“DO WE WANT A POP-UP when someone logs onto the website? Or just a tab at the bottom for them to sign up for the newsletter?” Violet Schaffer looks at me over the top of her computer, playing with the tail of her long, red braid. “I prefer the tab. The pop-ups stress me out, although research says they’re effective.”
“Research also suggests that anti-aging creams reduce fine lines and wrinkles,” I point out. “I still have crow’s feet.”
“You do not,” she laughs.
“Oh, I do too. But it’s fine. I’ll just continue to wear bright lipstick and low cut shirts to divert attention away from my eyes.”
“Speaking of your cleavage, did the guy from the bistro call you last night?”
“Yup,” I say cheerfully, examining some sunglasses we just got in. “I hit the trusty FU button. Right to voicemail he went.”
Violet hangs her head, her braid swishing on the tabletop. “Why?”
“Meh,” I shrug.
“Meh?” She looks up at me and rolls her eyes. “What more could you possibly want? He was very good-looking, had a good job from what we could overhear, smelled fantastic, and I so kindly gave him your number and not mine.”
“Only because you have had two good weeks of screwing Jonas.”
“Your point?”
“That doesn’t make Bistro Guy any less meh to me.”
She flashes me another look, one that says I’m too picky, but I ignore it. We’ve been over this too many times to count and it always ends up the same way—her confused and me
frustrated.
So what if I have a laundry list of stipulations a man must meet to even spark my interest? That doesn’t make me a bad person. It doesn’t even make me difficult. It makes me smart.
It’s not me that keeps getting burned by men over and over. Yes, I got roasted once. Hurt so badly that I didn’t think I’d survive . . . but I did. And like all the songs say, I’m stronger for it. I’m even thankful for it. There’s no way I’d be the me I am without having had my heart smashed from the start.
“Maybe all those things don’t add up to the homerun you think they do,” I suggest.
“Maybe you’ll never know if you FU him.” A grin dances across her lips. “I’d have FU’d him in a much more gymnastic way.”
“I’m sure you would’ve,” I laugh.
We go back to the tasks at hand, Violet working on Halcyon’s website and me sorting through shipments of inventory for our new shop. Vi is the brains behind the operation with her business degree. I’m the sales specialist with my major in marketing. Our store is a little shop of affordable, stylish, and practical items for women. It’s not just clothes, but accessories, lifestyle items, and fun trinkets. The best part about our business model is that a percentage of every purchase goes to local charities, including Shelters for Savannah, the one closest to my heart.
The grin on my face that’s ever-present when I’m inside this building is pasted on my lips. I’ve never had something that makes me want to get up in the morning and just get after it before now. This isn’t just a job to me. It’s the start of a new life, one that I worked my tail off for.
After working my way through college in Florida, waiting tables and cleaning office buildings, I worked in marketing at an online company for a few years. I paid my dues, strategized, saved, and made my way. And here we are.
The door chimes in the front and Violet looks at me with a furrowed brow. “You expecting someone?” she asks.
“Nope.”
“Could be Mr. FU,” she teases.
“Oh,” I say with mock excitement. “Hold me back.”
“You’re such a jerk,” she laughs. “I’ll see who it is. I need to grab my water bottle anyway.” She takes off through the doorway towards what will be the sales floor. Her footsteps trail off under the hip-hop music she has playing from her phone through the sound system.
It’s a few minutes before I hear her clear her throat. Glancing up, she’s standing at the doorway with a huge smile on her face. She wiggles her eyebrows.
“What’s that all about?” I laugh.
“I hope he has a brother,” she giggles, walking towards me.