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And yet, the more time I spend with Olivia, the more I think I know exactly who she is to me. The idea both exhilarates and frightens me.
“I trust your opinions, Oliva,” I say. “But you’re investing so much of your own credits into this that it worries me. What if I lose? We will have done all of this for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” she says. Her eyes are wide and shining. “We’ll just have to be business partners.”
“Business partners?”
“Yeah, why not? A brewery here on New Verdan is a smart investment. The entire sector is crying out for good local beer that they don’t have to pay an arm and a leg for…and don’t have to risk botulism or food poisoning by drinking. When we get big enough, we can expand our operation.”
“Expand? You mean to other settlements on New Verdan?”
She gives me a smirk.
“Oh baby, you’re thinking way too small. I’m talking other worlds. Other systems. I want the Ataxian High Priestess to kick back with one of our brews at the same time as Fenix Black and Messiah are hosting the Holo Video music awards…sponsored by us. I want our name to be synonymous with great beer.”
“You have lofty ambitions, Olivia.” I take a deep breath to steel myself for what I’m about to say next. “But you never answered my original question.”
“Didn’t I?”
She tilts her head to the side and looks cute. It almost works, but I’m nothing if not persistent.
“This is a huge investment, not just in the brewery, but in…me. Why would you do this? Why would you take such a tremendous risk on me?”
Her eyes widen, her chest expands with a sudden gasp. Olivia’s full lips part, but no sound comes out. She licks her lips nervously and then kind of half laughs.
“Uh…”
I wait, hanging desperately upon her answer.
Twenty-One
Olivia
Okay, so Chadd Gordo is an annoying jerk. Possibly one of the most annoying jerks in the galaxy. That still doesn’t explain why I’m so willing and eager to go all in on this brewery business.
Is it a smart investment? Yes and no. On the one hand alcohol manufacture and distribution might seem like a slam dunk investment. Every sapient species so far discovered—excepting the mysterious Baragon—enjoy some form of libation from time to time.
Even the stuffy fundamentalist Ataxian sects allow themselves the joy of alcoholic beverages. A license to print money, right?
Wrong. There are like a zillion different companies out there with the same thought in mind. True, an opportunity like this one on new Verdan is rare, where you have exclusive rights and a huge head start on cornering the local market.
But you still have to go head to head with numerous brands that have been around since before the Centuries War fired its first shot. Brands like Rexnor-Kortax, Budweiser, Sleen Warnock, and Jack Daniels are so ingrained in the consciousness of consumers that it’s hard to penetrate their market share even briefly, let alone in a sustained push.
Plus, there was the simple fact that we might not win the taste test and wind up bereft of the license. Then we’d have utterly wasted every penny invested in the whole affair.
So this was a tremendous risk, no matter which way I look at it. I can’t pretend that I’m doing this just to spite Chadd, or just because ‘it’s a good investment.’ At best it’s a high risk, potentially high reward tier.
No, I can’t say any of those are true at all. So why am I helping Yarvok? The words tumble out of my lips before I can stop them.
“I believe in you, Yarvok.”
It’s true, I do believe in him. But not just in a business sense. I believe that you’re a good man, and a great catch, and I wonder if I’m the woman to catch you or not and if I really want to be or if I’m just crushing and it’s all so much I can’t stand it—
“Thank you, Olivia,” he says, stopping me from continuing my paranoid spiral. “It means a lot to me that you would say that.”
He takes my hand in his own and brings it toward his face. At first I think he’s going to kiss it like some neckbeard, but instead he holds the back of my hand to his ridged forehead.
“I am humbled by such faith.”
