Page 34 of Dirty Boss

She hummed.

“I didn’t grow up rich,” I admitted. “I…” My voice trailed off, and my gaze slid to the side. “My dad always had a new business venture, but most of them didn’t pan out. All this… It just reminds me of him. He always wanted to be part of this world, and he’d drag us along, but it never felt natural. I feel like I’m playing dress-up.”

“It’s uncomfortable.”

“Very.”

Her fingers brushed my palm once more, and then she pulled away. “What’s your reason for wanting to find an investor?”

“To grow the business more than I’m able to grow it myself.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

She shrugged, an elegant movement. “Why does it matter that your business grows?”

“If I don’t find an investor, I’ll have to sell off chunks of the business. Shrink. We might never grow again, if my reputation takes a hit.”

“But you won’t be destitute.” She arched a brow, and I could see in her face that she’d done her research on me since we’d seen each other last.

“Well. No.” I blinked. “I…” Trailing off, I cleared my throat. “I want to give my daughter everything I never had. I want to provide for her.”

“You can’t do that already?”

“I want her to have the best.”

“That’s what my father used to say, and yet I ended up here.”

I sat up. That was a rare crumb of information about her, directlyfromher, and it made me hungry for more. “You did. How?”

“We’re not here to talk about my family.” She looked at me. “You need to decide if you’re willing to play this game, and if the discomfort is worth the outcome.”

“You don’t think it is.”

“I never said that.”

“I won’t be a failure,” I said, and it came out bitter and harsh. I felt exposed, like I’d cracked myself open by accident and showed her a part of me that was supposed to remain hidden.

Alba didn’t react. She watched me, cool and aloof.

The doors opened, and our waiter came back to take our orders. I watched the way Alba acted, how she held the menu, how she moved. She encompassed everything that made me uncomfortable about the monied class. Her bearing was all superiority and elegance, and I felt like an ogre in comparison. I shifted in my seat and tugged at my tie.

“Vaughn,” Alba said, “stop fidgeting.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

She laughed. “Now you’re the one who’s lying.”

I grinned in response, and her eyes lingered on my lips before climbing up to meet my gaze.

She took a deep breath, then gestured to the place setting. “Let’s go over the function of each utensil.”

Alba spoke, and I listened. She showed me how to hold my fork, how to cut with my knife. She instructed me on safe topics of conversation and when it would be acceptable for me to bring up business.

“I’ve broken a million rules in my meetings so far,” I admitted.

“They probably weren’t formal dinners,” she said. “I’m trying to get you up to speed for a white-tie event. Business lunches at Carmine’s are another thing entirely. Those are mostly about bravado and confidence.”