his eyebrows rose. “There’s something wrong with selling your product to people who want it?”
“No, but I’m not interested in the quick, easy sale.” She took a deep breath, fisted her hands at her sides and tried once again to get through his hard head. “I’m interested in the whole woman. Helping ordinary women build their self-esteem. You’re interested in making the young and skinny feel pretty. Well, guess what, they already do.”
“Bella, I know you think I want to change what you do, but you couldn’t be more wrong.” He threw both hands up, then let them fall to his thighs. “I’ve been resisting selling women’s stuff for years because how the hell do I know what women want to wear? Everything I stock I personally believe in. That’s the reason I want you to be a part of King Beach. Because you believe in your stuff the way I believe in mine.”
“It’s not ‘stuff.’”
He laughed and Bella simmered.
“I get it, I get it. Your line is not interchangeable with department store swimsuits.”
“I’m not looking to be bought out or rolled over or absorbed by King Beach. You can’t buy me up like you did this city, Jesse. I won’t let you ruin the thing I love just for the sake of business.”
“So you have something against becoming a millionaire?” he countered. “Because I promise you, join me and that’s what you’ll be.”
For just one, brief, electrifying moment, she actually considered his offer and thought about what it would mean to her to be financially independent. She could buy her little house from Kevin. She could donate all the money she wanted to the different charities that had always tugged at her heart. She could…Bella stopped, gasped and accused, “You’re the devil.”
He grinned. “Good. That means you’re thinking about it.”
“I did, for about thirty seconds.”
“That’s a start.”
“No,” Bella insisted. “It’s not. I’m not set up for large-scale production. I’m a cottage industry and I like it that way. I know my weavers, my seamstresses. I personally choose fabrics, design styles. The women who work for me care as much about the product as I do. We’re making a statement.”
“Yes, but do you have to make it poor?” He grinned and said, “Think about this. You align with King Beach and you’ll be creating more jobs. Better money for your weavers and seamstresses. We’ll be able to use them, I know. Hell, they can probably teach the pros a thing or two.”
“They are pros,” she told him.
“I’m sure. But on a much smaller scale,” he said. “Don’t you see, Bella? Signing with me will get you and your company even more.”
“I know you want my shop, but I’m not turning my business over to you.”
“I don’t just want your business, Bella,” he said. “I want you.”
Oh God. A quick blast of something hot, delicious and practically mind-numbing shot through her. He wanted her. Jesse King wanted Bella Cruz. Did he mean that? And what exactly did he mean? Want? Want how? For how long? In what way? Oh God. Her stomach was a mess and in a split second, her mind took off on dozens of wild, crazy tangents that splintered again and again, teasing her with possibilities. Until he spoke again and shattered them all.
“I want you to run the business for us. You’ll still be designing, you’ll still have the final say in everything related to Bella’s Beachwear—”
Just like that, the heat she’d been feeling drained away to be replaced by a chill snaking along her spine. Okay, fine. He didn’t want her. He wanted her to work with him. For him. So much for dazzling daydreams, born to die within a few seconds of birth.
She had to stop setting herself up for disappointment. Jesse wasn’t even on the same wavelength, and wishing it were different wasn’t going to change a thing.
“This was your plan from the beginning, wasn’t it?” she asked, and hoped she didn’t sound as depressed as she felt at the moment. “All of your teasing and flirting was designed to get me off guard.”
“That depends. Are you?”
She ignored that little quip. “All your talk about how King Beach doesn’t cater to women was just that. Talk. You’ve been planning on trying to take me over from the very start.”
“Considered it, yes. The day of the photo shoot opened my eyes. But you’ve only got yourself to blame for that,” he added, standing up straight and looking at her through eyes as blue as the sea. “You’re the one who showed me what a difference your swimwear could make on a woman’s body. You’re the one who laid it all out for me. Is it my fault you started me thinking?”
She never should have done it, she thought now. Never should have put on one of her own suits. Never should have risen to his challenge just because she’d wanted to prove him wrong. She’d wanted to show off. And all that maneuver had done was dig her a deeper hole.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, shaking her head as she watched him. “Nothing’s changed. I haven’t changed. I’m still not interested. Do you think you’re the first company to try to buy me out? You’re not. And you probably won’t be the last. But I’m not selling, Jesse. This time, you lose.”
“God, you’re stubborn.”
“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” she countered and let the simmering fury inside bubble and boil. He was standing there smiling. As if he could change her opinion if he just smiled long enough. Did that technique work with most women? Of course it did. He probably never heard the word no.
Had to be a King thing.
“It’s in your blood, isn’t it?” she asked, voicing her thoughts. “You and every other member of the King family. You’ve always gotten what you wanted, so you expect nothing less. You’ve lived a charmed life,” she told him. “Not many people do.”
Instantly, he shifted position a bit, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. “Okay, I grant you that. But if you think the King cousins were raised to be lazy or indulged or pampered, you’ve got us all wrong.”
“Really.” She glanced at the wall of family photos again and said, “None of these people look like they’ve had a rough life.”
Jesse looked up, and pointed at one of them. “That’s my brother, Justice.”
Bella studied the photo. A gorgeous man with light brown hair, blue eyes narrowed, squinting at the sun. Justice King stood in an open field, arms folded across his chest, cowboy hat pulled low over his forehead. “Interesting name.”
“My dad had just won a huge lawsuit the day he was born. Somehow he convinced mom that Justice was a perfectly reasonable name.”
“Winning again.”
“That’s right,” he said, smiling. “But let me tell you about Justice and the life of the pampered rich.” Jesse
