AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"She already made that offer yesterday."
"Good. Will I see you at lunch?"
The lass shrugs. "Not sure. I might grab something from the cafeteria and bring it back to my office."
"But you need to take a break at least once during the day."
She smiles, and her cheeks dimple. "Thank you for worrying about me, but I've been taking care of myself since I was eighteen."
"Aye, of course you have. Well, then, I'll say goodbye."
While I stride toward the door, I glance back to see Rebecca already hunched over her desk thumbing through papers. The lass does seem to have a workaholic streak, but that's not a healthy attitude. I've just shut her office door behind me when I make an abrupt decision.
I will do whatever I can to ensure she doesn't burn herself out by working too bloody hard. Do I have a plan for how to accomplish that feat? Not at the moment. But I will come up with one.
By the time I reach my office, I've cemented my resolve to keep that lass from burning herself out. Five weeks to boost sales doesn't sound like a great deal of time, especially considering that virtually no one knows about my company except friends and family. Aye, Rebecca will most likely work longer hours than she should.
I sit down at my desk. The chair looks and feels like new because I rarely sit on it. My work is on the malting floor, in the dunnage warehouse, in the hothouse, in the room where the distilling actually happens. That means everywhere except in an office.
Why am I sitting here staring down at my own feet?
I lift my head to gaze out the window, where I can see the huge stills and all the equipment required to keep them running smoothly. Despite the view, I can think of nothing but Rebecca Taylor. Maybe I should take a page from her book and make notes. That might inspire ideas about how to save Rebecca from overwork. So, I hunt about in my desk until I find a small pad of paper, and I begin jotting things down.
Why I care so much about her work habits is...something I'll consider later.
Chapter Ten
Rebecca
All morning, I've done nothing but pour over the copious notes I took yesterday when Thane showed me around the distillery and gave me a crash course on how to make single-malt Scotch. The Black Label version, which was Thane's first successful attempt, tastes delicious. The Triple Threat variety offers more exotic flavors, and I love the way it tastes and the way it feels on my tongue, not to mention the way it slides down my throat on a stream of warmth.
But his newest creation blew me away.
If I can't concoct a phenomenal marketing plan for that whisky and make it a worldwide hit, then I'd better just run away to Antarctica. I won't deserve to call myself a marketing expert anymore. I've created some great campaigns that I'm very proud of, but I have never helped to rocket a brand up into the stratosphere. Yet the moment I tasted Thane's whisky, I got a shivery feeling of excitement, as if this might be my big moment---and Thane's too. Together, we can make everyone crave Thane Buchanan's creations.
But my first task is to rename the company and the whiskies.
Thane and Fiona have both left me in charge of the marketing. But I will, of course, share my ideas with them before I make drastic changes.
I skim through my notes, drumming my pen on the desk. I can't even pronounce the company's name---Collaidh Sgeul-Rùin---not even in my head. I love what the words mean. "Sensual secret" is an apt description for Thane's whisky. But how can we convince people to buy it when they can't pronounce the name? I need to come up with alternatives that he will approve of, a task that will take considerable time.
For the entire morning, I struggle to come up with ideas. I pace the entire width of my office, over and over, while listening to my favorite pop band. I have my earbuds plugged into my phone, and I hold it in one hand while making vague gestures with my other hand. Maybe I am a little strange, but I don't care. A woman approaching fifty isn't supposed to love eighties pop, right? Oh, who cares. I love this music, and it activates all my brain cells.
I drop onto my chair every so often, but then return to pacing. No ideas yet. When my absolute favorite song comes on, I can't stop myself from singing along with "Hungry Like the Wolf." Who wouldn't start singing along to that song? It's an eighties classic.
Soon, I'm dancing too. With my eyes closed. Probably not the smartest idea.
I whirl around, opening my eyes. And I jump.
Thane is standing just inside the doorway smiling at me. His blue eyes seem to glitter in the light steaming in from outside the window. That smile broadens into a grin.
I rip the earbuds out. "Thane? Why didn't you knock?"
He chuckles. "I did. Three times."
"Really? I'm so sorry." I toss my phone and the earbuds onto my desk. "That was highly unprofessional behavior. I shouldn't dance and sing at work."
"Why not? This isn't the international headquarters of a soulless megacorporation. We're a family here."
