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While the two executive assistants explained the new venture, I took notes and made annotations to my original proposal. When Indie and Jenna came in with the tray of glasses and bottles, they sat them down, made small talk, and then left.
I rounded the table and explained, “From left to right, we have Mist; it is made with hops, French saison yeast, and orange blossom honey with a four percent alcoholic fermentation. It's good for light food, fish, and salads…things you would typically use white wine for.”
They took the glass and sipped. I made mental notes of their facial expressions, and they were all flavorful.
“This one here is RedRun.” I handed the glasses over. “It’s made with wildflower honey, oak infusion spirals, yeast, maple syrup, and hops. I am told it pairs very well with venison and rabbit.”
“Oh, I like this one,” Hollister remarked. “It’s smooth.”
“It’s also versatile,” I added, “It can be used as ice tea if you choose for a light lunch or even by itself.”
“It can go with duck, too,” Mills replied, his gruff tone held deep appraisal.
“This third is DoubleBerry,” I replied, “Blackberry, raspberry and rich honey, cloves and vanilla.It is carefully monitored not to surpass the fourteen-point five alcoholic content.”
They took the third glass, and all three looked delighted and surprised. “I’ve had people say it's even richer when they have their porterhouse or T-bones. Those cuts are cross-sectionsof marbled, textured strip steak and the lean tenderloin. They say it pairs perfectly.”
“Hot damn,” Mr. Mills grinned, “I may need a bottle of this too.”
I held back my grin. “See, someproducers—” I made the air quotes, “— have mixed fermented white wine with a blend of honey and other sugars, such as white refined sugar, saying it was mead when it’s just spiced wine. We have five hundred beehives, most of them are in our orange blossom orchard, but we have contracts with other suppliers who source the berries and other ingredients we use for our mead.”
“What’s that last one?” Dorsten asked.
I looked. “That is our dessert variations,” I replied. “Something of an alternative for hot chocolate. Our mead is caramelized before adding the water and the flavoring. We add caramel, chocolate, and even toasted s’mores flavors. This one is the peppermint mocha.”
They took the glasses and drank, and Hollister grinned, “I may have found my topping for my chocolate chip ice-cream.”
“I do believe the variety you have here will make a powerful mark,” Mills said, “I don’t want to trouble you, but would you have any samples we can take back to have the final word?”
“Certainly,” I replied, glad that I had planned for this. “It will be ready for you when you leave, but can you please tell me more about this proposal? How long would this tentative partnership be for both of us.”
Dorsten cleared his throat and handed over a folder. “Inside, we have all the prospective terms, the lifespan of our partnership, the supply amount, and all the bones of a contract, but until it is approved, we’ll hammer out the fine details. See, Mister Maxwell’s operation is not beef selling; he is the one who provides healthy bull sperm to facilitate beef production. However, the corporation is the same and will benefit both.”
I spun the folder open and glanced at the crucial parts: the starting supply, the potential for growth parallel to the sales of beef, the long-term commitments, and privacy clauses. It all looked fairly up and up.
“I see,” I replied. “Fairly boilerplate stuff. I do hope that when you do decide to choose, we’ll have these finer terms worked on.”
“You’re so confident about that?” Hollister asked, one brow high.
“Very,” I replied. “Wine is so blasé—red for meat, white for fish and vegetables. Our mead has a wider spectrum that will please anyone, and I meananyone. From those who drink alcohol to those who don’t. We even have children’s friendly versions as well.”
They all shared a look. “That is a very…smart move,” Dorsten replied, heavily impressed. “I don’t think I have seen any beverage provider with such foresight.”
“That is what we do here,” I grinned.
Mills cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, we hear whispers about the rivalry between you and the Sullivans. Is there one, and why is that?”
I sighed. “Yes, there is one, and to be honest…no one truly knows the reasons. It’s all convoluted; some say it started on the Mayflower when our great-great, great, possibly three more greats, grandfathers came here, and my ancestor mistook their grape seeds for something else and dropped a sack into the ocean.
“It could be that when medicine was scarce in the settling days, one of the Sullivan family members got sick, and the medicine my family gave them made the situation worse than better,” I shrugged. “No one knows the full extent of the quarrel, but we do avoid each other, mainly because it was better to be civilly peaceful than interact and rake up the animosity.”
“I see,” Hollister grinned. “Could it be a Romeo and Juliet situation?”
I burst out laughing, “Oh please, wouldn’t that be a plot twist. I assure you, nothing like that happened. Now, please, let’s get back to the facts about this partnership. Please contact me when you decide—” fishing my card out, I handed it to all three. “—and I will be ready to go forward when you are. I suppose this folder is mine?”
“It is,” Dorsten replied.
“Wonderful. Is there anything we need to discuss,” I asked. “I have time.”
