Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23393 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
I toss the catalogue on her desk.
This is why I love this place.
Real beauty for real women in real life—That’s She’s The Sun. That’s our tagline.
We manufacture make-up and beauty products for regular women and that’s who we feature in our ads. We have all sorts of body types on our labels and we don’t hide a thing. We show it all—cellulite, curves, freckles, moles, beauty marks—because that’s real life. That’s real women. That’s real beauty. No air-brushing required.
“I’m going to order you something,” Aisha says as she takes the catalogue and starts looking through it.
“No, you’re not,” I say, snatching it back from her. Knowing her, she’s going to order me something I’d be too embarrassed to even try on alone in my bathroom.
“You have a meeting at three with accounting,” she reminds me, switching into business mode. “Jerry is trying to reach you—something about two pallets falling in the factory.”
“Ah, shit.”
“And go see Linda asap. She looked a little stressed.”
“Alright,” I say as I tuck the catalogue under my arm with my laptop. “She’s in her office?”
“Yup.”
I head over, but she’s not done.
“Check out page one hundred and seventeen,” she calls out as I hurry to Linda’s office. “It would look ravishing on you.”
“Yeah, right,” I say with a laugh. My curiosity gets the better of me and I flip over to the page while walking. I quickly shut the catalogue with my cheeks burning when I see how skimpy the lingerie is. I would need a really special cut of meat for me to put that on.
Linda’s door is open a crack. I knock as I push it open.
“Hey, auntie,” I say with a smile when I see her. She’s sitting at her desk with the gorgeous view of Manhattan sprawled out behind her.
Linda is the owner of the company, my aunt, and my favorite person in the whole wide world. I had the worst case of acne when I was a teenager and every beauty product that touched my skin would somehow make it even worse. If I tried to hide my acne with a new foundation, it would multiply—exploding like fireworks all over my skin. My zits were like that damn Hydra from Greek mythology. Try to get rid of one zit and three more would take its place.
A good aunt would take you to the makeup store to find something to conceal it, which she did at first. But after we tried every product on the shelves, my good aunt turned into an amazing aunt when she made it her mission to develop something herself.
Her husband—my uncle—had just died the year before and I think she needed something to distract her. She used my teenage insecurity, desperation, and self-consciousness as fuel to dive into something new. She reverse-engineered products and researched how to make everything from make-up to concealer to lip gloss, and then mixed it all together on her kitchen stove. She’s incredible.
She was able to make me a concealer that I wasn’t allergic to and it helped me get through high school with my severe case of acne.
Aunt Linda could have stopped there, but the fire was lit in her core and she built her little kitchen project into a multi-million dollar business that sells natural, cruelty-free beauty products in over one hundred countries.
She’s the most amazing person I know.
“Hi, Kyra,” she says with a deep breath. “Come on in. Close the door.”
Okay, something is off with her. She never tells me to close the door.
A weariness settles into my stomach as I close the door and take a seat at her desk. Her eyes drop to the pile of papers on my lap. The Abigail’s Lingerie catalogue is visible, but she doesn’t even seem to notice it. I quickly slide my laptop over the half-naked model. Something’s up with her.
“What’s the matter?” I ask with a sudden lump in my throat. “Are you sick?”
“No, no,” she says, waving her hand. “I’m fine.”
“Then, what is it?”
She takes a deep breath and then steels herself as she looks me in the eye. “I’m selling.”
“Your house?”
She shakes her head. The weariness inside my stomach turns to nausea.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
“You’re selling the c-company?” I whisper so low she can barely hear it.
She nods her head. Her eyes get watery as I stare at her in horror.
“To who?” I spit out.
She doesn’t want to say it.
“To who, Aunt Linda?”
“The Hammerhead Group.”
She watches me closely to gauge my reaction.
“What?!” I scream. “You’re selling to that evil conglomerate! They stand for everything we hate! They’re going to corrupt our brand! They’re going to ruin everything! All our values that we’ve built up over a decade with our employees, with our customers… all gone! Out the freaking window! Aunt Linda, you can’t sell to them. Think about what you’re doing!”