Page 4 of Dirty Player
But that was trouble, and months ago I’d walked away from another kind of trouble.
This was my time, my fresh start, to do whatever I wanted and be whoever I wanted.
Being Powell’s one-night stand was never going to be any of those things.
Even if I knew it’d be highly entertaining and memorable.
***
“You…I…what is this place?”
“This is your store.”
I peeled my eyes off the old, red-bricked building that sat in the arts district in downtown Raleigh. Turning to look at Beaux, my mouth still hanging open, I continued to gape. “What?”
He spun a ring of keys around his thumb before flicking them in my direction.
I caught them right before they hit the pavement. When I looked up again, I held back the urge to throw them at his face.
“Why did you—”
“Shut up. You’ve wanted this for years and never moved forward because you listened to that asshole say you couldn’t do it. Now you have it. Be thankful, Shan.”
I scowled at him. My little, dumbass, huge brother.
“Do you remember what Barclay said about rookies? What rookies need to remember?”
“I’m not a fucking rookie.”
He wasn’t. He had three years’ experience in the league, but with this contract, these new millions terrified the hell out of me.
“You’re not supposed to take care of your family,” I said, reminding him what the retired NBA player had said on the news one night. Said that every professional player had the desire to set their families up so they could live large on the millions that new pro players suddenly acquired, and it was a huge mistake.
A career could vanish with one misplaced hit. Millions could disappear overnight.
I pulled my stunned gaze off Beaux and back to the building. It really was beautiful. Big without being too large. We hadn’t stepped inside and I already loved the place.
It’d be the perfect home to take Stamped, my online jewelry business, to the next level.
Plus, a two-bedroom apartment above it.
All mine.
And yet I hadn’t earned a penny of it.
My stomach flipped and I shook my head, handing the keys out to Beaux. “I can’t let you do this.”
He ignored the keys and slid his hands into the pockets of his worn jeans. Jeans he’d had since college, because while he made millions and spent it extravagantly on me, he barely used any of it for himself. Unless it was for the annual summer RV tour he took, partying it up with friends from all over the country.
“It’s already done. Papers signed. I closed last week. I’ve also got you a booth at the summer arts festival in a few weeks, and I’ve ordered you new business cards with your new address.”
My jaw hit the pavement. “What?”
I stared at my brother. This was too much. Too much money. Too much space. Too much responsibility. The only good thing I’d done in my life was making sure he succeeded. I’d essentially failed at everything else. Barely passed college, had shitty taste in men—a recently learned development—and couldn’t hold down a real job to save my life.
My jewelry business was a fantasy, a hobby, something I did to pass the time—and while it brought in a decent amount of income and I’d dreamed of doing something bigger with it, I never thought it’d be possible. I didn’t have the confidence that I could pull it off.
This…this scared the shit out of me.
