Page 2 of Renegade Roomie

On the counter, not behind it. And not in the exotic dancer sense of the word. No, my dream is that one day fancy stores like this are stocking my makeup line. The zero-cruelty, vegan, 100% fabulous line that I’ve been working on all year now, mixing and blending and packing in the corner of my apartment, imagining the day when customers waltz out of the store with my makeup—and a massive smile—on their faces.

Lorelei peers over my shoulder at the lipstick samples I brought, all lined up in chic cream boxes with looping red script on the side. “Ooh, look at those. So pretty!”

“Pretty, and precious,” I agree. “Do you know how much it costs to make prototypes like this without a huge production run?”

“I’m guessing, lots.”

“You guessed right.” I shut the bag, and take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. There’s nothing but my entire future riding on the contents of the bag. No big deal. “What kind of mood is he in?” I ask.

“The boss?” Lorelei raises her eyebrows. “Well, he was yelling at Kate about the window displays earlier, but maybe he got it out of his system. You know he’s better after his lunchtime wank.”

“Lorelei!” I laugh.

“What? Like it’s not obvious, the way he disappears to the executive bathroom with the latest edition of Men’s Health magazine.” Lorelei smirks. “You should go talk to him now, while he’s still basking in his afterglow.”

She’s not wrong. I grab the bag. “Wish me luck!” I say, then make my way across the busy main floor, and in back, to where the executive offices are. I’ve been biding my time for months now, waiting for the perfect moment to pitch my boss about carrying my line—

OK, so maybe I’ve been stalling out of fear and insecurity, but can you blame me? A fancy store like this is a long way from Selena’s Salon, the beauty shop around the corner where I grew up in Jersey, where I first discovered my love of makeup—and learned everything there is to know about blush, lipstick, and gossip. It was a tough crowd there, but they’ve got nothing on my snooty boss, Gregory, so I take another breath and freshen up my own lipstick for confidence before knocking on his office door.

Shade: Dietrich. After the movie star herself, and a boss from head to toe.

“Come in!”

I head inside, where he’s buried behind stacks of paperwork, his usually messy office looking like a bomb hit it. Which, for a man as fastidious as Gregory, is really something.

“Ah, Miss Delgado,” Gregory looks at me quizzically. “Did we have an appointment?”

“Not exactly,” I hedge, taking a seat. “But I did say I wanted to chat, remember?”

“Right. The management position.” Gregory grabs a file. “Well, you know how much we need someone who knows the ropes, with your experience, and seniority—”

I wince. Just another way of saying I’m old. “Actually, it’s not about that.”

Gregory stops. “It’s not?”

“No.” I grip my bag. He’s been bugging me to move up to manage the makeup department for a while now, but I’ve always pushed him off. Sure, it would give me better pay and benefits, but it wouldn’t leave me any time for my line. Taking the promotion would be like saying, this is all I want.

And I want more.

I straighten up, and flash him my most professional smile. “Actually, I arranged this meeting to talk to you about an exciting new line I think we should be stocking.”

“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?”

---