by Aurora Rey
“Really absorbed in those numbers, eh? Or are you watching porn?” Sophie folded her arms.
“Hey!” Cam whipped the screen around to prove her innocence. “I’m looking at your numbers.”
“I know that’s not true because you’ve got a real puss on your face and the numbers are great.”
“Oh.”
Sophie tipped her head to the side and her face softened. “What’re you so pissed off about? You can tell me.”
“I’m not pissed off.” She wasn’t. Distracted, maybe. Wondering what the hell Charlotte and Lauren might be talking about. Wondering what Lauren had in store for the Rose & Crown. Wondering when she might have an excuse to see Lauren again.
“Well, I’m not going to argue with you about it. Do you want me to walk you through the numbers so you don’t have to fight with the spreadsheet?”
Sophie had gone to business school so she could oversee the business side of Barrister’s, but she’d discovered a love and aptitude for all things financial. They were lucky she wanted to stay in the family business because she could have likely taken her talents elsewhere for far more than her company salary. “Will you tease me mercilessly if I say yes?”
“No, it’s probably a more efficient use of time overall.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but Sophie was right. And having Sophie explain things would save her having to pore over the numbers one at a time. “I am at your disposal.”
Sophie came the rest of the way into Cam’s tiny office. She sat in the chair opposite Cam and pointed to the monitor. “May I?”
“Please.”
Sophie angled it so they could both see the screen. She grabbed the mouse and positioned it so she could use it. “So, like I said, the numbers are good. Barrister’s had a one percent growth in sales compared to the same quarter last year.”
“And Carriage House?” She cared about Barrister’s, but that was the number she truly wanted to know.
Sophie tipped her head back and forth. “Up four percent over the same period. It’s in almost ten percent of the stores that carry Barrister’s.”
By some standards, that level of penetration in under two years on the market was excellent progress. Cam had used the company’s existing relationships to get meetings at many of those stores. Meetings that led to samples and samples that led to orders.
Carriage House was her baby, the product of five years’ worth of blending and sampling and perfecting a gin both delicious and distinct from the company’s signature spirit. It stood on its own when people tried it, but she knew it was Barrister’s reputation that got its foot in the door. “There’s a but, isn’t there? I can see it on your face.”
“But it’s still less than two percent of net sales. That’s not terrible, but not where I’d like it to be. Especially since Carriage House makes up eight percent of our production costs.”
Cam groaned inwardly. Smaller batch production would always make Carriage House more expensive to produce, but the premium price was supposed to balance that out, at least over time.
“It’s just not flying off the shelves. I think we need to boost brand awareness, beyond tastings. You need to look at bars.”
“Are you the marketing department now?”
Sophie shuddered. “God, no. I have no idea how you should do it, and I have no interest in figuring it out.”
Cam laughed. “Oh, good. I was worried there for a minute.”
“You can bring it to Rohit. I’m sure he’ll come up with something.”
“Maybe.” Rohit oversaw the marketing for Barrister’s. He did his job well, but he was pretty set in his ways. Selling a new craft line was an entirely different animal than maintaining the reputation of a hundred-plus-year-old brand.
“Or you could go door-to-door with that gimlet you made the other day. That drink would sell herself.”
She imagined traveling the Midlands with a case of Carriage House and a cocktail shaker. It might not be a bad idea. Even if the thought of doing it sent a shiver of dread down her spine. Not the making cocktails. She could do that until she was blue in the face. It was the door-to-door salesman bit. She could think of little she’d want to do less. “I’ll take that under consideration. Does this mean we don’t need to meet tomorrow?”
“That depends. Were you planning to serve cocktails?”
“Always.”
“Then we need to meet.” Sophie stood and offered her a wink. “I’ll think of something we absolutely, positively need to discuss.”
“And I’ll come up with something good.”
“You always do.”
Sophie left and Cam readjusted her screen. Sophie’s advice played through her mind. As much as she didn’t want Carriage House to follow in the footsteps of Barrister’s, she also didn’t want it to become some trendy darling of overpriced cocktail menus. The rise of gastropubs, complete with those cocktail menus, threatened the existence of traditional English pubs, the kind that kept their prices reasonable and catered to locals more than tourists. Places that were the heart of the community. Places like the Rose & Crown.
Cam shook her head. If she decided to take Carriage House on the road, she’d avoid the tourist traps and pretentious bars whose patrons were more interested in taking pictures of their drinks than talking to their companions. She’d hunt out the funky restaurants and the pubs who threw a few quirky cocktails up for folks looking for a break from ales and lagers and stouts. And she’d make them a damn fine cocktail.
Still far from being on board with becoming a traveling salesman, she returned her attention to the monitor. Which lasted all of two minutes. Then her mind wandered back to her beloved pub and its distractingly beautiful new owner.
Chapter Three
Lauren lugged her suitcase into the room and set it down with a grunt. So much for bellhops. She planted her hands on her hips and looked around. It wasn’t a total disaster. The carpet would have to go, obviously. Hopefully, there was hardwood underneath. She didn’t even want to think about how much installing new floors would cost. Plus new mattresses. The rest of the furniture looked old but sturdy. It had that kitschy, dated vibe she’d have to work with, not against.
