Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 520(@300wpm)
“You could make a call and be on a morning news program,” Mi went on, paused, held my gaze, and finished, “Your mom could make a call and probably get on the Today program.”
“That’s not happening,” I said flatly.
“Coco—”
“Let it be mine.” I now spoke softly, and she shut her mouth. “For a few more cycles. Let me see if I can figure out how to raise a bit more cash. If I can make some more inroads with some suppliers to get more donations. Maybe, if we can raise the funds to hire someone part-time, it’ll make the difference and we can add a candidate or two to each cycle without it becoming a burden that’ll burn us all out.”
She nodded, and I knew it wasn’t that she had any hope of me hiring someone part-time.
It was my soft voice.
It was knowing how much this meant to me.
“I shouldn’t have pushed,” she said.
I rolled my eyes. “Please, shut up.”
“I—”
Mi didn’t finish what she was saying because there was a knock on the door.
I called, “Come in!”
Madison, one of our part-timers, a student at ASU, opened the door and came in, saying, “Mail arrived.” She looked to us at the table then across the space to my desk. “Here or there?”
“Desk, please,” I requested.
She moved that way, and I watched as she did, because there seemed to be a big manila envelope in the pile of mail.
Had I ordered a sample I forgot?
Or, almost better, a catalog.
“We’re done and I gotta get back on the floor,” Mi-Young said, rising from her chair.
“You come back to the floor, maybe I can pop down the street and get us some coffees?” Madison asked.
“Dirty chai,” I ordered immediately.
“That means yes to coffee,” Mi-Young said on a smile as they both exited my office. But Mi-Young stopped at the door and looked to me. “Open? Or closed?”
“Open, ma chérie,” I murmured as I got up from my own seat, my mind already ticking to the next thing to do.
I headed to my desk, and it must be said, I was never too busy to appreciate my office décor.
I did this during the short journey.
Simple white desk, no drawers. White credenza behind it, precisely the same width as the desk. Two gold lamps on the credenza framing a piece of art on the wall that looked like a golden branch with golden leaves growing from the top of that bureau. White glass accoutrements. Acrylic trays. Compact forever floral arrangement of pink and yellow flowers. And a stack of old Vogue magazines on either side of the credenza, piled high, on top of which were framed designer sketches (left, Givenchy, right, Valentino).
My rolling office chair was upholstered in gold velvet, the seat in front of my desk was a square bench covered in green velvet and trimmed in gold. I had a built-in wall of cupboards to one side that included filing cabinets and a hidden printer so I didn’t have to see anything messy or techy (I used a laptop, which was closed and set in the credenza whenever it wasn’t needed, it also matched the décor, being a Mac Air in gold).
The walls were a buttery cream.
And then there was the round conference table.
It was overkill for my position as only a very recent entry into the retail world, not to mention this small room.
It was perfect.
I had an upscale shop in the Melrose District on 7th Avenue in Phoenix, a large-ish space sandwiched between vintage shops, other boutiques, galleries, restaurants and bars. A district that proudly called itself a “gayborhood.”
I would move far more stock in Scottsdale.
I didn’t want to be in Scottsdale.
Nothing against it, I spent a goodly amount of time there, but I wanted people to find us in the midst of life and vibrancy. For passers-by and window shoppers, I wanted us to be a surprise. I wanted mature women to come in and feel young. I wanted young women to come in and learn that there was no expiration date on fabulous.
Scottsdale was Scottsdalian, and it was awesome in its way.
Everyone felt safe and welcome in the Melrose District.
So that’s where I wanted to be.
In the thick of things.
I stopped behind my desk and reached directly for the big manila envelope, because samples were samples, but I preferred to think of them as surprise gifts.
And everyone loved a gift.
Me especially.
I could feel immediately it wasn’t a sample, it was paper.
So perhaps a catalog of possible future samples.
I grabbed the Meissen Ming dragon letter opener Dad gave me as a store opening present, slit the envelope open and slid out the contents, seeing it was not a catalog.
It seemed to be a pile of photos and paper.
A thick, embossed, cream notecard was attached to the top with a gold paperclip, and the card said in bold black, Save your money.