Page 28 of Raise The Bar
“That might be difficult. It was a helluva kiss.” His voice is low and sultry and if I weren’t still humiliated, I would probably launch myself at him again. “Do you regret it?” His dimpled smile has faded and there is genuine concern on his face.
“No,” I say looking him in the eye. “Not at all.” Kissing him may be the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, but I’m glad I did it. I wouldn’t take it back for anything. “That being said, I don’t think we should do it again. I like you, Callum. You have no idea how much I appreciate you helping me and I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
The ghost of a frown passes over his face at the word “friend” but then that easy smile returns and he nods slowly. “I don’t want that either,” he says earnestly, his body relaxing. “So what comes next?”
“You are going to talk business with me like you promised.” That is why I’m here. This is what I want.
There is the slightest hesitation on his part before his grin returns. “Yes, ma’am.” His smile should come with a warning label.CAUTION. May cause lowered inhibitions. He leads me into the dining room where his laptop is set up on the table. There are some pages printed with colorful graphs on them. “First, I want you to tell me a bit about your business. Where you’re at now and where you’d like to be in a year.” He’s transitioned from flirty to professional with remarkable ease and I’m grateful for it. As much as I enjoyed kissing him, it can’t happen again. It won’t happen again.
Focus, Maggie.
“Well, my esthetics clients are where most of my time is dedicated. I work fifty hour weeks and really don’t have time to take on new clients. My schedule is booked months in advance.” His fingers lightly move over the keyboard of his Macbook Pro while I talk.
“When do you make your products?” he asks, not looking up from his screen.
“Depending on supply and demand, I’ll make batches once or twice a week in the evenings or on my days off.”
“And how long does the process take?”
“Depending on the type of soap I’m making, one to three hours to make and two to three days to set.”
We go back and forth like this for about twenty minutes. He asks me about my ingredients and packaging costs, the number of different soaps I make, and how many clients I have. I answer all his questions in as much detail as possible while he continues to plug the data into a spreadsheet.
At the end of his long list of questions he stares at the screen, rubbing a hand over his face.
“You don’t charge enough for your products,” he says bluntly. I feel my brow crease and I lean closer to look at his screen.
“I think my prices are fair,” I hedge looking at the colorful table he’s created.
“Fair to your clients, sure. But they’re not fair to you.” He shows me how even though I’m covering my costs, I’m greatly undercharging for my time. “You have to increase your prices.”
“I’ll consider it.” Suddenly I feel surly and defensive. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.
“Here is your first business lesson: Your time is as valuable, if not more valuable, than what you’re selling.”
“How many lessons are there?”
“Eight.”
“Can I get a list of these lessons?”
“No, I will tell them to you as they are pertinent to what we’re talking about.”
“And are these officially recognized rules, or ones you’ve come up with?”
“They are my personal rules but they’ve served me well.”
“You’re doing okay, I guess.” I concede, as I look around his overpriced piece of downtown real estate.
“I’m not trying to be cocky,” he says with a grin, leaning back in his chair.
“Since when?”
“Focus, Lois.” With a shake of his head, he turns back to his screen. “What are you hoping to accomplish here?”
“What do you mean?”
“What is your end goal? Do you want to make more money? Reach more people? Conduct a hostile takeover of the world’s leading soap makers?”
