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“You had no interest in what was going on in that ballroom. Million-dollar deals were being made right in front of you. Your mind was somewhere else.”
“I was thinking about school.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“How do you know?” Was she that transparent?
“No one’s that excited about school.”
“I was focused on being a good hostess. I’m not involved in the family business yet.”
“Anyone who wanted in wouldn't wait for an invitation. They’d dive in.”
Even as she opened her mouth to argue, she recognized the truth in his words. If she really wanted to show Dad that she wanted to be a part of the family business, she could have leveraged the powerhouses she introduced Roth to and made her own deals to prove she was ready. She hadn’t. She didn’t arrive early, memorize the guest list, or ask what the purpose of the dinner was. She accepted what they deemed to tell her and didn’t push for more. No wonder Dad didn’t think she was ready.
“Jasmine?” Roth frowned at her. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She straightened and tried to focus on their conversation. “What were we talking about?”
“Your interests.”
She flinched, just imagining how he would react to finding out that she wrote. In Dad’s opinion, it was a useless pastime, and she wasn’t sure Roth would disagree. It would kill her to have him share her father’s opinion on that. Better to keep that to herself. She hadn’t written since the party. Even though the dreams continued, she didn’t jot it down, knowing once she started, she couldn’t stop. She cried herself to sleep more than once, mourning the loss of a fictional world and people who understood her better than anyone in this world.
“I don’t have other interests aside from finishing graduate school and starting at Hennessy & Co.” When he narrowed his eyes, she focused on his untouched coffee. “Are you going to drink that?”
He looked at his coffee in front of him as if he’d forgotten it was there. As he raised the cup to take his first sip, she winced. It was definitely lukewarm by now and probably wouldn’t taste half as good as it did when it was hot. Roth settled the cup on the table, but when his eyes dropped to his coffee, she smiled.
“It’s good, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer, but took another drink. He was a man of few words, which meant she had to rely on his body language or minute changes in his expression. Dad was a great negotiator, not just because he was intelligent and did his research—it was his ability to accurately read his opponent through nonverbal cues that made him so lethal. He was forever barking out that she needed to control her posture, movements, and expressions. She spent most of her time observing rather than participating. This would serve her well where Roth was concerned.
She watched him down half of his cup before she blurted, “Did Dad tell you it was going to be a formal dinner?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth dropped. “You dressed that way on purpose?”
His shoulders shifted beneath his sports jacket for a moment before he said, “The way I dress shouldn’t have any bearing on business.”
“No…” she drawled.
When he raised one brow, she grimaced.
“It shouldn’t, but it does,” she said quickly, waving her chai as she hastened to explain. “These people are shallow, materialistic. They work hard, so they can have the best of the best. You can dress however you want, but it’s going to take more effort for you to make connections with them because you don’t fit their image of success.”
“I’m not going to dress differently just so they can feel comfortable. My work should speak for itself.”
“And it does, but that will only take you so far.” Sensing his distaste, she tilted her head to the side. “Most people fake it before they make it, right? Well, you changing your image isn’t conforming to anything. Youhavemade it. Your life will change. Your look will change. That’s inevitable. And you want it to, right? That’s why you’ve worked so hard.”
She couldn’t interpret the way he was looking at her, but her body reacted. Her palms dampened with sweat and her heart thudded in her ears. Part of her had the insane urge to leap out of her seat and run out the door, while the other half wanted to lean across the table to get closer to him.
“You may have a point there,” he said eventually.
“Speaking of working hard,” she said delicately and dropped her gaze to his hands. “What were you doing before you entered the business world?”
Skin stretched tight over prominent veins and bone as he fisted one large hand. “Construction, mostly, but I’ve put in time ranching, working in a butcher shop and carpentry.”
She double blinked. “But you got a scholarship and once you were old enough to play the stock market, you immediately started to turn a profit. There was no need for you to work those jobs, was there?”
