Loving War (11 page)

Chapter 12

TRIA

“Tell me we’re on the road to success,” Leo, my business partner—the brain behind the formula of Beauty Graffiti—says over the phone.

I feel like a constant failure. His part is done, but I keep falling short on my end.

“Another
no.
Sorry, Leo. Regret taking this leap with me yet?”

He sighs over the phone, but he doesn’t say anything negative. Never does. “It takes time, Tria. We’re new and trying to compete with brands that have been out there for forever. You fronted all the cash, so that means you’re taking the majority of the risk. You gave me a chance to do this when no one else would even review my proposal, so no. I sure as hell don’t regret going into business with you. I have faith you’ll get it out there. Internet sales are doing decent for a new launch at least.”

Only because Ash knows all the tricks to get our line to show up in search engines. But the sales aren’t enough to keep the business afloat. Very few people internet shop for new makeup. Leo just assumes those numbers are big, when in reality, they’re actually very small.

“I’ve got more lined up. I’ll drive them all crazy before I give up,” I assure him.

He laughs before saying, “I’m sure you will. Hey, is something up? Darla said she was forwarding all your mail to another address when I asked her to send you some fresh samples.”

Damn. One more person who has to know. “I’ll be fine. Just staying with a friend until some drama gets sorted out.”

“Guy or girl?” he asks, prying. I can almost hear his smile.

“Guy, and no, it’s not anyone you know.”

He snickers before speaking again. “Fine. Fine. Well, let me know if you need anything else for the meetings.”

“Thanks, Leo. I swear I’ll eventually get us a break.”

“I know you will. And let me know if you ever need a place to stay. Jake wouldn’t mind you staying with us.”

“Thanks, Leo.”

Hanging up, I continue going over my short notes from the meeting. I barely got to tell her my opening line before she started taking calls and ignoring me. How do I keep someone’s attention?

It’s hard to focus on work when your personal life is all twisted up.

I hate drama. I really do. There should be a screening process and background check done on men before they’re allowed to date someone. All that information should go to the woman considering a relationship. That would be a great way to avoid lunatics like Pete.

“How’d your meeting go?” Kode asks as he walks in, loosening his tie while dropping off his briefcase by the bedroom door.

He apparently has to work late some nights.

“It… went.” That’s all I can stomach divulging. It’s hard to distribute a line of cosmetics when no one will even look over your proposal. Five minutes into the meeting, the woman was standing, making up a lame excuse as to why she was cutting our visit short. Then I was shown out of the office by a very smug secretary who seemed to revel in my misery.

He comes to drop beside me on the bed, and I snuggle over to him. It has been three days since Pete Mercer showed up and rocked my world, but Kode has been amazing. It’d be really easy to get used to seeing him like this.

As his arms slide around me, he tugs me to him. “You want to show me your proposal? I can look it over and see if I can point out anything you might need to adjust for maximum potential.”

It’s like he actually cares, which is making me grin like a fool. “No. I need you to tell me how to keep people interested long enough to make it to the proposal portion of the meeting.”

He frowns as he looks down at me.

“I can do that, Tria. Whenever you want.”

Wearing only one of his T-shirts and my panties, I roll over to straddle his waist, staring down at him as I prepare to recite my presentation. “Beauty Graffiti has been developed by some of the—”

“I’ll buy in,” he says, grinning down at the lacy red panties his fingers are strumming over.

Rolling my eyes, I continue, “Has been developed by one of the industries newest and brightest minds. It’s a mineral compound that guarantees anything from light acne coverage to fine line coverage that is only found in products that cost twice as much to manufacture—”

“You need to move that to the front of your entry,” he says more seriously, running his hands up and down my legs. “If they know they have a good product for half the price, they’re immediately intrigued. Lead with that, and have valid proof ready to show them. Maybe a binder with that as the first, non-introductory page. That’s what would sell me. Don’t mention the one who manufactured it unless you have a name worth dropping. That’s essentially saying you have someone no one has heard of yet.”

That’s actually helpful, and I lean over to grab my phone and make a note of it. He grins up at me as I finish typing it into my notepad app, and then I put my phone back down.

“Keep going,” he says.

His fingers start tracing lines on my legs as I continue, trying to remember the rest of my key points.

“The urban style packaging will appeal to anyone from ages thirteen to forty—”

“Age gap is too much. Slim it down, since it sounds unrealistic. Even if you have studies to prove it, it still seems too farfetched, and it will make them apprehensive about trusting any of your other information.”

Again I make a note, because that makes perfect sense. “Thirteen to thirty?” I ask.

“Better. You can always add styles to represent other ages, then add that to your explanation as to why the age gap is so vast.”

I grin down at him and brush my lips over his in a silent show of appreciation.

“Keep going,” he prompts, and I do. I finish the entire speech, only pausing for him to insert his notes. It’s amazing how much better my opening sounds by the time he has it tweaked. What I wouldn’t do to constantly have him around to bounce ideas off of.

He has built numerous businesses, so I trust he knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s explanatory, giving details as to why certain things should be omitted or should be expanded upon. He shifts the order of some things around, and by the time we’re finished, it’s a masterfully prepared presentation.

What I thought was going to be a playful bed conversation, turns into a two hour event, and I’m excited instead of nervous about my business for once. We’ve broken out a bottle of wine, spread out a makeshift workspace on the bedroom floor, and turned this into a fun tweaking session.

He helps me rearrange my binders, sitting with me and talking about the graffiti styled casing, brushes, and bags that go with it. He’s actually wowed with the visual appeal, because he believes it’s definitely going to catch eyes.

Graffiti is safe, because it’s something that has always been cool in a
bad
sort of way. It’s also classy when used right, and I rode the thin line of hip and refined.

“This is really impressive,” he says, grinning over at me as we finish the last of the binders. “I see this taking off for you, as long as you find the right people to present it to.”

For the first time since I started this line, I feel completely and totally vindicated. The sting of all those rejections slowly fades away, because Kode Sterling doesn’t bullshit to spare your feelings. When he says it’s good, then it’s good.

“That’s what I’m working on,” I say with a sigh.

“You’re aiming mostly at smaller department store chains, right?” he asks, taking a sip of his wine as he leans back.

“Yeah. They’re the only ones willing to even pretend to take meetings with me.”

Great. I sound like I’m pouting.

He studies me for a moment, looking intense. “Can I suggest changing your strategy?”

I shrug, willing to take any guidance he has.

“Department stores expect merchandise at their demand, so that’s the main reason they’re dismissing you. You won’t be able to outsource the manufacturing if this takes off. It’s fine to outsource for samples and such, but it’s not a long term plan.”

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.

“Nope. I just wanted him to call Aunt Margaret and Uncle Paul and send his condolences. I give up.”

My fingers start running through her hair, and she snuggles her head into a different spot on my chest.

“Can I ask something and you not get mad?” she asks softly, her voice thick with hesitation.

“Sure,” I say, figuring it’s probably something about Rain.

“Why aren’t you the best man in the wedding? And why do things seem so tense between you and Dane?”