Smart Girl by Rachel Hollis Read Free Book Online Page A

you some questions before we begin.”
    I wonder if he means to look at me so intensely or if I’m imagining it. Now that I’m about to actually try this out, I feel nervous. I reach into my bag and grab my iPad; it’s a digital security blanket.
    He raises a questioning eyebrow. I open up my iPad and punch in my code. Immediately my Kindle app opens right to the page I need.
    “To design your space, I need to get a better feel for, well, you.”
    This is a total fabrication. I’ve already designed the restaurant based on the space, but he doesn’t need to know that.
    He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. The movement makes his biceps tense like they’re ready to attack. I wish they would.
    He clears his throat. I look down at the iPad and ask the first question.
    “Right. Um, to what do you owe your success?”
    “And this is . . . ?” He lets his words trail off in a question.
    “Part of my creative process.”
    OK, it’s not. But that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be part of my creative process going forward.
    “My success?”
    “Yes, to what do you owe it?”
    “Who says I’m successful?”
    I can’t tell if he’s trying to engage in some kind of a debate or being deliberately obtuse. I make a point of looking slowly around his stylish office inside his multimillion-dollar headquarters in Beverly Hills.
    “Um, Forbes ?”
    He rubs the back of his neck. The gesture looks surprisingly uncomfortable.
    “Shouldn’t you ask, to whom do I owe my success?”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. I suppose it’s easier to become successful if you have a father who’s worth millions to begin with.”
    It might have come across as self-deprecating if it weren’t for his tone. I’m a little thrown off. In the book, the question is answered with total unwavering confidence. I never expected any other kind of reply. I tilt my head to study him better. He’s not serious about the secret to success, right? He can’t possibly believe his father is the only reason he’s made it this far. I scan the page of the book for another question that might be a follow-up, and when I don’t find anything that makes sense, I just respond honestly.
    “I know for a fact you’ve worked just as hard, if not harder, than anyone else to get where you are. I’ve never seen anyone so driven to succeed.”
    There goes that lazy grin.
    “So you don’t buy nepotism. How about charm? I’ve been told I’m just oozing with it. It makes for faster deals and easier partnerships.”
    When he doesn’t continue, I glance at the page again, looking for something else to ask.
    “Um, do you have any interests outside of your work?” I ask without thinking.
    He looks at me in confusion. “Yes. I work out, I enjoy golf, I spend a good deal of time with my family.” He frowns. “Not that you and I are exceptionally close or anything, but I thought you’d be familiar enough with me to know those things already. Surely you have enough of an understanding to mark that off the list of your client questionnaire.”
    Stupid. Of course I know those things already!
    “Just doing my due diligence,” I reply moronically. I scan quickly for another one before I can ask something else without thinking.
    “Would your friends say you’re an easy person to get to know?” It’s word for word from the book, and it makes no sense in the context of our conversation. He stares at the iPad in my hands with a frown.
    “Yes, I suppose they would, though I’m not really sure what this has to do with—”
    The screen of my iPad starts to dim from disuse, and I jab my finger into it to wake it back up. In a hurry to move our conversation along, I recite the first sentence I see on the page with a question mark after it.
    “Does the submissive agree to be—” Halfway through the line my brain catches up with what I’m reading, and I make a sort of strangled gagging sound, cutting off my words.
    Dear sweet mother of dogs!