She wasn’t sure which choice had been the worst, giving this stuff out so freely or buying it in the first place. When she thought about the thousands of dollars she’d sunk into the T-shirts—both unisex and female cut—baseball caps, bandannas, crop tops, backpacks, headbands, and wristbands? What in the heck had she been thinking?

She shoved the box toward the sofa and cleared the junk mail from the ottoman that did double duty as a coffee table. She counted out twenty-two T-shirts, eighteen caps, seven crop tops, and fourteen wristband and headband sets. She didn’t have to count the backpacks; she already knew there were only eight left. She’d stored them underneath the other gear. At nearly thirty bucks apiece, they were now reserved for clients who stuck with her for more than three months.

Maybe if she’d been a bit more stingy, using this stuff as incentive for folks to stick around, she’d have more than a handful of clients.

Taylor rolled her eyes.

The promise of a free T-shirt and baseball cap wasn’t enough to entice the number of clients she needed to get herself out of this mess. The time for recriminations had passed long ago. It wasn’t as if she could go back and get her gear from the dozens of people who’d happily taken the free stuff and hadn’t bothered to call her back.

Oh, God. That thought was way too reminiscent of those early days when her family moved back to the States. The ability to date boys who didn’t live on the same Army base as her had been an awakening. She’d gone boy crazy, giving away far too much of herself without getting anything in return.

“At least you’ve learned your lesson in that arena,” Taylor muttered.

She grabbed an envelope from the pile of junk mail—a credit card company offering her a credit line increase. She snorted. They must not have gotten the memo. She flipped the envelope over and jotted the list of remaining inventory; then she neatly packed everything back into the box. Before closing it, she picked up a set of wristbands, thinking she’d offer them to the client she was meeting with later today.

“God, you are so bad at this,” Taylor said with a sigh, tossing them back into the box. She’d already given Bonnie a T-shirt, baseball cap, and bandanna. She was like a child trying to buy the affection of an absentee parent, so grateful for any crumb of loyalty she received from clients.

She just never expected it would be so difficult for her business to gain traction. She blamed it on naïveté, and that irrepressible penchant she had for always looking on the bright side, believing that if you remained positive, only positive things would come your way.