Page 194 of The Havenport Collection

Nora

P eople had been underestimating me my entire life. Between my attitude, which got me labeled a “bad student” in grade school, and my rack, which got me labeled a “bimbo” as an adult, I just couldn’t fucking win.

I was a badass businesswoman. But the world had not caught up to me yet.

They hadn’t realized that Nora Rossi was a bad bitch who deserved to be taken seriously.

Nope. I was a woman. And I was young. And I was curvy.

At some point, I was going to make them see past their snap judgments.

But I had the distinct feeling that today was not that day.

I stood up as straight as I could and looked these fuckers in the eye. If they were going to reject me and waste weeks of my time, I wasn’t going to make it easy for them. I would make these suits say it all to my face.

“Ms. Rossi, we’re just not sure who your customer is,” said the middle-aged suit at the head of the table.

“Yes,” echoed junior suit on his right-hand side. I had noticed that his job was just to agree with whatever the head suit said.

I pasted on a wide smile. “I’m happy to walk you back through my pitch deck. Jeanious Bar serves a wide customer base, and that’s by design. We strive for diversity in our customers and our products. I cater to all sizes, shapes, and price points.”

“But retail is failing,” sweaty suit remarked.

He was chunky and appeared to be sweating through his custom shirt.

He was also the one I had caught blatantly checking out my rack when I walked in.

This was a business meeting, and I was a potential investment opportunity.

You would think I would get a modicum of respect.

But of course not. I was a woman, and my conservative black business suit could only hide so much of my abundant T wanna stop by? Liam is canning the new seasonal so I’m camped out here working. Come by and we can order some pizza.”

I loved Cece dearly and had since kindergarten, but I just couldn’t do it tonight. I couldn’t hang with her and her gorgeous, devoted husband, in the brewery that they had both worked so hard to make a success.

And not because I was jealous. I loved them both and wanted only the best things for them. But because I was feeling sorry for myself.

I hated feeling sorry for myself. So I did what I always did—hide out and wait until it passed. Because I never showed weakness in public if I could avoid it.

“It was the same shit, different high-rise office. A bunch of suits staring at me and asking dumb questions before politely showing me the door. I can’t believe I let myself think I could do this. Why can’t I be happy with what I’ve got?”

I wanted to slap myself. I sounded exactly like my mother, wet blanket extraordinaire.

“Why can’t you be happy with your little store, Nora?

” she would ask. “ There is no need to be so ambitious, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.

” Or, “you’re not getting any younger, you should put less time into your store and more time into dating.

Mr. Right isn’t just going to show up one day and rescue you. ”

She was forever shitting on my life choices and poking at my insecurities. She had a complete meltdown when I announced I was going to buy a house, telling me that women can only buy homes when they are married, as if this was actually 1936 or something.

“Nora, are you okay? This sounds like a code 4 friendship alarm. Say no more; I’ll be over shortly.”

“Stop,” I pleaded. “I know I sound depressed, but I swear I’m just tired, okay? Stay at the brewery and hang out with Liam.”

“Are you sure? I could get ice cream and wine on the way.”

Cece was an incredible friend. “I promise. Tonight I just need to deal with some invoices and get a good night’s sleep. I’ve got Krav Maga at seven tomorrow.”

Cece sighed, clearly not buying what I was selling. “Fine. But call or text if you want to talk more. And I will get the full story out of you eventually.”

I dropped my phone on my bed and tried to muster up the energy to shower.

It could wait until tomorrow. I was going to watch Netflix on my computer and take some melatonin and hopefully get some sleep.

I had spent the last few weeks in an anxious spiral about my house and my business and needed to recharge so I could push forward.

And this was not how I operated. I always had my shit together. I handled everything life threw at me and looked great in the process. But as I looked up at the water-stained ceiling of my bedroom, I felt my heart sink. Maybe I really was in over my head?