The Billionaire Game by Lila Monroe Read Free Book Online Page B

braced myself for
disappointment. Like, if even my best friend didn’t believe in
me, would I really be able to stay strong and believe in myself? I
flashed back to a memory of my mother’s face, puzzled, as
seven-year-old me wailed about her throwing away my refrigerator
drawings. But Katie, they were just scribbles, they weren’t
that good…
    But then Lacey was grinning so wide I
thought she might sprain something. “Oh my God, I have been
waiting forever for you to make this move!” she gushed,
grabbing my hands and squeezing them in delight. “Oh Katie, I
cannot even say how excited I am for you! This is going to rock! You
are going to rock! So many good things are going to happen for
you, oh my God, what’s your first move?”
    I blinked back my tears of relief and
tried to maintain my cool, casual demeanor. I’m the sassy,
no-nonsense best friend, and we don’t cry; it’s written
into our contract.
    “I want to get a real studio
space,” I said, “with enough room for equipment and a
good backlog of materials so I don’t have to rent or contract
out parts of orders. If I’ve got the numbers right I can maybe
even train some seamstresses”—and that would really be
the icing on the cake, to help nurture some new talent on top of
this. I had a happy little daydream I often secretly dreamed, of
mentoring young girls who would one day start their own businesses,
or providing money to destitute older women to help keep them afloat.
“Before that, though, I have to get a loan.”
    “You know, Grant and I could—”
    “No,” I cut her off. “I
refuse to mix business and pleasure. Or business and friends. You
know what I mean. I need to do this right, and on my own terms, with
real investors, not just my newly loaded friends handing me money
because they feel sorry for me.”
    “Need any tips?” Lacey
asked. I could see her fingers itching to grab her cell phone and
call every bank and every investor she could until she found one that
owed Devlin Media Corp. a favor.
    “Nah,” I said, heading her
off. “I’ve got an appointment booked this afternoon
already.” I grinned. “Wish me luck!”
     
    #
     
    Lacey had insisted on giving me a list
of potential back-up backers, which I had scoffed at as too big for
my needs. Secretly, though, I had been intimidated by the thought of
bringing my proposal to such august financial institutions, of trying
to present myself in a positive and responsible light to the same
people who evaluated loans for Devlin Media Corp., Apple, and the
United States government.
    So now I was at Morningstar Bank, the
local chain with only about a half dozen locations in the state. This
one was run down, with scuff marks on the floor that no one had
bothered to rub out for the last years. Security personnel glowered
at you when you came in like they thought you might be all of the
Jesse James gang squeezed into one dress.
    Wall Street this was not, and yet,
somehow, I was still more terrified right now than I had ever been
before at any point in my life.
    And I’ve seen Stevie’s
feet, so that’s saying something.
    “Ma’am?” The
receptionist caught my attention. “Our loans department will
see you now.”
    He ushered me into a decrepit office
where an older man in a faded blue suit and a mustache that looked
like it had seen the other side of the Civil War sat at a desk,
sipping coffee as if he had a personal grudge against it. Given that
it looked and smelled as if it had come out of the La Brea tar pits,
I couldn’t say I blamed him.
    However I could say that I blamed him
for the condescending expression on his face as he gestured for me to
stay standing, though. He flipped through the folder in front of him
and sneered. “I must have misunderstood Daniel. He said you
were looking for a loan, but this business is…”
    “Trifles by Kate,” I
interrupted eagerly here, wanting to make my pitch as soon as I could
before my nerves gave out. “I craft high-end luxury