I pretend to consider it, tapping my finger against my chin. “Tempting, but only if I get to keep your queue of weird Netflix documentaries. And your children. But just for a day. Then you have to take them all back.”
She giggles and then lets out a sigh. “How was your day?”
“Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like every single thing you try just … doesn’t work?” I ask, propping my feet up and letting out a sigh as I rub my forehead.
Nora gives the screen a look. “Nicole, you’re talking to the woman who had to sew four different Elsa costumes by hand because the ones from Amazon weretoo itchy.” She pauses, then narrows her eyes, reading me in that special way only big sisters can. “What happened? Did your dog ruin another pair of Hot Guy’s shoes?”
“Not today,” I say, and then can’t help but laugh. “But I did just have the most mortifying experience of my entire life.”
She perks up. “Ooh, tell me. Make me forget I’m up to my elbows in fake butter at two a.m.”
I launch into the story, the whole humiliating way that Cocoa let Dom walk right in on me, the way I was singing my heart out with the mop,andthe way he chose to stay.
“Wow,” Nora hums, licking some of the icing off her finger and then cringing. “I think … I think I like this guy.”
My brows skyrocket. “Youlikehim?”
She shrugs. “I do. He totally could’ve turned you in for a noise complaint and didn’t. I mean, your dog let him in, too. They say dogs are a great judge of character.”
“I don’t know if I trust Cocoa’s judgment of character,” I say, crinkling my nose. “He also ate his own—”
“I don’t need details,” Nora cuts me off. “I’m just saying, I get that you’re embarrassed, but honestly, that was so sweet of him to come over and tell you to turn it down without getting the property manager involved.”
“Right,” I breathe out, nodding. “I guess I just wish I wasn’t so …messy.”
Nora gives me a soft smile. “Nic, you’re literally perfect just the way you are.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay,Mom.”
“Hey, now.” She points her spatula at me. “I’m no licensed therapist like her.”
“You could be.” I wink. “I’d totally come and talk to you.”
“You already do.” She giggles, and just as she does, my phone buzzes with a notification. I squint at the invitation.
“What in the world…” I mumble. “Hang on.” I pause the video and shift to the email, opening it up.
You’re Invited: Entrepreneur Networking Brunch hosted by Alice Ketchling
My stomach drops, and for a second, I freeze. In the world of big dreams, Alice Ketchling is at the top when it comes to startups. She’s the founder of a direct-to-consumer dry shampoo line that’s literally outsold competitors worldwide.
The invitation shimmers on my screen, and I scroll down further.
This exclusive experience for LA’s finest female innovators will feature curated connections, concept pitch roundtables, and a keynote from the legendary Alice herself.
“Wow,” I mumble, letting the full weight of imposter syndrome land. “This must be a mistake.”
“What?” Nora’s voice startles me, me having forgotten she was still on the phone.
“Alice Ketchling invited me to a networking brunch,” I say, my voice flat. “There’s no way I can go to this. The last time I talked with her, she made fun of me for a solid half hour because I canbarely communicate under pressure. Plus, given all my bad reviews? I absolutely can’t go.”
My sister is quiet for a split second. “Actually, you shouldtotallygo. And own it. You’re Nikko Farrarah’s daughter, smelly moisturizer or not.”
I sigh. “But I’m not practiced enough at those kinds of events. I flop at them every time.”
“So, practice. Set up your own networking brunch, right there at your building. Practice makes perfect. Just ask your hot NBA player friend—he practices all the time. You gotta practice to be good.”
I nod slowly. “You know what? That’s not a bad idea.”
