“Nic, persistence isn’t the same as growth. Sometimes you gotta let an idea go, even if you love it.”
I spin my pen around my thumb until it clatters to the floor and lands point-down, stabbing the carpet. “But what if this idea is all I have? What if skincare is all I’m good at?”
Dad doesn’t answer right away, and I brace myself as he finally does start to speak. “You’re good at more than you let yourself believe.” He lets that hang, then adds, “What about the other business you were tinkering with last year? The dog treats you soft launched online?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “That was a disaster,” I say quickly. “I pulled it after a few batches. It gave Cocoa a bad stomachache.”
“Oh, right,” he says gently. “Well, then maybe consider taking a—”
“No breaks,” I stop him, my anxiety welling in my chest. “I’ll figure it out.”
Dad sighs. “You’ve always been stubborn. Like me.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice that makes my chest ache. “Just … think about what I’m saying. There’s no shame in pivoting to something new.”
“I’ll think about it,” I promise, though we both know I’m already formulating ways to salvage Glow Girl.
After saying our goodbyes, I hang up, sitting for a second, phone in my lap, staring at my reflection in the blank laptop screen. My hair is falling out of its ponytail in little frizzled whorls, and I laugh.
“I’m Nikko Farrarah’s daughter,” I say, giggling as I turn to Cocoa. “Imagine if the tabloids gotthisview to go with my failed skincare routine.”
My dog drops his toy and comes running to me, his paws landing on my lap. I wrap my arms around his wriggling body and let my head fall back against the chair, eyes squinting at the ceiling.
“Okay, Cocoa,” I announce, giving his ears a scratch. “We’re going to fix this. You and me. First, we need a brainstorming session…” I pick up my phone from the floor, connect to my Bluetooth speaker system, and pull up Spotify.
The speakers crackle to life with a blare of synths and the rallying war-cry of a pop goddess. “THIS IS MY MOMENT, I WON’T LET IT GO…”
Cocoa perks up, tail wagging like a metronome. I leap to my feet, almost sending him flying, and sprint for the cleaning closet. I yank out my microfiber mop and twirl it, microphone-style, like I’m headlining the Grammys.
Seven years of dance lessons didnothelp my moves, but it still feels like a release to let it out. I strut to the center of the living room, mop over my shoulder, and hit the chorus at full blast.
My voice cracks as I belt, but it doesn’t even matter, because I took five years of voice lessons—which were also worthless, obviously.
Cocoa, clearly infected by the energy, spins in circles at my feet, barking every time I hit a new note. At one point, he actually howls in harmony.
I whip the mop in a dramatic arc and slide across the hardwood in my socks, giggling the whole time. Honestly, I have no idea what this is doing for my business, but…
It’sfun.
As I pivot, my knee clips the side table, sending my crystal diffuser flying. It thuds to the floor, but thankfully doesn’t break. The mop handle slips from my hand and ricochets off the shelving unit, where it nearly knocks off a picture.
Cocoa, thinking this is a game, leaps for the mop and misses by a mile, his tongue lolling as he knocks me into the couch. We both plop down and then lie there, a little stunned as he looks at me, his head tilted.
The song fades, and the next track starts—a ballad this time, all about rising from the ashes. As I roll to my feet, I can’t help it…
I start to laugh. It’s a deep, make-your-abs-hurt kind of laugh. Maybe even a little manic.
Maybe I’ve gone crazy.
Cocoa licks my hand. I kneel down and grab him, squeezing him so tight he gives a grunt as my giggles subside.
“You know,” I say to Cocoa, “maybe Dad’s right. Maybe I’m not a CEO. Maybe I’m just meant to dance horribly and sing terribly. I think everyone would be happier with me if I did that.”
He cocks his head and then lets out a loud bark.
I shrug and sigh, grabbing the mop from the floor. “You’re right. I’m way too stubborn to give in. Maybe a little Megan Trainor will bring out a new idea. Let’s go for another round.”
I take a deep breath, find the right song, and smash the play button.
Chapter Seven
