the crisp black and white walls herself, had installed the glossy marble floor with the help of a couple of male models who’d done runway shows for her. It was personal to her, there was no way she could reduce all of her hard work to numbers and projections. But he’d done it.

      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