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Shayla flips her hair, but Harper’s humble attitude and grin don’t fade.
“It’s been an incredible year,” Harper agrees. “I’m so grateful for my customers since I personally design and create each product myself. I don’t have a team of workers to handle everything, and I take pride in that. Though I do manage to get a couple of friends to help me once in a while, it makes it more personal, in my opinion. I don’t want to be a money-hungry corporation that focuses on the bottom dollar. I put my customer’s needs first.”
A direct jab to Shayla, whose nostrils flare. It makes me smirk.
Harper continues, “I make all of my marketing plans, social media content, and reply to all comments and messages myself. It keeps me extremely busy and sometimes overwhelmed, but I love having that one-on-one interaction with my customers. I think they really appreciate the extra time I put into personalizing their packaging too.”
“That’s very inspirational.” Mrs. Davenport beams. “Since most small businesses only have a handful of workers and you’re here doing it yourself, what’s a piece of advice you can give to an aspiring business owner?”
“The number one thing that I’d tell anyone is to be creative and don’t steal ideas from other businesses. You shine by being original and offering something unique. Another piece of advice is to keep going even when things get frustrating or competitive. There’ll be a learning curve, but the more you do something, the better you become.”
“What an encouraging and motivating response from one of the most successful people in this room. You’re an amazing influence to all, Harper,” Mrs. Davenport says, then continues down the line. Harper’s eyes meet mine, and I give her a proud head nod. She knows she nailed it, and considering Shayla’s fuming, mission accomplished.
Soon, it’s Shayla’s turn, and it’s obvious she doesn’t like the question.
“It’s well-known that your business expanded rapidly and now has at least twenty employees taking care of your day-to-day tasks. What advice would you give to someone who’s ready to move to the next level?”
A fake laugh escapes from Shayla’s lips. “I always knew I wanted to hire others to help me, especially when I grew so fast in such a short amount of time. At some point, you have to respect yourself enough to take a break, have a vacation every once in a while, and smell the roses. Too many small business owners take pride in working themselves to death. The hustle culture is not for me.” Shayla glances over at Harper, who’s trying hard not to pay attention to her.
“I realized when I was getting four hours of sleep and was constantly behind on shipping that I needed to hire someone. My customers were unhappy. It’s a shame others don’t take the initiative.”
Harper maintains her perfect smile while she jots down a few notes.
Mrs. Davenport continues asking questions, and after an hour of Q&A, the panel is over. The audience applauds the speakers, and the stage lights dim. Harper exits, and I make my way to her.
When she sees me, her eyes are wide, but she’s beaming.
“I did it!” she says.
“Sure did.” I tilt her chin up to press a quick kiss to her lips. “I knew you’d do amazin’, but you seriously killed it.”
“Having you here really helped,” she admits.
“I think Shayla was about to burst a blood vessel,” I whisper, chuckling. I interlock her fingers with mine and bring her to the atrium area where people are waiting to chat with her.
“Great responses,” a random woman says to Harper. “Out of everyone up there, you’re the person I relate to the most.”
“Oh, thank you. I appreciate that. What’s your name?” Harper asks.
“I’m Gale. I run a T-shirt business for busy moms.” She laughs. “It’s actually called Hot Mess Mom Tees.”
“That’s adorable! I love that,” Harper says.
A few more people come up to her, asking more questions and giving her their praises. I love seeing Harper in her element, and though some of them aren’t nearly as known as Harper, she treats them with the utmost respect. Even the ones who don’t deserve it. Harper lets out a sigh of relief when we’re finally alone again until Shayla sashays over with whom I assume is her fiancé.
“Good job,” Shayla offers, but I can hear the sarcasm in her tone. She looks over at me, but I’m not intimidated by her or anyone here. “You must be Harper’s man.”
“Ethan Bishop.” I offer my hand, but she doesn’t take it. I shrug and wrap my arm around Harper.
“I’m Leonard,” her fiancé says and actually shakes my hand.
“Nice to meet ya,” I tell him.
“He goes by Leon,” Shayla corrects and flips her hair. I get the feeling she’s got an inferiority complex wrapped in jealousy. “So—“
Before she can continue, a group of three young girls rushes up to Harper. “We love you!”
