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“Do you drink bourbon?” Malcolm asked.
I shook my head. “No.” There was no point in lying about that. “I’m not a big drinker in general, but I feel confident I understand the branding you’ve created. I’m also happy to taste your labels if you’d like.”
I was seated at a conference table across from all four of them. It was an intimidating arrangement. MacKay had tried to sit next to me, but his brother had frowned at him and gestured to a chair on the opposite side. The only advantage to the setup was that no one could see me wiping my sweaty palms on my pencil skirt.
“If you don’t drink bourbon, do you have any working knowledge of the difference between bourbon, whiskey, and rye?” Ian asked. “Do you know how bourbon is made?”
Vaguely, based on my last minute deep dive research efforts the night before. “It’s fermented and distilled and has to contain at least fifty-one percent corn.”
“It also has to be aged at least two years in oak-charred barrels,” Dylan said.
“Right,” I said, nodding, as if I’d known that. “Four Brothers just launched its three year barrel bourbon.”
“What do you think of the branding?” Malcolm asked me. “What would you do to improve it if we brought you on board?”
I hesitated. But then I decided I needed to be confident and full of ideas. No one was going to hire me for a senior marketing position if I just rode the wave of what had already been created. “I think that the marketing can be sexier.”
MacKay, who was sipping his coffee, choked on it. Malcolm glanced at him. “You okay?”
MacKay nodded. “Just swallowed wrong.”
That triggered a memory of me taking MacKay into my mouth, over and over. Which was the last thing in the world I should be thinking about. The urge to giggle was overwhelming. It’s a horrible stress response I had as a child. I giggled at the exact wrong times. Church. Funerals. When I was getting disciplined. It’s absolutely horrible, and something I thought I had substantially better control over now that I was an adult, but today seemed to be testing that. I clamped my lips shut and concentrated on breathing through my nose.
“Anyway, you were saying,” Malcolm said, turning back to me. “Sexier? What does that mean?”
I pulled myself together. Concentrate on the question. Sell it. Sell myself as hard as they wanted to sell bourbon.
“You’re a young bourbon, without a legacy, and I think that some of the legendary distilleries have the market cornered on the over forty consumers. But the younger generations prefer smaller, local businesses, artisans. They like to feel part of a small exclusive clique and they want a good social media moment. I would question if you painted your logo on the side of your distillery, would it photograph well?”
There was silence. Maybe I had pushed too hard.
“It is painted on the side of the distillery,” MacKay said.
“Maybe you should see it and give your opinion,” Ian said.
“What?” Dylan glared at his twin brother. “Slow down, buddy. Seriously.”
Ian glared back but he didn’t respond.
“We had that label professionally designed. It cost a hell of a lot of money,” Dylan said.
Yep. I had pushed too hard and offended him. I squeezed the fabric of my skirt and tried to figure out how to spin it. “I’m sure you did. But I think you have to proceed as if you’re already the coolest label in town. You should create merch and conduct tours.” Then I went for the Hail Mary. “Throw an event with A listers like Jolene Hart.”
I’d only met Jolene twice. It wasn’t like I had any personal connection with her to ask her to attend an event, but maybe if I just implied it, that would be enough. Technically, she was partial owner of Sugar Lips, the bakery I’d been working at, and she was friends with my brother, but she wasn’t my friend.
Still, I sat there and tried to look poised, mature, and confident. Even as I tried to discreetly shift my bra. The underwire felt like it was a solid inch into my tender flesh. It had gone from uncomfortable to painful.
“Spend more money, in other words,” Malcolm said.
“Waste money, you mean,” Dylan said. “Our focus needs to be expanding distribution, not giving away expensive bourbon to rich people.”
I had a feeling I wasn’t getting this job, in spite of my brother’s pull and ten percent ownership. Might as well go for broke.
“Is Four Brothers a bargain bourbon or an elevated bourbon?” I asked. “The price point would indicate it’s elevated. I would think you would prefer to have a loyal consumer who covets your bourbon over having it on as many store shelves as possible to just collect dust and not sell.”
“That’s what I’ve always said,” MacKay said, and he looked at me with respect and his brothers with a certain smugness. “I’ve actually always wanted to open a private bourbon club here in Nashville and no one has been on board with me.”
“Now that’s sexy,” I said, and I meant it. That was what I was talking about. Brand integrity. Selling exclusivity. “I love that idea.”
