“It’s fine,” I say, suddenly self-conscious about the empty cup on the coffee table and the random pile of unopened mail. “Just unpacking.”
Nicole glances around, her eyes laser-focusing on the Tupperware. “Ooh, you tried them already?”
I nod despite the fact I’m sure she can see it’s nearly empty. “They’re good.”
She perks up. “He said they’re good, Dad. That’s high praise from a guy who probably only eats protein bars and boiled chicken. I read that in an NBA magazine article.”
Nikko laughs, eyes twinkling. “Well, I’m sure he enjoyed them.”
“Anyway,” Nicole says, suddenly too bright, like she’s trying to wrap this up before it can get weirder. “I just wanted to introduce you. He’s only in town a couple nights, and when he realized you were the basketball player across the hall, he got… curious.”
She gives me a quick, apologetic smile, then nudges her dad toward the elevator. “We should go. We don’t want to be late for dinner.”
Her dad looks back at me. “Someday you should join us, Dom. I’d love to keep talking the game with you.”
“For sure,” I reply, and then bid them goodbye with a Texas-style nod. I watch them walk away and then take a deep breath.
There’s no way I could ever go to dinner with them.
I wouldn’t even know what to wear.
Chapter Six
Nicole
“This stuff sucks!”
“I bought this moisturizer, thinking it would work, and instead I offend everyone with the awful smell!”
“Nicole should stick to being a trust fund baby. It’s literally the only thingshe’s good at.”
“Ouch,” I say aloud, scrolling through the comments beneath my newest ad for Glow Girl. “I can’t believe some of the things people say.” I turn to Cocoa, who’s sitting peacefully at my feet. I know I shouldn’t be bothered, but honestly…
It stings.Badly.
Because part of me believes them.
I press my fingertips into my temples, trying to massage away the headache that’s been building since seven a.m. It doesn’t help that I’ve been hunched over my laptop at the kitchen island for three hours and my back is screaming at me to stand up and stretch.
But I can’t stop reading.
My Glow Girl skincare line has been dying a very public, very humiliating death, and all I can do is watch the train wreck in real-time.
Another notification pings on my phone. It’s another return request. Another one-star review:
“Used this for two months. At first, it was great, then it started smelling like someone had left eggs in my car during a heatwave. Disgusting. AVOID.”
I wince, my jaw clenching so tight my molars grind. The worst part is, I know they’re right. The first batch of Glow Girl had a chemical reaction issue that made it develop a sulfuric smell after about sixty days. By the time I realized what was happening, thousands of units were already on the market. And now, even thoughI’ve fixed the problem with the new formula, no one’s willing to give it a second chance.
I reach for a notepad and flip it open to a page that doesn’t have anything written there yet. I scribble down my thoughts and then stare at it, as if some magical solution to all my problems will appear.
I turn to Cocoa. He’s busy chewing on his new stuffed rabbit.
“You’re not being a great assistant right now.” I laugh, brushing my hair from my face. No matter how much of a menace he can be, Cocoa is one of the best things that’s happened to me. He doesn’t care if Glow Girl succeeds or fails—he’s just happy to be here with me.
Los Angeles can be lonely.
Being my father’s failed daughter can be lonely, too.
