She spread the gloss across her lower lip, and I realized she was already wearing it.
My mentor uses my cosmetics?
I blinked a few times in disbelief.
“How long does it take to produce this?”
“I’m making thirty at a time. I can do it in about a day.”
“What’s the shelf life?”
“Six months. The blush and mineral foundation don’t expire as long as they don’t get wet.”
I’d researched every component that went into my products to make them the best they could be.
She rolled the round container in her fingers. “That’s impressive. Let’s have an independent lab verify. Never can be too careful, especially when it comes to potential lawsuits down the road. We’ll have to get licensing. We can chat with my attorney about setting the business up as iron-clad as possible.” Hayden smirked.
All that kind of thing seemed daunting. I didn’t know where to start. “Everything I use is natural.”
“Which is perfect. We have to figure out how to produce it on a larger scale. With the right branding, this has incredible potential. You’ve really got your finger on the pulse of what women want today.”
I blushed. “The idea of making my own appealed to me. Turned out it was fun.”
“You are your own consumer. We can use it as a backstory to grow the sense of community.” The more she talked, the more animated she became. “What do you think about using the ladies of Paths as models?”
I slumped in my seat. “I don’t know about that. Some would probably be okay with it, others . . .” Like myself, not so much.
She winced. “That was insensitive of me. I didn’t think.”
“No. It’s okay. That place, the people, they mean everything to me. I’d love to involve them in any way possible, just maybe not so much in the public eye.”
She nodded, but still looked uncertain. I covered her hand with mine, temporarily forgetting this woman was my mentor, a giant in our industry. For the moment, we were just two friends, making big plans.
“Okay. We’ll keep an open mind about that.” She took another sip of her coffee. “You’ve done some test marketing—”
“I haven’t done much of anything,” I interrupted, panic flooding me.
“Sure you have. The women at Paths are crazy about these products. Crazy enough to talk to strangers about it.” She pointed to herself and grinned. “We need to sample more of the market, but indications are good.”
“They want to support me.” Just like I would any of them.
“You’re too modest.” She glanced at my barely touched coffee. I lifted it to my lips and took a long swallow. “Where do you want to place your product?”
“Umm . . .” The lobby of Holt’s garage popped into my head. It didn’t make sense to have beauty products in a garage, though I loved the idea of a boutique space. That took money I didn’t have. An online store made the most sense, but I hadn’t let myself think of that.
Having dreams of any kind wasn’t something I deserved, yet I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“How much are you selling the gloss for at Trish’s food truck?” Hayden carried on before I could give a proper answer.
I gaped at her. How did she know all of this? “Two dollars.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Two dollars? For this? You’re losing money.”
I had no idea. The point was the enjoyment I got out of making my own makeup. An image of Holt with lip gloss and powder on popped into my head. I liked my guinea pig too.
“Who did the logo?” Hayden forged ahead, examining the cap for the gloss.
“Cricket.”
“The quiet girl?” I nodded. “She’s talented. This is a great start.”
“I told her to make something that conveyed natural and feminine.”
“You’ve got the foundation. We just have to build on it. And I’m going to help you.”
“You don’t have to do that. Thank you, but you have the magazine and . . .”
Like yesterday, becoming overwhelmed sent me spiraling into a panic that closed my throat.
“I want to do this. I want to be part of it.” She frowned. “Have I inserted myself here without invitation?”
“No. I’m grateful for your enthusiasm. I just—this has blown up into something I didn’t expect.” The confession lifted a weight off my chest.
Her expression softened. “Do you think I planned to build one of the most powerful magazines in the world?”
I nodded. Yes. I absolutely did.
A faraway look glazed her eyes as she glanced out the window. “I loved fashion. I loved products. I loved women’s issues. And I loved to write. So I did it. Somewhere along the way, I discovered I had a knack for presenting all of those things.”
She reached into her bag again and slid a worn out group of pages bound together by plastic comb binding.
“That’s the first magazine I ever produced.”
The photographs were cut out polaroids pasted onto a thick paper. The articles were done in the same fashion.
“Did you use a typewriter?” I asked, thumbing through the short magazine. It was rudimentary, but there was something about it I loved. The magazine now was just a glammed up version of this very thing.
“Early eighties, baby,” she said with a grin. “When you look at that, do you see what we have today? No way. And neither did I.”
“Maybe not, but this is the magazine.” I paged through it again.
“That’s the work of a kid who loved what she loved and thought other girls might too.”
“It’s obvious in these pages.” I squinted at a photograph. “Is that you?”
“That’s me.” She motioned toward the image of her younger self. “Think I should do my hair that way again?”
“Yes. Definitely. If you do, the rest of the world will follow suit.” I laughed and slid the magazine back over to her.
