Page 81 of I Almost Do

Me: Nope. I'm good. Do you need anything?

James: I'm good. Still love you.

And my heart seizes in my chest, my eyes fill with tears, and I text back,Still love you too.

On our anniversary, he has a package delivered. It's a twelve-pack of bottled water and a case of Clase Azul tequila. The bottles are gorgeous. Hand painted. Out of curiosity, I google the collection and realize my husband just sent me $450,000 worth of tequila. Because of course he did.

I call Bronwyn. We make margaritas, spill our guts to each other, and cry in our shaved ice.

I drunk text him that night.

Me: Thanks u for my pressed

James: You're welcome. You're not drinking alone, are you?

Me: Nah. Brown is spending the night

James: Good. Happy anniversary, sweet girl.

Me: Happy anniversary. I still love you.

James: I still love you too.

Ikeepworkingonmy novels. I also contact James about accessing a lump sum of my inheritance well above my $20,000 daily allowance.

James: That's a lot of money.

Me: Check your inbox for my business plan. Get back to me with any questions you may have.

James texts me a couple hours later. He has a few questions, for which, thankfully, I have the answers. Then he replies,Looks solid. I'm impressed.

There is an adage that it takes money to make money. I know for a fact that I wouldn't have been able to start my business without it—not on the scale I have planned, anyway.

I'm not about to pretend this thing is about pulling myself up by my bootstraps. It's not. I was born already pulled up. Way, way up.

I'm able to accomplish what I do so quickly partially because I dump cash into it, and partially because I was raised by Marcus Harcourt, who talked to me about scent profiles, and public image, and management, and a hundred other little things that give me a leg up in simply understanding what things can drive success.

I've known I wanted to do this for the last two years, so I geared as many of my college courses around my future plans as I could at the time. But classroom experience is just not comparable to actually working with real money, real resources, and real people. It's more than a little terrifying, and I take ruthless advantage of advice from my father's business connections.

I hire a small, experienced staff and pay the necessary consultants. Then I create an online resource connecting independent authors with vetted professionals, like editors, writing coaches, cover designers, marketing experts, etc. We have everything from paid education resources to basic referral services to lots and lots of free articles and YouTube education videos.

At its heart, my business is about connecting people with each other. It's a niche. But it's one I love.

In the beginning, I work hours like what James would call "a Victorian coal miner." But it's intensely satisfying. The business is still growing and expanding, but it's off to a healthy start.

Christmas sucks. Until James texts, and it doesn't.

James: Merry Christmas. I miss you.

Me: I miss you too. What are you up to today?

He sends a pic of Mr. Snickelputz sleeping on a red stocking with what appears to be a stuffed felt mouse clutched in his paws.

James: Watching the cat turn into an absolute demon with a catnip-stuffed mouse until he passes out. That's it. Might get some work done in the home office later.

Me: Did you get my present?

James: Yes. Thank you.

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