Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“You are.” I glance at my phone, noting a missed call from Brunson. I haven’t heard much from the lawyer since Edward went in. I’ll call him back later. I plate a slice of iced cinnamon loaf and slide it across the counter to Hendrix. “Now, what have you been working on?”
She takes a bite of the loaf and groans, dragging the whole pan to her. “This is all mine.”
I drag it back, laughing. “No, it’s not. I promised Yasmen I’d save her some. She’s doing me a huge favor picking up Lottie and Inez. I had the live broadcast with that reality-chef person today.”
“Ahh. Well, Yasmen’s lucky she’s doing us a favor, or no cinnamon loaf for her.” Hendrix takes another bite, aiming her fork at me. “Have you heard of Haven?”
“Of course. The lifestyle brand by Sofie Baston Bishop. Really high end, right? Fashion, home, wellness.” I serve up a small slice of cinnamon loaf for myself. “I used to love her stuff when I could afford it.”
“What if her stuff”—Hendrix pauses to give me a huge smile—“becomes your stuff?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s looking for a partner for the budget-friendly tier of her brand, and she’s seen you online. Been tracking you and is very impressed.”
“What?” I’m left speechless for a few seconds, processing that someone as powerful and influential as Sofie Baston Bishop, a former top model known as the Goddess, wants to partner with me.
“She knows all the shit that went down with Edward,” Hendrix continues. “Because of course she’d thoroughly vet anyone she’s considering working with.”
“And?” I ask, crumbling a corner of cinnamon loaf between my fingers. “Is she hesitant about working with a felon’s ex-wife?”
“No hesitation at all. In fact, the way you’ve pulled yourself up and rallied to support your family makes the prospect of working with you even more appealing. Plus she really wants her brand to be inclusive.”
“Ugh. Is it gonna be weird performative shit? Like I’m white, but look how progressive I am working with fill-in-the-blank BIPOC?”
“Not performative, but she does want to give back, and she would like her brand to be proactively inclusive. Her father-in-law is Indigenous. Sofie has already partnered with a few Indigenous creators on some projects. She’d love to work with you too.”
“That’s pretty incredible.”
“It absolutely could be. She was thinking Haven x Sol, but is open to suggestions. It might be a precursor to your own lifestyle brand.”
“This is big, Hen.” I meet the excitement on her face with a smile of my own. “I couldn’t be happier.”
Hendrix chews thoughtfully, her eyes not leaving my face. “I’m ’bout to make you the mogul mama. Seems like you could be a little happier, actually. I expected through the roof. You’re not quite at the rafters. You okay?”
“Yeah. No. I mean, I’m really happy about this. And I’m okay. Just turning a lot of stuff over in my head.” I trace the pewter swirls in the marble counter. “Mostly what I’m gonna do about Judah.”
“The drama with Inez?”
“Well, yes, that, but he kind of suggested we back off until I’m ready for an actual relationship.”
“Were the two of you not in an actual relationship? Wasn’t he hitting it every chance he got?”
I try to shame her with a chastising look, but this is Hendrix, and shame is not an emotion with which she’s intimate.
“I’m just saying it’s semantics.” Hendrix shrugs. “You’ve come a long way since Edward left you high and dry. You needed that time right after to stand on your own two feet. You did that.”
Watch me.
That was my response when Edward predicted I wouldn’t survive without him. Subconsciously, his scorn was just as much a driving force as anything I’d needed to prove to myself.
“But—and correct me if I’m wrong—” Hendrix continues, “there were other things you needed too. I know you want to be whole, but I think being whole means acknowledging all your parts. And there are parts of you that want to be held, want to be needed and loved. That is just as emotionally valid as the parts of you that crave independence.”
“Maybe I was so worried about making sure I’m independent,” I admit, “that I didn’t feel I could acknowledge those parts of me that long to share my life with someone.”
“You know now that you can do it on your own,” Hendrix says softly. “But you also know that when the right person comes along, you don’t have to—at least not to prove something. Don’t we spend enough of our lives proving shit to people?”
“He said he wants to build a life with me,” I tell her, swallowing the emotion welling in my throat as I recall the rawness of his words that night. “On our terms, no one else’s. I told him I’m not sure I ever want to remarry.”