I shrug. “Something like that.”
The rest of the train ride passes in one big happy blur. I almost forget about Priya and the meeting until we pull into Exhibition Station, and it dawns on me that today is about securing my future in more ways than one.
My heart kicks up a notch with every step we take into Liberty Village, following the little blue dots on my Google Maps app until we reach the converted lumber-factory-turned-day-spa. It’s a large, red-brick building with four huge front windows with painted black grills. Simple yet chic, the exterior lives up to the Toronto Life accolades naming it the best chill-out spot in the city.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Dax nods at the two massive black doors.
“Yes. But I suspect it might be frowned upon to show up for a business meeting with my boyfriend.”
Dax smiles at my first use of the word.
“Well, then I’ll go grab a drink and wait.” He points to a small distillery and bar across the street. “Come and find me when you’re done.”
My nerves flare, sending a cold panic through my chest. And as if Dax can tell, he reaches out and squeezes my hand. “She’ll be lucky to get you, Gemma. Think of today as your chance to find out if she’s worthy of your time—not the other way around.” He tugs me toward him and envelops me in another hug, holding me firmly to his chest as if he can sense that my knees have suddenly gone a little wobbly, and I need a quick moment when I don’t have to carry the weight of it all.
“Okay,” I say into his chest. “I think I’m good now.”
He places a quick kiss on my forehead and waits on the sidewalk as I climb the steps and push open the doors.
The moment I step inside, my nose fills with the scent of eucalyptus and something else that I’d call Summer Rainstorm or Sun-Dried Linen. It doesn’t matter because I’m hit with a familiar feeling of nostalgia, even though I know I’ve never set foot inside these doors in this life or any other.
It feels like Wilde Beauty. It’s hard to describe. Dérive and Wilde are very different; still, I can sense all the tiny little touches that have gone into the place. The relaxing acoustic guitar pop cover that floats through the sound system. The mellow color palette of taupes and browns. Even the staff’s uniforms, comfortable yoga wear that looks pulled together and stylish. I may have met Priya only briefly, but I already feel like I know her.
I give my name to the receptionist and am escorted into a glass-enclosed office at exactly eleven-thirty.
“Gemma, welcome.” Priya walks from behind her desk and extends her hand.
I’m prepared for her firm shake this time, and I return it with one of my own.
“Sit.” She points to a cream leather chair. “Let’s talk about what the two of us can do together.”
We spend the next two hours talking about Wilde. The products we carry, why we carry them, and the type of experience I want my customers to have. Priya listens to me. Asks me all sorts of questions that set off a flurry of ideas in my head. I feel smart. And excited about the future of Wilde Beauty and everything it could be. It’s the future I dreamed about late at night in bed when I’d close my eyes and allow myself a few moments of what-if. Dreaming without letting my rational brain take over with realities.
“We still have a lot of details to work through before we start to formalize anything, but I want to be up-front about the level of investment from your end. What I’m envisioning is that I’d own or lease the primary space. You’d sublease from me based on the square footage of the store. Inventory would be all you. Staffing is obviously also your responsibility.” Priya’s tone is nonchalant, but her words feel like a tidal wave.
“As you can imagine, the financial commitment is fairly significant. Am I correct in assuming you’d need a loan? I have solid relationships with my financiers. If we get to the point that we want to make a deal, I’d be happy to arrange an introduction. They’re very familiar with my business, and their terms are fair. However, you’d be under no obligation to use them.” She slides a piece of paper across the desk. It’s not like in the movies where there’s a single obscene number written on a paper. There are several, and it takes me a minute and a double take to find the particular one I’d be responsible for.
“I’ll give you a minute to look it over.” Priya leaves me alone in her office. It’s possible she noted my sweaty forehead and shallow breaths and deduced that I was moments away from a heart attack. Or maybe it’s just her business practice. Either way, I’m grateful to be alone so I can vocalize the single thought playing on repeat in my head.