“Oh?” Gregory looks interested.

“My makeup line.”

His smile drops. “Look—”

“Let me show you.” I say quickly, before he can blow me off. I pass him my samples, launching into the pitch I’ve been rehearsing all week. “The lipsticks use all-natural ingredients, completely vegan and cruelty-free. Plus, I focus on creating shades that work for every skin tone and color, which is still an underserved market, especially at the luxury end!”

I flip off a cap to show him a luscious matte red shade, universally flattering on every skin tone—and I would know, I’ve had every single person I know test it.

“Plus, lipsticks are only the beginning,” I add, producing a glossy brochure that cost an unspeakable amount to produce. In fact, between ingredients, tests, and packaging, it’s pretty much my entire savings spread out on the desk in front of him. “I have cream blush, eyeshadow, even a primer—”

“Yes, yes,” Gregory interrupts, in the tone of voice that says, ‘No, no.’ “So, you’re not interested in the management position?”

“Not right now,” I reply, my hopes deflating as Gregory gets to his feet. “But please, take some time with the samples. You’ll see, they’re exactly what our customers are looking for.”

Gregory looks at them, dubious. “The Fleishman’s customer expects quality. Maybe you should try somewhere more appropriate. The drugstore, maybe?”

Ouch. That insult stings worse than that one ill-fated summer trip to Myrtle Beach, when I unknowingly wandered into a cluster of jellyfish. Contrary to urban legend, no hot lifeguards jogged up and offered to ease my pain.

But still, I’m no quitter. And I’ve faced plenty of rejection to even make it this far. “My products speak for themselves,” I insist. “You’ll see. Take them, think about it, that’s all I ask.”

Gregory sighs and shoves them into his bag without a second glance. “I need to get on the road, traffic to the Hamptons is a nightmare on a Friday,” he explains.

“Oh, absolutely,” I agree, as if my weekend plans also involve a jaunt to my beach house. “Don’t you just hate that?”

“I’ll see you Monday,” he says, heading for the door. “And please, do think about the promotion.”

“If you think about my samples!” I call after him.

He strides away, and I release a shaky sigh. That definitely didn’t go the way I’d hoped—gasps, praise, a massive order—but maybe once Gregory has the time to inspect the samples from the comfort of his pool, he’ll be wowed by my originality and brilliance.

Maybe.

I exit after Gregory, back to the main floor. He pauses to talk to one of the other department heads, then heads for the front doors, pausing to toss something into the garbage can outside.

Something that looks awfully familiar.

He heads off to frolic in the Hamptons, but I freeze in place, my stomach dropping.

Oh no he didn’t.

“Callie?” Lorelei asks. “How did it go?”

“It’s going,” I answer grimly, sprinting after him. I push through the crowd of customers, and barrel out the doors onto the busy sidewalk. The trashcan is right out front, and I race over to push back the flap.