Page 48 of Six Month Wife
“This is our Radiance Renewal Face Cream,” I say, holding up a small jar with a matte finish and gold lettering. “It’s designed to hydrate and rejuvenate the skin, using all-natural ingredients sourced from sustainable suppliers.”
I hand the jar to Evelyn, who studies it for a momentbefore passing it to Laura. Laura inspects the packaging with a critical eye, nodding slightly but saying nothing.
“This one is our Blissful Body Balm,” I continue, holding up a larger jar. “It’s perfect for dry or sensitive skin and has a subtle lavender scent that’s both calming and luxurious.”
I go through each product in turn, describing its benefits and the care that went into its development.
My passion is evident in my voice as I speak, the way it always comes out when I talk about my work. These products are more than items on a shelf. They’re a piece of me, a reflection of everything I’ve poured into this business.
When I finish, Evelyn sets down the final jar and folds her hands on the table. “You’re certainly enthusiastic,” she says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Reminds me of myself when I was your age.”
“Thank you,” I say, sitting a little straighter.
“But,” she continues, and my heart sinks at the word.
The fucking “but.”
“The packaging comes across very youthful."
Her finger taps the bottle. "It's, and don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s almost like a knock off of true luxury. The colors are a bit dated. And I don’t think matte black is the best choice for the base color.”
I flush slightly. In this environment, for the first time, I can see what she means. I never thought about my packaging as looking anything but luxury at an affordable price. But now, I get it.
And like that, I’m back in seventh grade, realizing I wore the wrong shoes to the cool table. Only now, the shoes cost way more, and the rejection’s wrapped in a cashmere smile.
She smiles kindly. “It’s not a problem for your target audience. I dare say none of them will even notice. It’sclear you’re targeting a younger demographic with this design choice on the packaging, which is fine, but I hope you can understand when I say that it doesn’t resonate with someone like me.”
I nod, trying not to let the comments sting. “I understand. I wanted the design to be fresh and modern, and luxurious, yes. But I’m open to feedback. If you think there’s a way to make it more appealing to a broader audience, I’d love to hear your thoughts.”
Evelyn exchanges a glance with Laura, who finally speaks up. “The products themselves seem promising,” Laura says.
“Thank you,” I say, for the first time directing my attention toward her.
“The branding needs a bit of refinement if you’re looking to attract a wider market beyond Gen Z and some Millennials.”
Evelyn nods in agreement. “I don’t know much about product lines, but I do know people who can assess this for me. I’ll have my financial advisor take a look at your pitch deck and run the numbers. It’s not a no, but I need more information before I can make a decision.”
It’s not the answer I was hoping for, but it’s not a flat-out rejection either.
I force a smile, trying to focus on the fact that the door isn’t entirely closed. “I appreciate that. Thank you for considering it.”
Evelyn leans forward, her expression softening slightly. “Don’t lose that fire, Adair. It’s what sets you apart. But remember, passion alone isn’t enough. You need a solid plan, the right connections, and a little luck. Keep that in mind.”
“I will,” I say, my voice steady despite the lump forming in my throat.
As the meeting wraps up, I gather my products and place them back into the pouch, careful not to let my disappointment show. Evelyn Thatcher might not be the savior I was hoping for, but I’m not giving up.
If I’ve learned anything from running a business, it’s that setbacks are part of the process.
As I step outside into the cool evening air, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting maybe Parker or a message from Citrine, but instead, Jenna’s name flashes across the screen.
A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Leave it to Jenna to call at the exact moment I need her most.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s tapped into my emotional GPS. Just when the voice in my head is sayingRecalculating, Jenna always shows up to steer me back on course, usually with a smartass comment and unsolicited dating advice.
I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, Jenna.”
“Addy! How’s my favorite entrepreneur-slash-workaholic-slash-miracle worker doing today?”