“My mother always told me to dream big. Truth is, I never really understood what she meant.” She tapped the cover of her old magazine. “Not until much, much later. That’s what this was. Except, it had more of hold on me than I did on it.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” I said quietly. And hearing Hayden talk about the inspiration her mother gave her . . . it connected so many dots. She’d been one of the first mentors to come speak at Paths. Afterward, I remember being nervous to approach her, but that had disappeared in seconds. We’d clicked, and if it weren’t for her support, I wouldn’t have made the progress I had. Sometimes I wondered if I’d still be hiding away in my room.
Her face turned somber. “I wouldn’t give up the magazine for anything. It’s me. Who I am. Without it, I’m not sure what’s left.” She fiddled with her coffee cup. “But that isn’t right for everybody. And you’ll have to give up some things you might not realize you didn’t want to give up until it’s too late.”
The flash of pain in her eyes tore me apart. “I just like experimenting with the products. Seeing what a dash more honey adds or a bit less color. When I’m mixing up lip gloss, it quiets the noise.”
“Knowing that will make it a lot easier to decide how to move forward so you have control of your brand instead of it controlling you.”
“A friend of mine . . .” A streak of doubt slashed across my chest. “He-he bought an old building. One he wants to revitalize into a car garage. It has a huge upstairs space and—” I was at a loss for words, overwhelmed by what Holt had done.
“And?” Hayden asked the question like he hadn’t suggested something life-changing.
“He offered it to me to make my products. He’d even mapped out a display area for them in his lobby.” The magnitude of what he’d offered and that I’d immediately rejected it hit me hard.
“So what’s the issue?”
Was it that easy to simply say yes to Holt’s proposal? She seemed to think it was.
“When he showed it to me, it felt like he was taking away my
choice. But now, I’m not so sure.” I glanced out the window as confusion descended.
“Want my advice?”
“Please.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing. Keep tweaking, improving, loving what you do. You’ll know if you want to push to the next level or stay where you are now.”
I nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Whatever you decide, I’m behind you. You have a place at the magazine, but if you want to pursue cosmetics, I’m with you as soon we have the lab verify it's safe.”
“I’m happy right now.” As I said it, I realized that was the truth.
“Let’s chat about this again in . . . a month? Would that give you more time to see what sort of line you’d want to start with? Complete the products to be ready for testing?”
“I’d like that.”
Gratitude for Hayden coming into my life filled me. Knowing I had her support and friendship eased my stress.
She grinned at me over her cup. “Now tell me about this man who’s offering you space in his garage.”
Chapter Fifteen
Holt
“What are you doing here?”
Inwardly, I cursed at the nervous edge in my voice.
“I didn’t know how else to reach you.” My mother stayed rooted in her position by a worn-out chair and dusty end table littered with magazines that were at least five years old.
“How’d you find me?”
“You wouldn’t answer my calls.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to talk.” The words were hollow, even to my own ears. I’d wanted to speak to her all my life . . . more than anything.
She grasped the back of the chair, a gold bangle bracelet glinting in the light. Her pale pink slacks were pressed flat, the collar of her white blouse flipped up in a way she made work. My mother didn’t look anywhere near the sixty-something she was. Somehow that disappointed me.
The life she’d left us for had obviously treated her well.
“I’d like to speak with you.” She glanced around the space. “Somewhere more . . . private,” she finally settled on. “Could we meet for lunch? Or dinner perhaps?”
“I don’t know.”
She’d presented the opportunity I’d been waiting for my whole life, yet I wasn’t sure if I could take it. Sometimes the not knowing was better. She had the power to confirm my worst fears. I didn’t think I could take being responsible for robbing my father of a wife and my siblings of their mother.
She reached in her purse and handed me a cream business card, a phone number the only thing written on it. “When you do know, you can reach me at this number.”
Before I could respond, she disappeared, almost as if I’d dreamed up the whole thing.
“You know her?” Ed wiped his hands down the front of his coveralls. He and Dad had been friends for a long time, but post-divorce.
“Not really.”
Not so long ago, I’d been determined to talk to her, even against Andrew’s wishes. It was one of the reasons I’d returned to New York, to get the very chance she’d just given me. Had she stopped by because I’d reached out to her? If she were as eager to reconnect as I was, why did it take her so long? Months had gone by since I’d messaged her on social media.
I flicked the card in the trash. My brother was right. She’d abandoned us. That was her choice. Now I’d made mine.
* * *
“Did you speak to your sister?”
Baker stood in the kitchen, already changed into my T-shirt and a pair of sweats. Her hair was piled on top of her head and her feet were bare. My first thought was strip her down and get lost so I didn’t have to think about my family or the mess I’d made of my life.
Instead, I tossed my keys on the island and kept it between us. I didn’t trust myself in the mood I was in.
“No.” Sarcasm seeped into my voice.
When she opened her mouth to respond, I was 100 percent sure she’d press me on the topic.
I held up my hand. “Not now.”
She stuck out her tongue. “I was going to tell you about my meeting with Hayden, but I think you need some time to chill on your own.”
