In those two words, I hear disbelief which means she must think Rich is crazy for offering it to me, which means I’m not worthy.
I start to stammer. “I know you never approved of my career path, and you probably think it’s stupid and unambitious but—”
“Actually, I think it’s a marvelous idea,” she exclaims, coming to sit next to me on the bench. “I mean… yeah, I didn’t want you to be a manager of baristas your entire life, but owning a business is a commendable undertaking. And you already know everything about running it and how to keep it profitable.”
I’m so relieved to have her support, and I revel in this moment of glory that she’s being supportive of something I want to do rather than disapproving.
But, as so often happens with my sister, she manages to cast a little damper on things. Rising from the bench to go back to her jewelry selections, she offhandedly says, “Plus… you have your mental health under excellent control now with the medications. That shouldn’t be a hindrance to you owning a business.”
My gaze drops to my hands, which are now clenched in my lap. Fallon’s never been sympathetic to my issues, and I’ve always believed they’ve been a bit of an embarrassment to her. It’s sad she thinks I’m better with medications, especially since I haven’t been on them in years. I’ve just learned to control my weirdness and keep my crazy thoughts to myself, but I’m not about to share that information with her. I’m just going to go with the fact she supports my idea.
“He needs two hundred thousand cash, and he’ll finance the rest,” I say, lifting my eyes back to hers.
Fallon whistles. “That’s a lot of money. What are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” I reply, frowning. “I don’t have that type of money.”
“Well,” she says thoughtfully and with a bit of criticism in her voice. “It seems to me you’re giving up a little too early. You could ask me for some of the money. I don’t have two hundred thousand, but I’ll give you what I can. You could apply for a loan for the remainder. Or you could renegotiate the amount down, get a silent investor, or even try to find a partner. You have a lot of options, Finley, so you can’t just dismiss it out of hand because the task seems insurmountable right now.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt such a flush of true affection for my sister. As we’ve gotten older and drifted apart, it’s been hard to connect.
But the mere fact she believes in me and has offered to help has me practically ready to ruin my eye makeup with tears.
She must sense I’m on the verge of messing up all her hard work because she gives me a bright smile and pulls me up from the bench. “Listen… let’s get this evening behind us, then tomorrow you and I will sit and make a game plan on how you can accomplish this.”
There are a million things I could say to Fallon, but all I can do is take the initiative this time and pull her into a hug. Like I was earlier today, she’s surprised by the spontaneous affection and is stiff at first, but then her arms come around me, and the embrace turns warm and meaningful.
Maybe this is a turning point in our relationship, I think, realizing I would not mind that at all.
CHAPTER 4
Finley
Fallon and I arrive at her gallery an hour before the show starts, although it’s clear setup has been going on for far longer. Caterers bustle around, setting up tables of little canapes that are barely big enough to chew, fresh sashimi, and delicate pastries. Waiters fill large silver buckets of ice on pedestals within which they push down bottles of expensive champagne to grab at the ready. More tables have nothing but fluted crystal glasses for the bubbly.
There are still men on ladders making slight adjustments to some of the large-scale paintings, and Fallon immediately moves into owner mode, sailing around to make sure all the preparations are on schedule.
I’ve already got a slight headache brewing just from the anxiety of having to socialize with people I have nothing in common with. Deciding to hang out in Fallon’s office, I carefully make my way there on the spiky-heeled shoes I’m wearing.
After Fallon got her degree in Fine Arts, she managed a gallery for three years. It had always been her dream to have her own business and with the help of her very wealthy boyfriend-soon-to-be-husband, she opened this gallery—simply called Fallon’s—a mere two years ago. However, with Blain’s contacts and Fallon’s exquisite taste and eye for detail, it quickly became known as “the” place to find timeless pieces created by fresh, new artists who had the promise to become big.
It’s a gorgeous space located right on First Avenue in Belltown. Big windows, black lacquered floors, and pristine white walls make it the perfect space to display the treasures she shows for commission, most of which lean toward the contemporary. The prices she charges ensure that, with or without marrying into the Stratherton family, Fallon will have a comfortable life.
Looking back over our childhood, and through the tribulations of being raised by a single father who was not all that mentally stable, I think Fallon was the ambitious child. She was industrious, forward-thinking, and always eager to accept a challenge.
Frankly, she was my hero, and I always told myself, “I want to be more like Fallon.”
Not exactly how it turned out, though.
While Fallon flits about, I settle into her small office at the rear of the gallery. The dress she has me in isn’t all that comfortable—way too tight to be honest—so I can’t sprawl on her loveseat against the wall. Instead, I take a prim seat on the edge, noting the dress has a scandalous slit up the side, and pull my phone out of the small black handbag Fallon had given me.
For the next hour, I do research, using search terms such as “owning your own business” and “silent partners” and “how to leverage equity in your home as collateral”. I get sucked down different rabbit holes, finding myself having to back up and start again. My head swims with information overload, but I keep plugging away at it.
I pull up a new search field on Google, then type in, “organizations that help startup companies” and dive down that tunnel of swirling information. There are governmental agencies and private philanthropies. There are “private investors” but the interest rates they charge are exorbitant, and I’d be indebted to them forever.
All of it is very depressing to me and if I were even to attempt buying the shop from Rich, it would be incredibly difficult to achieve.
My inclination at this point is to back away and let Rich sell to someone else. I can hope to keep my job and position, and maybe nothing will change.
“Hey, you,” I hear from the doorway, glancing up to see Fallon. “Doors are opening in five minutes, and I’d like you by mine and Blain’s side when they do.”
I nod, slipping my phone in the bag and rising from the couch.
Fallon surveys me, eyes running the length of my body. She moves toward me, adjusting a few locks of my hair that loosely frame my face. After checking the cuff at the end of the braid draped over my shoulder, she finally nods with approval. “You are truly stunning tonight, Finley.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a stab of pleasure in my chest. I’ve never felt stunning as she just called me. On some days, I might be passably pretty, but mostly I’m probably just unique in the way a sore thumb would stand out. Pretty or not. Stunning or drab. Either or.