overgrown brush. A child’s playset had been set up fifty feet away. An older woman dressed in jeans and a white oxford shirt set a bottle of sparkling water and two photocopied menus on the table.
“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“No liquor license,” Phlox whispered to her brother. “That’s the owner. She and her husband—and their kids—run the place.”
After they placed their order for a medium spinach and ricotta pizza with thin crust, Phlox leaned back in her plastic chair and enjoyed the feel of the late afternoon sun on her face and arms.
“I’m glad you came,” she said. It felt good to get out of the house, actually, away from the pressure to be the old Phlox—and away from Jared Connor, who had turned into a painful reminder that some people didn’t know that the old Phlox ever existed.
“So sis, how are you? Really?”
“I’m fine, Rye.” She smiled encouragingly at her brother. “Really.” This was the checking-up-on-her part of the day’s entertainment. And she was fine. Mostly fine, anyway. Except for her inability to use a certain part of the kitchen—which explained why she was taking her brother to Pizza A Go Go for dinner—and the fact that she had totally pissed off an employee.
“What have you been doing up here?”
“Baking, reading, relaxing. A little work here and there. I’m only allowed one phone call to the company, per Zee.”
“Yeah, I heard that.” Rye uncapped the bottle of water and filled their glasses. “Sales have been good on the A2Z. Maybe a little too good.”
“How so?”
“The factory’s running at max capacity. If this takes off, we’re going to have find a larger facility.”
“Or build our own.”
Rye grimaced. “That takes a bit of cash, though. Zee has dispatched Nicholas to the factory to see if he can squeeze a little more production out of them.”
Something in Rye’s voice gave Phlox pause. “You don’t sound as if you think that’s a good idea.”
He shrugged. “I’m not real keen on Nicholas.”
“Why not? He’s Zee’s boyfriend.” Zee had hired Nicholas Ackermann as a business consultant last year, then proceeded to fall in love with him.
“I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling about him.”
“Maybe you’re just suffering from male territorial syndrome or something.” Rye was one of only a handful of men who worked at Phlox Beauty, as well as Zee’s honorary big brother since she was an only child.
“Maybe. What’s the scuttlebutt online about A2Z?”
“Mostly quiet from consumers. A few complaints here and there about glitchy kiosks and price.”
“It’s getting good reviews in the press, right?”
She nodded. “I think that’s driving sales but it’s still in the new purchase phase of the sales cycle. People are trying it but it’s too soon to tell if they’ll repurchase.”
Launching the A2Z Cream had been a risk for Phlox and Zee. Everyone told them that they were crazy—no, certifiably insane—to launch it in the current economic climate. A customized product that women had to order first, then wait for it to be delivered? Cosmetics were so often an impulse purchase, they knew that. You walked into a store for a refill on your favorite tube of lipstick and walked out with three new nail polishes, a new foundation and the latest miracle serum. Phlox had done it a million times herself.
But in focus groups they heard over and over the same damn thing. Women were tired of having to buy half a dozen different products to handle multiple skin care concerns. They had too much to do in the morning, too long a commute, too early a work schedule, kids to make breakfast for and see off to school. They needed to shave time off their beauty routine on those days when they didn’t have time even to shave their legs.
The A2Z Cream let women choose the features they needed at an in-store kiosk, then use the kiosk camera to transmit a picture of their skin tone so the product
“I’ll be back in a minute to take your order.”
“No liquor license,” Phlox whispered to her brother. “That’s the owner. She and her husband—and their kids—run the place.”
After they placed their order for a medium spinach and ricotta pizza with thin crust, Phlox leaned back in her plastic chair and enjoyed the feel of the late afternoon sun on her face and arms.
“I’m glad you came,” she said. It felt good to get out of the house, actually, away from the pressure to be the old Phlox—and away from Jared Connor, who had turned into a painful reminder that some people didn’t know that the old Phlox ever existed.
“So sis, how are you? Really?”
“I’m fine, Rye.” She smiled encouragingly at her brother. “Really.” This was the checking-up-on-her part of the day’s entertainment. And she was fine. Mostly fine, anyway. Except for her inability to use a certain part of the kitchen—which explained why she was taking her brother to Pizza A Go Go for dinner—and the fact that she had totally pissed off an employee.
“What have you been doing up here?”
“Baking, reading, relaxing. A little work here and there. I’m only allowed one phone call to the company, per Zee.”
“Yeah, I heard that.” Rye uncapped the bottle of water and filled their glasses. “Sales have been good on the A2Z. Maybe a little too good.”
“How so?”
“The factory’s running at max capacity. If this takes off, we’re going to have find a larger facility.”
“Or build our own.”
Rye grimaced. “That takes a bit of cash, though. Zee has dispatched Nicholas to the factory to see if he can squeeze a little more production out of them.”
Something in Rye’s voice gave Phlox pause. “You don’t sound as if you think that’s a good idea.”
He shrugged. “I’m not real keen on Nicholas.”
“Why not? He’s Zee’s boyfriend.” Zee had hired Nicholas Ackermann as a business consultant last year, then proceeded to fall in love with him.
“I don’t know. I just get a bad feeling about him.”
“Maybe you’re just suffering from male territorial syndrome or something.” Rye was one of only a handful of men who worked at Phlox Beauty, as well as Zee’s honorary big brother since she was an only child.
“Maybe. What’s the scuttlebutt online about A2Z?”
“Mostly quiet from consumers. A few complaints here and there about glitchy kiosks and price.”
“It’s getting good reviews in the press, right?”
She nodded. “I think that’s driving sales but it’s still in the new purchase phase of the sales cycle. People are trying it but it’s too soon to tell if they’ll repurchase.”
Launching the A2Z Cream had been a risk for Phlox and Zee. Everyone told them that they were crazy—no, certifiably insane—to launch it in the current economic climate. A customized product that women had to order first, then wait for it to be delivered? Cosmetics were so often an impulse purchase, they knew that. You walked into a store for a refill on your favorite tube of lipstick and walked out with three new nail polishes, a new foundation and the latest miracle serum. Phlox had done it a million times herself.
But in focus groups they heard over and over the same damn thing. Women were tired of having to buy half a dozen different products to handle multiple skin care concerns. They had too much to do in the morning, too long a commute, too early a work schedule, kids to make breakfast for and see off to school. They needed to shave time off their beauty routine on those days when they didn’t have time even to shave their legs.
The A2Z Cream let women choose the features they needed at an in-store kiosk, then use the kiosk camera to transmit a picture of their skin tone so the product
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