That’s something I’ve already figured out. “I know, but it’s not like I can set up my own manufacturing company right now. I’m a Noles, but not even I have that sort of cash to toss out for workers, buildings, equipment—”
“I wasn’t suggesting that,” he interrupts, smiling over at me. “I was suggesting taking a meeting with some of the big, already established cosmetic lines. It’s the best way to get your foot in the door. Get yourself an umbrella company spot that allows you to use their resources and contacts. You’d still be in charge and doing most of the work as far as getting your line in stores, but you’d have their support and access to their facilities. You’d of course have to share a chunk of the profits, but eventually your name and line would be big enough to branch out and form your own independent company.”
“I actually tried that,” I say with a grin, enjoying the fact he looks surprised. I guess he thought I was going all out without considering other options that made more sense.
“But?” he asks, shifting to face me better.
It sucks to keep sounding like such a failure in front of someone so successful. “As you said, I had no name to trade in on. So the ones I tried to get meetings with wouldn’t even see me. It sucks, but it is what it is. Now I’m going this route.”
He frowns while opening one of the binders to the page of the before and after pictures. “They won’t see you,” he says to himself, not looking incredibly happy about that. The frown that puckers at his brow is adorable, because he’s a little upset about someone not taking a chance on me.
It shouldn’t feel that good to know he cares, but it does.
“Thank you for helping me,” I say, trying to rid him of his train of thought.
He slides toward me and kisses me gently. “No one else is helping you out?”
It’s a question that I don’t really know how to answer. “I have an assistant, Darla, but she’s only supposed to help with certain things. My business partner is brilliant, and he came up with the compound and the actual makeup. I’m supposed to be the bankroll and the one getting us into stores. I’ve paid for the manufacturing of a first launch, buying enough to fill initial orders if anyone wants to buy in. And—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Tria. I’m talking about anyone—someone else you can run a practice speech with. Someone who can help you repackage and arrange binders. Someone who can point you in the direction of graphic designers. That sort of thing.”
“Well, Brin listens, but she doesn’t really know how to help. My partner is solely the brains—not the marketing type. Rain is crazy busy with the wedding and her movie deal. Ash designed my website and helped design the graffiti graphics, since that’s what she does.”
“But no one like me?” he asks, his smile almost precious.
“No one like you,” I confirm, and his grin only grows.
***
Kode
I love waking up with her tangled around me. It’s amazing how something can change completely.
Before Tria, I couldn’t sit around and talk to anyone but Rain—well, no girl. Rain always seemed like the exception. And in a way she was, but not in the same way Tria is.
Rain could sleep beside me in the same bed without wanting to touch me. Tria can’t sleep beside me without wrapping herself around me as tightly as she can get. There’s nothing better than that early morning feeling of peace. It’s a tranquil high that seems to surpass any drug I’ve ever encountered.
Tria looks at me with hunger, awe, and gratitude. And she has different tones. She has a tone for her close friends and family, a tone for business conversations, a tone for people she’s formally acquainted with, and a tone for people she just meets.
But my favorite tone is the one reserved just for me. No one else hears her speak to them the way she speaks to me. It’s a touch lower than her family octave, but it’s a feminine sort of husky that has me desperate to get her underneath me any chance I get.
She’s not even aware that she does it, which is what makes it even better. I’m special to her, and she doesn’t have a problem with letting me know that with all her small actions—things most people would take for granted.
They wouldn’t take it for granted if they had lived in the friend-hell I was stuck in for eleven years.
“You have a meeting,” she says in her sleepy rasp, prompting me to smile as she snuggles against me.
“Not for another two hours. Has your dad called you back?” I ask her, thinking back to the way she called him three times before we went to bed last night.