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“I—” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I rub at the back of my neck and scrub my hand down my face. “Okay. Some of those companies were failing because they sucked,” I say bluntly, and everyone sitting at the table laughs, or snorts, or in Deb’s case, throws a cookie at my head. I duck out of the way and Justin runs his hand down my back, wiping off the crumbs that are now fluttering from the air. I scowl in my former assistant’s direction, but all she does is smirk at me and pretend to hide behind my pregnant lover.
“Anyway…some of those businesses were only failing because they didn’t know how to succeed. Or because they needed—something. Money, handholding, a push in the right direction,something, to get over the hump of stagnicity they were trapped in.”
Deb smiles softly, nodding her head, encouraging me to go on.
“I could have helped with that.” I toss my hard in Deb’s direction. “Wecould have helped with that!”
“Sounds like what you want to do is run a consulting firm,” Mrs. Jones says like it’s the simplest thing in the world.
“But aren’t consulting firms a dime a dozen?” Jules throws out there.
“Yup,” I say.
“Not good ones,” Deb adds. “Not good ones that are affordable to people who aren’t already successful. Like Rem said, a lot of times money is the main issue. If I had to choose spending twenty thousand for a consulting firm or putting twenty thousand directly back into my business, I’d pick putting the money right back into inventory or a marketing staff.”
She’s got a point. Oftentimes, marketing would be the way to go, but they don’tknowthat they should be spending twenty thousand on marketing to make fifty thousand by the end of the year.
“Not for profit business consulting?” I say, rolling the idea around in my brain. Even not-for-profit makes enough overhead to pay their bills and pay their employees. I was…am, damn good at my job. I could make a difference and do it by charging five grand instead of twelve.
Or charging nothing at all. There are grants and public funding that might cover a lot of the start-up investment costs if we were opening a nonprofit.
“You know, you could make it more specific than that,” Justin says. He raps his knuckles on the table and twirls his phone in a circle on the table. “What about a business consulting company that offers advice for minority-owned businesses? Members of the LGBTQA+ community and business owners of color.”
A buzzing tingles through my bloodstream and my breathing picks up in tempo as the thought burrows into my chest and starts to take root and bloom.
“You could do that,” Deb whispers, forcing my gaze on her. “You could so do that, Rem. You’d be—” She smiles at me, almost bouncing in her chair. “You’d be awesome at that.”
“You mean us, right?” I say without a moment’s hesitation. “Cause it would have to be us. We’re a team. You’ve been my right hand since a month after I started at Lancaster.”
“But…” Deb’s eyes are boggled, looking back and forth between us. At all four of us, cause Mrs. Jones is sitting at the table smirking like I imagine the presidents’ wives smirk when they suggest their husbands avert international war and said husband takes credit for it as their own idea.
Deb’s heartbeat flutters like a hummingbird in the soft spot of her throat.
“I’ll pay you,” I say needlessly, because of course I’ll pay her, but she chokes, and Jules laughs, and maybe they didn’t realize this would be a paying gig. “I mean, of course I’ll pay you. But—”
“What he means is you’d be partners, obviously,” Justin adds helpfully, rolling his eyes and climbing up from the table.
“Yes. That!” I hurry to agree. A thousand different ideas are tumbling through my mind, and I—“Yes! Thank you!” I crow to Justin as he slips back to the table, handing me my iPad. He flicks the stand on his and pulls up his facetime, dialing his sister, of all people.
“Justin, man, what are you—”
“Sis!” Justin shouts when Briana answers the line, a loving sibling insult fresh on her tongue.
“Dipshit!” she cries back, causing laughter to break out behind her. She’s still in a suit and, from the looks of it, still at the office. “What do you want, J?” she asks, the screen jumbling and the background changing until a door shuts and she sits down in what I can only assume is her office. “And where’s Jules? I don’t care about you. Let me talk to the mother of your child. We need to plan a spa day without you boneheads. Maybe Remi. He’s pretty. He can come if he wants.”
“Love you, too,” I say with a laugh, always amused at the way these two talk to each other. It’s both beautiful and depressing to me that they treat each other like garbage yet would happily help one another hide a body. Or do the killing themselves, for that matter, when my own family only speaks with the utmost manners and civility but couldn’t be bothered to do so much as offer a hug.
“Jules is great. She’s glowing. You can talk to her in a minute. But first, talk to me about selling off part of our stock portfolio. I need some money.”
The playful banter falls from her face, and foreboding concern takes its place.
“Why?” Bri demands. Her phone moves again and settles on her desk as she fires up her laptop. “What happened? What’s going on? Is everything okay?”
Justin meets my eye and reaches for my hand over the table, linking his fingers with mine.
“Never better, sis. Remi and Deb are going to start a non-profit. I’m going to fund it.”
Deborah makes a choking sound. Julia claps and blows Justin a kiss.
