The Manolo Blahnik pumps were her only pair of fancy shoes. Period. Most of her shoes came from the low-end section of DSW’s clearance rack or Target. She’d bought these under duress, after much badgering by her best friend Keva, who insisted that the champagne satin pumps were the only shoes Taylor should even consider wearing to her wedding. In the end, Taylor was happy she’d bought them. She felt powerful in these shoes. As if she could rule the world simply by slipping them on.
She picked up the platinum diamond-stud earrings from Tiffany’s. Most of the time they remained in that signature blue box, mainly because she didn’t go anywhere that warranted wearing two-thousand-dollar earrings. She’d priced similar items on the site and knew she could get anywhere from eight hundred to twelve hundred dollars for the pair.
But she couldn’t do it.
She’d come up with a dozen practical reasons for selling these earrings, but when weighed against the significance of what they meant to her, she just couldn’t bring herself to part with them.
The shoes. She would sell the shoes. She’d last worn them on her date with Craig. She didn’t need any reminders of him.
After uploading several pictures of the satiny pumps to the website, Taylor left her tiny bedroom and walked over to the closet just to the right of her front door. She’d put this off long enough.
She dragged out the tattered cardboard box, cursing as the tear on the side ripped a little more. It was time for her to take inventory of her remaining Taylor’d Conditioning gear.
She wasn’t sure which choice had been the worst, giving this stuff out so freely or buying it in the first place. When she thought about the thousands of dollars she’d sunk into the T-shirts—both unisex and female cut—baseball caps, bandannas, crop tops, backpacks, headbands, and wristbands? What in the heck had she been thinking?
She shoved the box toward the sofa and cleared the junk mail from the ottoman that did double duty as a coffee table. She counted out twenty-two T-shirts, eighteen caps, seven crop tops, and fourteen wristband and headband sets. She didn’t have to count the backpacks; she already knew there were only eight left. She’d stored them underneath the other gear. At nearly thirty bucks apiece, they were now reserved for clients who stuck with her for more than three months.
Maybe if she’d been a bit more stingy, using this stuff as incentive for folks to stick around, she’d have more than a handful of clients.
Taylor rolled her eyes.
The promise of a free T-shirt and baseball cap wasn’t enough to entice the number of clients she needed to get herself out of this mess. The time for recriminations had passed long ago. It wasn’t as if she could go back and get her gear from the dozens of people who’d happily taken the free stuff and hadn’t bothered to call her back.
Oh, God. That thought was way too reminiscent of those early days when her family moved back to the States. The ability to date boys who didn’t live on the same Army base as her had been an awakening. She’d gone boy crazy, giving away far too much of herself without getting anything in return.
“At least you’ve learned your lesson in that arena,” Taylor muttered.
She grabbed an envelope from the pile of junk mail—a credit card company offering her a credit line increase. She snorted. They must not have gotten the memo. She flipped the envelope over and jotted the list of remaining inventory; then she neatly packed everything back into the box. Before closing it, she picked up a set of wristbands, thinking she’d offer them to the client she was meeting with later today.
“God, you are so bad at this,” Taylor said with a sigh, tossing them back into the box. She’d already given Bonnie a T-shirt, baseball cap, and bandanna. She was like a child trying to buy the affection of an absentee parent, so grateful for any crumb of loyalty she received from clients.
She just never expected it would be so difficult for her business to gain traction. She blamed it on naïveté, and that irrepressible penchant she had for always looking on the bright side, believing that if you remained positive, only positive things would come your way.
She’d started small, with only a few YouTube videos and Instagram posts. As her follower count increased and the views on YouTube grew, the more confident she became in her ability to do this full-time. She’d seen so many fellow fitness instructors who were killing it; she just knew she would crush it too. Especially when she came up with the brilliant idea to play up her Army brat background and specialize in boot camp–style workouts.
Her videos hadn’t taken off the way she’d expected, but Taylor figured she’d hit gold when that clip of the three of them chewing Craig out at that sushi restaurant had gone viral. London and Samiah had abhorred the notoriety, but Taylor soaked it in.
