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“How so?” Connor barks, as pissed off as I am. Lacy stiffens, and I look between them. They don’t know each other very well. I hired Lacy a few months ago and Connor has been in the city for most of that time.
“Well, maybe we can design a special label, potentially design a new look bottle. Market it a little differently?” Lacy explains, and I am now seeing her Marketing and Communications degree coming in handy. I nod at her to continue.
“We could cut the aging process, and then offer it as a special edition for the holidays?” Connor chips in, and I like that idea.
“What would we call it?” I ask, looking around the group of staff, who, although deflated from losing so many barrels, are starting to look more hopeful. It isn’t every day the forklift pierces a barrel, which has a domino effect on the others, leaving us with less than half the aging barrels we had in this particular room. It is one of the reasons I put in multiple aging rooms. All with fire walls between them. The distillery is huge, with five different aging rooms, the main restaurant and tasting area, as well as the manufacturing and bottling space and our warehouse.
“We could make it a gold label?” Lacy suggests, and I like it, but it isn’t different enough.
“This will be stupidly exclusive. I estimate what, maybe a couple of thousand bottles at best. The name needs to be more. Meaning more. It has to be different,” I prompt them, and they all look deep in thought.
“What about creating our own sub brand. Whiteman’s Next Door?” Connor says seriously.
“Next door?” My brow furrows, wondering what he is thinking.
“We could market it as the exclusive whiskey you share with your friends. Yourneighbors.” He gives me a look, and I raise an eyebrow. He is a smart-ass sometimes, and I know he is teasing me, but in front of all our staff, I can’t berate him.
“We market it like the beverage of choice to celebratethe holidays, keeping you and your neighbor warm from the inside out,” Lacy says, her smile small but starting to build.
“Next Door?” I ask the group of staff, and I get a few nods with positive comments.
“Instead of a black label, we can make this one navy blue. We could then replace the golden WW logo of our regular batch with a golden door.Next Door by Whiteman’s. Meant to be shared,” Lacy says.
“I like it,” I say, nodding. It really is a great idea, and there’s definitely meaning behind it. Exactly what I was hoping for. “Alright, let’s get back to work,” I tell the rest of the staff. The whole place still smells like pure alcohol, and after a spill like this, it can become a fire hazard. My team now needs to do some serious deep cleaning before they go home for the day, so they all start to get busy as Lacy, Connor, and I regroup.
“I can get the design team to mock something up?” she asks, looking excited.
“Do it. You can manage this project, Lacy,” I tell her and she looks at me, wide-eyed.
“Really?” she asks with bated breath.
“Treat it like your baby. You’ve been here a few months now, so I'm promoting you to marketing manager. You and Connor can work together on this release.” If I had a feather, I think it would knock her over.
“Thank you, Tanner,” she says with an eager nod. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know.” Lacy has proven herself. Time and timeagain, she has gone above and beyond. Things are not great at home for her, but a young woman like her really needs to start her career, and if Whiteman’s can help her, then I feel like that is what I should do. She smiles wide and jumps on the spot before turning and leaving the warehouse on cloud nine.
“You want me to babysit her?” Connor asks me, seemingly less than impressed.
“Don’t underestimate her. She finished top of her class. She is only back in Whispers because of her mother,” I tell him as we walk to the boardroom.
“I don't have time to babysit her, Dad. I have our tax position to get sorted; I need to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on Van Cleef. Not to mention, I need to get back to the city for a meeting with the overseas distributors about finalizing the contracts,” he says, and I pause to look at him.
“Just do your best. I will be here with her most days, but I think it would be good for you to get to know her,” I tell him, and he sighs.
“Fine,” he grumbles like he is ten and I am asking him to do his chores, and I smile at that memory as we close the door to talk privately. Walking to my chair, I see a floral arrangement on the sideboard. We have no external meetings this week, so I am surprised.
“Connor, what the hell are flowers doing in my aging rooms?” I am still totally baffled by that.
“No idea. I think Jasmine probably thought that since we take our tour groups through those rooms, that maybe we wanted to brighten up the place.” He sits and sighs, the weight of this issue now firmly on our shoulders.
“I am starting to think hiring her to add floral arrangements wasn’t a smart idea,” I murmur as I run my hands through my hair.
“They are good in the restaurant and at reception,” he offers, and I nod. “How’s Victoria doing?” Connor asks, changing the subject, knowing I was with her yesterday when he called me.
“Fine. Her ankle is all healed. But…” I try to get my thoughts together. It feels like it has been weeks since I saw her, not just twenty-four hours. “When you did that finance search on her, you mentioned her father?”
“Yeah, there wasn’t a lot on him. He has a small criminal record, plus bankruptcy. Why?” he asks, and I lean back in my chair.