I shrugged off my leather jacket and unzipped my coveralls. Her eyes followed the motion. My body came to life.
“I need a shower. And something to eat. And a beer. And then I want to see how that other shade of lip gloss looks on me.”
Her mouth lifted a fraction. I held the edge of the counter to keep from rounding it. The ferocity with which I wanted her caught me off guard.
This morning I’d tried to leave without waking her because I needed to get away from her. From this . . . whatever it was.
The pressure of it still suffocated me, but I needed her. After the shit for a day I’d had, I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to park it on the couch, play guinea pig, and find any excuse I could to touch her.
“Dinner, beer, and lip gloss; I’ve got it covered.”
No longer able to resist, I rounded the island and tapped her on the nose. “Spoiling me.”
She tilted her head back to look at me where I towered over her. So close, yet not anywhere near close enough.
Baker wrinkled her nose, though her eyes smoldered. “You stink.”
The words were husky, a tease, and my body reacted as if she’d given me a compliment.
“And you smell like heaven.”
I ran my nose up the column of her neck, inhaling like a man possessed. Honey. My new favorite scent.
I grazed my teeth on her earlobe, and her hands flew to my shoulders.
“This is a bad idea,” she rasped as I feathered my lips down her jaw.
“I thought we were past that.”
I pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She rocked her hips into mine. “I thought you wanted dinner.” Her fingers slid under my coveralls, shoving them off my shoulders.
“I’d never choose food over you.”
“That’s a strong statement to make, Grease Monkey.” The tease coated her words, but the vulnerability in her eyes was unmistakable.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Her hands framed my neck. “I think you did yesterday. To your sister.”
She was right, but I didn’t bother admitting it. I just wanted to forget it all.
“I’m going to take a shower.” I couldn’t think about yesterday right now.
I brushed my lips across hers and pushed off the counter. She grabbed my hand in silent support. Briefly, I closed my eyes and squeezed back.
Baker didn’t let go until our arms were stretched as far as they could reach.
* * *
“Looks good.” I moved straight to the fridge and grabbed a beer. “This your poison?” I held up a bottle of white wine to Baker.
“Yes.” Her eyes lit, but she wasn’t looking at the wine. They wandered from my damp hair, across my chest, and down to where my sweats hung off my hips. “I ran into your dad at Trish’s truck today.”
“Oh yeah?”
“He had your nephew and Ella in tow. It looked like they were getting the best of him.”
“She’s an infant.”
“Have you met her? The girl is the loudest human being I’ve ever known,” she said fondly. “And Blake is the only one spirited enough to match her.”
“Bet my brother never tells them they’re not blood cousins.” I unscrewed the cap and flipped it onto the counter.
She narrowed her gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Oh come on. Like you don’t see the match they are. My nephew knows all of two words, and all she does is scream, but it’s like they’re speaking the same language.”
“True,” she said carefully after a moment of consideration. “Why would Andrew care if they end up together? And by the way, that’s pretty far-fetched.”
I tipped my beer toward her. “Mark my words, Easy. They’ll end up together.” She frowned like she knew I was right. “My brother isn’t going to let little Ella date until
she’s fifty.”
“Did he say that?”
“Didn’t have to.” I pulled a wine glass down from the cabinet. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed how protective he is?”
Baker grinned. “Yeah. Of both my girls.” Her eyes went soft.
She deserved that too. The kind of happiness my brother and Trish had. And I prayed she found it.
You could give her that.
I gulped half my beer. Where did that thought come from?
“What else do I need to carry?” I asked, balancing her wine glass and my beer in one hand.
“This.” She held out a paper carton filled with what appeared to be scalloped potatoes.
I took it and followed her to the living room. Carefully, I set everything on the coffee table.
She settled on the sofa and handed me a fork.
“Another Trish specialty?”
“Actually, no. Well, the potatoes are. But your dad made the chicken.”
I paused halfway to digging into the food. “He did?”
“Yep. He said it used to be one of your favorites.”
I peered into the other carton. Pieces of his famous drunken chicken were piled inside.
“I don’t understand. Did you meet him on purpose?”
“He was going to bring it over to us later. Since I ran into him, and he doesn’t live far from Trish’s, I went with him to pick it up.”
I forked some potatoes. “Did we make plans I didn’t know about?”
“No.” Her features brightened when she tasted the chicken. “That’s so good,” she said around a bite.
“I’ve got good taste,” I said smugly.
“Apparently, you do.” She reached for her wine and took a long sip. “Your dad tried to put up a good face, but he’s worried. Trish got it out of him that Marlow barely spoke when he picked up Blake this morning.”
I dropped the carton of potatoes on the coffee table. “Thought you wanted to talk about your day.”
“That wasn’t an attempt to get you to talk about yesterday.” She picked up the abandoned potatoes. “You’re close with him. I thought you’d want to know.”
Trust Me: A Roommates To Lovers Romance Novel (Free Book 2) Page 9
