Chapter One
Dayit all began
Five tutorials,four makeup sponges, three foundations, and two concealer sticks—that’s what it takes to coveronepost-period pimple—a predictable occurrence which I have dubbed the Triple P.
I lift my chin and scrutinize my reflection as the mound comes into view.
Crap!I can still see it. But at least it’s not red anymore. Sure, there’s a crusty makeup scab on the surface that looks like a cat’s tongue. The color doesn’t match the rest of my face either. It’s the exact color of the tangerine tank top I bought but never wore because the lighting in the store lied big time. I never did take that back…
I groan.“Why?”Why, at the age of twenty-five, does the Triple P still have to invade my life? I should bementallypreparing for my Zoom call this morning, not researching tutorials made for puberty-ridden teens.
Your meeting, Nikki.Focus.
At least my hair looks okay. I bypassed that whole dye-your-blonde-hair-black trend that my friends went for, but now I’m starting to rethink that; maybe I’d be taken more seriously as a brunette.
I tear out of the bathroom and race toward myZoom-call cornerwhere the laptop, quintessential lighting, and a cold Diet Coke await.
In ten minutes, I’ll log onto a call with Millie from Millie’s Paper Supply, a potential investor for my small business calledBox of Cheer. Scoring this meeting was a big deal. Huge. Millie is one of the biggest in the tissue paper business, and she’s considering investing inmycompany!
Box of Cheersells colorful custom boxes filled with cheery things and ships them across the western United States. The Sunshine Box, for instance, filled with all things yellow, happy, and bright, goes best with Millie’s Lemon Twist tissue paper as a base. Add the Peachy Pie paper as an accent, and the colors pop! Ah, her line goes perfectly with mine, and I can’t wait to partner up.
It’s a proud moment. Sure, it took me six years to get a business degree that typically takes four, and I had to work two jobs while caring for my struggling mom and younger brother, but at least I did it without accepting personal handouts from neighbors, friends, or even my pastor and his wife who, bless them, offered to contribute a little something toward my schooling as well.
My mom says I have pride issues, but if everyone has issues, that’s one I’m willing to live with. It’s better than having self-respect issues which, sadly, dragged my poor mother through more misery than any woman should have to endure, all while her children looked on. So, in essence, my issues stem from witnessing the effects of her issues.
That aside, my self-started, self-operated business is blooming quite nicely. Okay, so maybe it’s more of a bud than a bloom.
I plop into place, pour Diet Coke into the ice-filled glass, and use a red and white straw to stir it into oblivion, an act that pricks at my heart each and every time.
I’ve been beating the fizz out of my drinks since I was ten—I like the flavor; not the fizz—but the habit only haunts me now. All I can see is my super-hot ex-boyfriend Kai Kingsley, grabbing my glass and doing the tedious deed for me. He’d lift the drink to those full lips of his, take a test taste, and shudder.“It’s ready. I don’t know how you like it that flat.”And then he’d hand it over to me and wink.
My stirring becomes frantic. Something I don’t realize until my knuckles are splattered with Diet Coke dots. I sigh. If Kai were still in my life, he’d be doing this type of grunt work for me.
I take a long sip. “Okay,” I say to myself. “Pity party’s over.” It’s time to secure my very first business partner. Once this deal is done, I’ll use Millie’s name to score more investors from other businesses selling items I need, such as mugs, chocolate, fuzzy socks, bath bombs…
A dart of excitement shoots through me. It’s finally happening!
A glance at my phone says we have four minutes to go.
I crack open my laptop and brighten the screen when my phone lets out a buzz from the desk. I assume it’s Millie sending the link to our Zoom call until I look closer:
Nikki, I hate to cancel our call, but I’ve only now gone over the numbers with my financial advisor, and he is not on board. Sadly, I won’t be able to invest in your company after all. What Icando, since I admire your gumption and want to help you succeed, is offer you a one-time 40% discount on a purchase size of your choosing and a lifetime 10% discount on paper supplies.
I stop reading there but scroll my way down to see how long the text goes on.
One scroll, two inches.
Another scroll, two more inches of the same text bubble.
I cringe. I could probably scroll down this text thread until tomorrow and still not be done reading Millie’s patronizing mush about howspecialandtalentedI am.
I groan, slap the phone down, and plunk my face onto the table. A toast crumb crunches beneath my cheek.Ugh.I ate toast here and didn’t even clean up? I’m an animal. An animal with a greasy crumb on her cheek, a big boil on her chin, and a canceled zoom-call meeting.
I was counting on Millie. I need paper—alotof it—to make my boxes cheery and bright. But even more, I need investors to get this thing off the ground.
“Give me a discount,” I mumble through smooshed lips. “No thanks.” It’s better to eatnopie than choke down a serving of humble pie. If Millie’s backing out of our original deal, I’ll find a whole new supplier. I’d rather go out of business than buy paper from her now.
My phone lets out a second buzz. I assume it’s another mile-long text from Millie until the buzzing continues. Someone’s calling.
