Page 30 of Top Shelf

I nod.

“What’s bare minimum?”

I hate that question, mostly because I’ve been putting off thinking about it myself.

“Two reformers to start instead of four,” I reply. “A smaller launch with more private sessions, because I wouldn’t have the equipment for larger groups.”

Carina reaches for a pen, jotting down some notes.

“Moreno’s letter matters,” Zoe murmurs.

I hum my agreement. “He said he’d do it after legal reviews the pathway.”

Nia is quiet on the screen, but I can hear something rustle on her end, then a child’s voice in the background.

“No, sweetheart,” she says, turning away from the screen. “The blue cup is on the bench. No, the other bench. Please don’t climb.” A pause, then she turns back. “Sorry, I’m listening. Keep talking.”

That is Nia in nutshell. Calmly preventing a disaster off-screen while still knowing exactly where we left off.

Carina hands me a bowl of pistachios from the table, and Zoe clicks to another tab on her laptop. “So what have you tried already?”

“I’ve organized a bank meeting next week. I have savings, but not enough without leaving myself completely dry. I guess I could strip the fit-out down to save some cash, too… and sell several internal organs.”

Zoe scans her screen quickly, her eyes moving in that terrifying way where I can practically hear her rearranging the information. “Okay. This is annoying, but it’s not impossible.”

“Please don’t say that unless you mean it.”

“I mean it.” She looks at me over the screen. “You don’t need the full business built by next Friday. You just need to look credible enough that the landlord believes you can get there faster than the Botox people.”

“Medical aesthetics,” Carina corrects mildly.

“Botox people,” Lulu says.

Nia’s voice cuts in. “So what does she need to do and by when?

The warmth behind my ribs is inconvenient, so I pick up a pistachio and focus on cracking it cleanly. These women have gathered because they care, and believe in me, and want to move heaven and high water to ensure I get my dream. It’s love, and it’s overwhelming to think about.

Lulu leans over my folder. “Explain the studio to me again without clinic words.”

“I have done that seventy times already.”

“Do it again.”

I sigh and look at the ceiling. “It’s for people who aren’t injured enough to need formal rehab anymore but aren’t ready to be dumped back into full training or sport with a pat on the back.”

Lulu hums with a nod. “Better.”

“She’s right.” Zoe points to Lulu. “The simple version is understandable to people with money and limited attention spans.”

Nia laughs softly. “That part.”

I give Zoe a look, but she ignores me. “Friday is deposit and landlord confidence. Launch is equipment, fit-out, insurance, marketing, yada yada. You don’t need the whole amount in cash by next Friday. You just need enough to secure the space and prove the rest isn’t imaginary.”

“The rest currently feels pretty imaginary.”

“Do you have anyone who could invest smaller? Not the full amount, but enough to make the deposit less terrifying?” Lulu asks.

“I have people who would say encouraging things and then disappear when money enters the chat. And my parents would tell me it’s risky and ask why Moreno isn’t paying for it if it’s such a good idea.”