Worth the Fall Read Online Free Page B

No big corporate accounts arguing over what such-and-such shade of orange subconsciously says. Just straightforward work for startups, individuals, and small companies.
    Affordable but gorgeous work.
    I had the skills. I had the drive.  
    Looking through my contacts, I tried to figure out where I might find a couple clients to kick off my new business once I got it up and running. I wasn’t sure where the ethical line was about contacting former clients. One thing I did know about myself, that wasn’t a line I would cross.
    Obviously I’d need something to show them. Something as good as what I’d been able to do with resources, but on a much smaller budget. What could I offer that would make me stand out? That would make me a success? That would allow me to pay the rent?
    I Googled designers and started grabbing screenshots. I pulled out my Moleskin and made notes of different things offered, pricing, timelines, color schemes, websites…anything that someone else was doing. I marked examples up. I made notes of what could be done better, different, or just more me.
    It was fun. It was exciting. But, it was just the start and when I tried to think beyond that, I got a little freaked out.
    After an hour I’d gone through my mocha. Another one was definitely needed to tackle a business plan while I waited for John.
    And lucky for me, Abby was still working the counter.
    “You know what your problem is?” she started before I could even get my order out.
    “No, but I’m sure that as my local barista there’s nothing you’d like more than to tell me.”
    It’s a sad state of affairs when I didn’t feel odd or guilty verbally sparring with a child.
    “Look at you. You’re a mess.”
    I glanced down. Probably out of habit. Abby may have started channeling my mother. Was I a mess? Emotionally or physically? She probably meant a little bit of both.
    “That’s not good.” She said it as if being a mess was occasionally a good thing and I might be confused. “It’s hard enough being a girl, let alone an average girl. But you’re lowering your own social credit-rating coming in here like this.”
    I shouldn’t ask. It was a dumb move and I knew it even as the question slipped past my lips. “Social credit-rating?”
    “I call it the Average Girl Theory. It’s the reason you’re single and don’t know what to do about it.”
    I knew what to do about it: Nothing.  
    I’d been single—I glanced at my watch—fourteen hours. I hadn’t dropped dead from lack of a man in my life yet.
    I was more than not-dead. I was feeling pretty darn good.
    When I’d decided to move in with Jason, my mother hadn’t been happy. Too many milk-cow references to count. My aunts joined in. The happily-marrieds joined forces to try to talk me out of it. No one, not one person just came out and said they didn’t like him. They just thought we should get married instead of moving in together.  
    Or maybe they didn’t like him.
    But this—this underage, self-proclaimed love guru—was too much.  
    “See, guys are very visual.” Barista Girl Abby nodded as if I wasn’t going to believe her or this was—I don’t know— news . “Everything is about what they can see. They can’t see that you’re smart or funny or whatever your I Am Woman thing is. It’s all about the visual.”
    “So you said.” I couldn’t be blamed if that sounded dry even to me.
    “Now you come in here looking like that.” She waved her hand vaguely at me from her side of the counter. “Not good.”
    “Last night you accused me of being an adulteress.”
    I was really beginning to wish I hadn’t given her money. Or that she’d already given me my mocha. Or that my ego wasn’t taking a hit for no apparent reason.
    Or…or…or…
    Ah, the fabulous life of the newly single girl. The single average girl apparently.
    Of course, I hadn’t dressed up to walk here and work all day. Yoga pants and a fitted t-shirt were as good as it was going to