Page 93 of Six Month Wife
I wouldn’t blame him.
We talk about my life in LA for a bit, trading stories about times she’s traveled there for work. She gushes about the weather and the energy of the place, but I find myself admitting something I hadn’t realized until now.
“I don’t miss it as much as I thought I would,” I confess. “Palm Beach has this way of growing on you. The slower pace, the sense of community—it’s hard to find that in LA. Did Parker say you're in DC?”
Rose nods thoughtfully. “I get that. There’s somethingspecial about living somewhere that feels real, you know? LA’s fun, but it can be intense. Yes, I live in DC, and it's the perfect blend for me in this business. I get the big city and the small town vibe at the same time.”
“Exactly,” I say, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie with her.
As we pivot back to the business, Rose becomes all professionalism, her influencer persona slipping into place. We go through each product, and I walk her through the key features and benefits.
“This coffee bean exfoliant,” she says, holding up the jar, “is genius. People are obsessed with coffee scrubs right now, and the fact that yours uses sustainable ingredients is going to be a huge selling point. Plus, I can't get enough of the smell.”
“Do you think it would resonate with your audience?” I ask, trying to keep my nerves in check.
“Are you kidding?” she says, laughing. “Adair, my followers eat this stuff up. They love products that are high-quality but also have a story behind them. You and your wellness café, your brand, your journey, it’s all so authentic. That’s what people connect with in this space.”
Her words bolster my confidence. We spend the next twenty minutes discussing a potential collaboration, from how she’ll integrate the products into her content to the best way to highlight their unique qualities.
I mention the script ideas I’ve drafted, but Rose waves her hand dismissively.
“Send them over, for sure,” she says, “but I’ll tailor them to fit my style. Trust me, I know how to make these things shine.”
“I trust you,” I say sincerely. “Thank you for believing in this.”
She flashes me a wide smile. “Thank Parker. He’s theone who had the idea for me to take a look. I’m so glad he did, because this is fire.”
By the time we wrap up the call, I’m practically buzzing with excitement. We’ve finalized the deal: Rose will post a series of social media videos featuring my products, along with a detailed review on her YouTube channel.
What's more, she won't let me pay her a penny. This kind of exposure would cost me tens of thousands of dollars, if not more. It’s exactly what my brand needs, and I can already picture the orders rolling in.
After we say goodbye and the screen goes dark, I lean back in my chair and let out a long breath. It’s like a weight has been lifted. For the first time in weeks, things are starting to turn around.
I pull up my email and quickly type out a message to Rose, attaching the scripts I’d written. Even though she’ll likely adapt them, I want to give her a starting point so it's less work for her.
Rose,
Thank you so much for your time today. I’ve attached the draft scripts we discussed, but please feel free to tweak them as needed. I trust your expertise completely, and I'm fine with whatever you come up with. Looking forward to seeing what magic you create!
Warm regards,
Adair
As I hit send, I glance over at the display of products on my desk. This is it. This is the break I’ve been chasing since the day I opened Citrine.
I close my laptop and let out a slow breath. There’s still so much work ahead—but for the first time in weeks, it feels like I’m not doing it alone.
Parker didn’t have to set this up. He didn’t have to goout of his way to connect me with Rose, or step back and let the spotlight fall on me. But he did. Just like he said he would.
He’s always followed through. Every promise, every late-night talk, every quiet moment where he gave me space instead of pressure. The trust we’ve built—quietly, steadily—it’s no small thing.
I lean back in my chair, the citrus scent of the room wrapping around me like a promise. Maybe it’s not all fake after all.
The sun is sinkinglow over the horizon, painting the beach in golden hues as Parker and I sit on a blanket in the sand. A breeze carries the salty tang of the ocean, and the waves lap rhythmically against the shore.
Between us is a chilled bottle of champagne and two glasses, the bubbles sparkling in the last light of the day.
“To Citrine,” Parker says, lifting his glass with a crooked smile. “And to you for pulling off what’s bound to be the start of a major success.”