For weeks following the incident with Craig, she’d been inundated with inquiries, and the views on her YouTube channel had spiked. But most of the people who’d contacted her for consultations hadn’t really wanted a full-time fitness and nutrition coach. In the end, she’d garnered three new clients who’d actually turned out to be legitimate.
“So much for going viral.”
Taylor plopped down on the sofa and took out her phone. She skimmed through her Gmail account, then switched over to Facebook.
She rolled her eyes at the sight of the familiar orange-and-white logo of the Texas Longhorns avatar. The person behind the YourFavorite23 account was one persistent SOB. The messages came like clockwork, one every three days, with someone claiming he or she was willing to pay top dollar for her services as a personal fitness instructor.
As if she hadn’t heard that a hundred times since the video with Craig went viral. She was so over these lunatics. She refused to entertain messages like this one.
But she needed to make some money. And fast.
She clicked over to her business Facebook page and posted a message:
Boot Camp circuit training pop-up. 3pm tomorrow. Zilker Park. Only $10.
If she managed to convince at least five people to sign up, maybe she would be able to eat something other than ramen for dinner this week. It was a big ask, but she wanted to stay positive.
About the Author
Farrah Rochon, USA Today bestselling author of The Boyfriend Project, hails from a small town just west of New Orleans. She has garnered much acclaim for her Holmes Brothers and New York Sabers series. When she is not writing in her favorite coffee shop, Farrah spends most of her time reading, cooking, traveling the world, visiting Walt Disney World, and catching her favorite Broadway shows.
You can learn more at:
FarrahRochon.com
Twitter @FarrahRochon
Facebook.com/FarrahRochonAuthor
Also by Farrah Rochon
The Boyfriend Project
Praise for Farrah Rochon and
The Dating Playbook
“A total knockout: funny, sexy, and full of heart.”
—Kirkus, starred review
“A rom-com touchdown.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“Fun, heartfelt, and totally relatable.”
—Abby Jimenez, New York Times bestselling author
“Rochon’s books are always witty, hot, and engaging.”
—BuzzFeed
“Farrah Rochon is one of the absolute best romance writers today. Period.”
—Kristan Higgins, New York Times bestselling author
The Boyfriend Project
Book of the Month selection
LibraryReads selection
NPR: Favorite Books of the Year
BuzzFeed: Best Books of the Year
Cosmopolitan: Best Romance Novels of the Year
Insider: Best Romance Books of the Year
“The Boyfriend Project is rom-com joy.…Rochon is incisively funny, gifted at winging between laugh-out-loud scenarios, crackling banter, and pointed social commentary. Grade: A”
—Entertainment Weekly
“There’s so much to love in this—smart, highly competent and sex
y romantic leads, strong female friendships and a dose of intrigue—and it kicks off what promises to be an excellent series.”
—NPR
“A prime example of how complex and insightful romances can be. Farrah Rochon deftly explores what it means to go viral, the unique joys of strong female friendships, and the particular struggles of Black women in the workplace, all within a great love story.”
—Jasmine Guillory, New York Times bestselling author of While We Were Dating
“Farrah Rochon writes intensely real characters with flaws and gifts in equal measure.”
—Nalini Singh, New York Times bestselling author
“A smart, sexy and completely modern romance.”
—Kwana Jackson, USA Today bestselling author of
Real Men Knit
“The Boyfriend Project is a wonderful mix of what I love in romance: romantic tenderness, great chemistry, bright individuals, expertise in their jobs, deep friendships with secondary characters, and excellent conflict between them leading to great trust-building.”
—Frolic
“Funny, fresh, sexy, and heartfelt. This is my new favorite romance series!”
—Suzanne Brockmann, New York Times bestselling author
“Farrah Rochon writes delectable love stories with characters so warm that I want to hang out with them in real life.”
—Andie J. Christopher, USA Today bestselling author of
Not That Kind of Guy
“Absolutely a must-read summer romance!”
—Priscilla Oliveras, USA Today bestselling author
“Rochon is a romance master who adeptly writes interesting and dynamic characters.”
—Kirkus
The Dating Playbook Page 31
