Page 11 of Night and Day
“How long have you been making cosmetics?”
“For years, mostly as a hobby. Then four years ago I quit my job to devote more time to my products. I took a major leap of faith, and two years ago—finally—I moved from making products in my kitchen to the space I rent. That was scary.”
She still remembered the day she signed the lease, the knots in the stomach, the doubts—wondering if she were crazy and moving too fast. Ignoring her father’s warnings that maybe she was moving too fast. But by expanding her workspace she could make larger batches of products and store them in a climate-controlled environment.
“Owning my own business hasn’t been what I envisioned,” she admitted. She couldn’t believe she was telling him that. She hadn’t told anyone else, including her best friends. She’d been too busy pretending that she loved being an entrepreneur.
“What did you envision?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure, but it’s a lot of work, and I don’t enjoy most of it.”
His eyebrows lifted higher. “That’s not the answer I expected.”
Her cheeks heated. “I know, but I know my limitations. I’m an idea person, a creative. I love being in the lab, but managing the business sucks, and it’s harder than I thought. I don’t like having to do everything myself—marketing, financials, et cetera, et cetera, but I can’t afford to hire help.”
“Or maybe you can’t afford to not hire help. That’s how you scale up,” Anton said.
She’d heard that advice before, but the idea was daunting. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I have the ability to turn my company into a multimillion-dollar business. But I want to.”
Anton’s eyes became thoughtful. “Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I’m being realistic. And honestly…” Tamika paused. She didn’t normally open up so easily to people. She shared almost everything with her best friends, but Anton wasn’t a friend. He was more or less a stranger, but he seemed genuinely interested in learning more about her and her business, which encouraged her to divulge more. “The reason I’m in this profession was because of my sister.”
There. The truth was out.
He frowned. “She encouraged you to do it?”
Tamika cast her eyes around the large open space at the other people quietly talking at the few occupied tables. She sipped her drink, relishing the lemony flavor before she continued. “No, she—Camela, that’s my sister’s name—wanted to be a doctor, and I guess you could say that I idolized her. She was pretty and smart. Made all A’s, played sports, and was president of the French club, all of that. The perfect student. Anyway, she passed away when I was in high school, when she was a few years into Emory University on a full ride scholarship.
“She got sick one day, but being the hard worker that she was, she continued studying, going to her part-time job, and pushing through. She became so sick, her roommates had to physically carry her to the doctor, but by then it was too late. Respiratory failure, from pneumonia. Can you believe that? A twenty-one-year-old dying of complications from pneumonia.” A small burst of pain filled her chest, and Tamika’s shoulders drooped.
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
“It still hurts, but I’m fine. I was in high school at the time, a full thirteen years ago, and I’ve had plenty of time to recover. Before that, all I cared about was fashion and looking cute.” She laughed.
Anton didn’t comment, but his gaze swept her frame, and her bare arms tingled at his silent inspection.
“When Camela passed, I wanted to do something more. I decided I wanted to become a doctor because that’s what she wanted, but halfway through undergrad I realized her path wasn’t for me. The good news was, I did find out that I enjoyed science and ended up focusing on chemistry.”
“Do you feel like you’ve completely recovered from her death?” Anton asked. The question was asked in a low voice, his light eyes intense.
“Yeah. I mean, it was hard at first for me and my family. Everybody loved Cam, but then it got easier as time went by.” She watched him nod and tip the tumbler of dark liquid to his lips. “You know what it’s like to lose a sibling though, don’t you? Your twin?”
“Yeah.” Anton became preoccupied with staring down into the contents of his glass.
She knew that look. She’d seen it many times on her parents’ faces after Camela died. The look of avoidance. The look of prolonged grief, not hidden as well as the bearer had hoped.
“How did he die?” she asked.
He laughed, but it was an uncomfortable sound and lacked any humor. He looked ill-at-ease and rubbed his palms up and down his thighs. “That’s not why we’re here. We’re getting too serious.” He glanced over at the bar. “Where’s that waitress? I’m starving.”
“Come on, Anton, I bared my soul to you about my sister. The least you could do is tell me a little something about your brother.” Tamika prodded him in a soft voice, careful not to push too hard because she suspected she was dangerously close to crossing a line he didn’t want her anywhere near, and that could cause him to shut down completely.
“He died a long time ago—much longer ago than when your sister died.” The loss of his brother obviously still pained him deeply. He couldn’t even look at her.
“How long ago?” Tamika asked gently.
He groaned and scrubbed a hand back and forth across the top of his head. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
