Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Luckily, we’re obsessed with the collection, and we feel it really can soar. The designs we’ve been working on are classic with a bold, edgy twist. Think boots embroidered with hearts, stars, even diamond rings for a pair we’re calling The Bride.
We couldn’t stop screaming as we sketched everything out. Designing the collection was fun. But we’ve been burning through cash to pay our bills, to the point that I get a stomachache every time I receive an invoice from our (very expensive) web designer, or the email marketing service we use, or our accountant, or graphic designer, or payroll company…
The list goes on.
But then Dad dies suddenly of a heart attack at the age of fifty-six. It was a total shock. When Mom told me I was the sole heir to Dad’s estate, everything changed.
Our company is now getting the capital infusion we so desperately need. Just last week, I contacted our manufacturer to place a huge order. The kind of huge that made me want to go down several bottles of wine and cut up my corporate card. But knowing I was about to receive an inheritance meant I could breathe a little easier.
Placing the order is still a huge risk. One that makes me feel like I’m being repeatedly stabbed in the stomach, especially now that I’m not sure when I’ll be getting that inheritance. If I’ll be getting it at all.
Then again, I’ve had some stomach ailment or another for close to five years now. I’ve seen every gastroenterologist in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth area. And everyone says the same thing: they don’t know what’s wrong, but I should manage my stress better and try a few different diets to see if I have any food-based triggers.
I haven’t found any so far. As for managing my stress, well, that’s a work in progress.
“Let’s go big,” Wheeler said when I told her about getting my trust. “If we have the money, we go all out. You don’t want to feel like you left anything on the table, do you? Because if we do this right, I really do believe the sky’s the limit.”
Over the years, we’d eagerly watched other Texas-born brands hit the stratosphere. There was the pair of sisters whose line of hand-painted wallpaper and fabrics ended up on the cover of Elle Decor. A jewelry designer, Cate, has made millions, selling gold-plated chain necklaces and bracelets from her studio in Austin. Some guys from college banded together to make canned ranch waters. Now their products are sold in nearly every grocery store in nearly every state, and they just signed a deal to be the “official cocktail provider” for a very famous Dallas sports franchise.
“Why not us?” I’d replied to Wheeler.
She smiled. “Why not indeed?”
Although when I’m tossing and turning in bed, I sometimes wonder if my thirst for Bellamy Brooks’s success comes from a genuine love of the boots we make or if, as my therapist has suggested, there’s another reason I push myself so hard.
A reason that may or may not have something to do with finally getting my parents’ attention.
It’s not rocket science. My mom has a big, busy life, and Dad was so busy with his life, he was never really a part of mine after Mom and I left the ranch when I was six.
I think the lonely kid I was—maybe still am—believes that if I hit the stratosphere, Mom will finally look up from her phone with pride in her eyes. And Dad—well, he might finally want to be a part of my life, and I might finally have the courage to sit down with him and have the conversation we should’ve had years ago about righting everything we did wrong in our relationship.
Too late now.
It all started nearly twenty-eight years ago, when Mom met Dad at a honky-tonk in Austin. He was in town for the rodeo, and she was there for a friend’s bachelorette party. After a whirlwind courtship, they got married six months later and moved onto Dad’s family’s ranch in Hartsville.
A month after that, Mom got pregnant with me.
The way she tells it, ranch life was isolating and monotonous, especially after I was born. She was alone, caring for a colicky newborn, while Dad was out on the ranch, doing his cowboy thing. Mom is from Dallas, and like me, she’s a city girl through and through. She wasn’t used to the quiet or the loneliness of life in the country.
She tried her best to assimilate. She learned how to ride horses, and as I got older, we were able to roam around the ranch more often, sometimes with Dad.
Still, she found it difficult to meet people, and she missed the vibrancy of city life. She was depressed and unhappy. She also didn’t love the schools in Hartsville, so when it was time for me to go to kindergarten, she gave Dad an ultimatum: move to Dallas or get a divorce.