Page 4 of Surrender to Me

I let out a soft laugh. “Had to take a breather. Needed to remind myself why I’m here.”

“Same,” she admitted. “These muthafuckas play in a different league. But lucky for them, we’re the ones bringing therealinnovation.”

I liked her instantly. “Honey Lake,” I introduced, extending a hand.

She took it, shaking firmly. “Amina Wells. CEO of Wells Tech Solutions.”

Tech. Impressive.

“Nice to meet you. What’s your pitch?”

A slow smile curled her lips. “Smart inventory management software for small businesses. AI-driven analytics. No more stock shortages, no more excess waste.”

“Damn,” I said, genuinely impressed. “That’s dope.”

She shrugged. “I know.”

I laughed. “Confidence noted. How’s the investor search going?”

Her expression shifted slightly. “A lot of polite rejections. A lot of ‘we love the idea, but…’ so I’m still pushing.”

“Same.”

She eyed me. “What’s your brand?”

“Luxury, plant-based skincare tailored for melanated skin.”

Her brows lifted. “I like that. Good market, too. Investors should be eating that up.”

“Exactly,” I muttered, glancing around. “But apparently, skincare isn’t disruptive enough for half of them.”

She scoffed. “Bullshit. The beauty industry is a multi-billion-dollar market. You just need the right person to see the vision.” Before I could respond, a well-dressed investor—a tall, silver-haired man who looked like he only invested in things that smelled like generational wealth—walked past. Amina nudged me. “He’s been lurking near this side of the room for a while. Might be worth a shot.”

I took a steadying breath, smoothed down my dress, and stepped into his path. “Hi,” I greeted.

He turned, offering a tight smile, his gaze assessing. “And you are?”

“Honey Lake. Founder ofHoney Luxe Beauty.” I gave him my most polished, confident smile. “I’d love to tell you about my brand—”

Before I could launch into my pitch, he lifted a hand in polite dismissal. “I’m afraid I don’t invest in beauty,” he said, his tone flat. “Good luck, though.”

And just like that, he was gone. I stood there, humiliated, frustrated, and very close to screaming into my champagne flute.

Amina winced. “Damn. He didn’t even let you finish.”

“Because he never intended to.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I shoulda known. These men only throw money at things they understand.”

“Facts.”

I exhaled, my earlier motivation crumbling. “I need to get out of here.”

Amina nodded. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll have better luck.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

By the time I got back to my villa, I was mentally drained. I kicked off my wedges, tossed my clutch onto the marble counter, and grabbed my phone, pressingcallon the one person who would understand.

“Ty,” I sighed the second she picked up.

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