She turned to face Mrs. Lucas, who stood in the doorway clutching Lauren’s carry-on bag. “How many rooms are there again?”
“Twelve, ma’am. This is the largest, with the sitting area. There’s one more like it and ten regular rooms.”
She nodded. Bigger than a B&B, but manageable. Kind of like the place in the Catskills Anja had dragged her to. It had been done up to look like it had in its 1960s heyday and they’d converted one of the rooms to a bar. Not her taste, necessarily, but it worked. People flocked to it from the city, looking for something with authentic charm and personality. Here, she wouldn’t even have to give up one of her rooms to get the bar.
“Is there anything else, ma’am? I do afternoon tea when there are guests. I could fix you up something if you’re hungry.”
When there are guests. The way she said it told Lauren it was a relatively common occurrence for there to be no guests at all. That would have to change. She couldn’t just fix it up and hope someone would see potential. She’d need a track record of good bookings for proof of concept. Three months at least, maybe six.
“Ma’am?”
Lauren hurried over and took the bag from Mrs. Lucas. “I’m so sorry. My mind is wandering. It must be jet lag.”
Mrs. Lucas offered her a warm smile. “You must be exhausted, flying all the way from the States. Perhaps a lie-down before you eat.”
She didn’t need sleep, but she could definitely use a few minutes alone. “I might do that. Thank you for helping me get settled.”
“Of course, ma’am. I’m here until six. Jack will be in then if you need anything.”
Lauren pulled her mind away from her plans and studied the woman in front of her. “You’ve been getting paid, right, since my uncle died?”
Mrs. Lucas looked down a
t her hands. “We have, ma’am. Since it wasn’t clear in the will, Miss Crawley said things would continue as usual until you took over and decided what to do next.”
The poor woman probably feared for her job. She might have reason to in the long run, but not for the moment. Lauren needed a few people who knew how the hell to run the place. “Good. You certainly shouldn’t be working for nothing.”
“Thank you.”
“That’ll be all for now, I think.” Mrs. Lucas turned to go, but Lauren called after her, wanting to put her mind at ease. “I’m looking forward to working with you, to learning all there is to know.”
The smile Mrs. Lucas offered told Lauren her instincts had been correct. “Me, too, ma’am. If there’s anything you need, you don’t hesitate to call down. The numbers are all there by the phone.”
An honest to God rotary phone. “I will. Thank you.”
Mrs. Lucas left, pulling the door closed behind her. Finally alone, Lauren surveyed her surroundings. She could see why guests weren’t lining up at the door, but it wasn’t an entirely lost cause. The work to whip things into shape didn’t seem insurmountable. Of course, she rarely considered anything insurmountable. Her train wreck of a professional life notwithstanding.
She shook off thoughts of that train wreck before they could take over too much of her brain. Being angry was a complete waste of time, as was feeling sorry for herself. Neither was her style and she wasn’t about to start now.
She turned her attention to her suitcase and unpacked before heading for the shower. Afterward, she stood at the mirror wrapped in a towel. Her meeting with the lawyer—solicitor—was at ten tomorrow and would give her some information about what she was taking on, in addition to official ownership. She could stay in, get some rest, and tackle everything then. But she wasn’t one to stay in or sit still.
She went to the closet and considered her options. The pub seemed pretty casual and she didn’t want to stand out. She settled on a pair of jeans and a lightweight black sweater with elbow-length sleeves and a boat neck. She added her black Louboutin heels more because she liked the way they made her feel than anything else. Earrings, a spritz of perfume and she was good to go.
On her way downstairs, her mind wandered to the woman from earlier. Not Charlotte, the other one. Cam. A tall drink of gorgeous, that’s what she was. And not her usual type, either. Kind of country, with a quiet confidence. And she ran a distillery.
She probably knew a thing or two about cocktails, not to mention the local bar scene. If they were working together, Lauren would be much less inclined to tumble into bed with her. Not that a tumble wouldn’t be nice. She just had other priorities at the moment and needed to keep her focus on the project at hand. The more she thought on that, the more she liked the idea of enlisting Cam’s help.
She walked back into the bar. More patrons had appeared in her absence, although the place remained more than half empty. She glanced at her watch. Just after four. Perhaps things would pick up after five.
She scanned the crowd. The average age had to be pushing sixty. She really hoped that had to do with the time of day more than the demographics of the town. She shook her head. Village. This place didn’t even make the cutoff to be called a town.
“Something wrong, Miss Montgomery?”
Lauren looked in the direction of the voice and found Charlotte looking at her. Lauren tossed her hair over her shoulder and offered a confident smile. “Not at all. And please, call me Lauren. I thought I’d come down for a drink, get a feel for the place.”
“Right, then. What can I get you?”
She crossed the room, felt a dozen pairs of eyes on her. Knowing it had nothing to do with her appearance being out of order, she resisted the urge to check her hair or clothes. She took the seat Cam had vacated earlier and tried not to wish she was still there. “What do you recommend?”
“We’ve got a great new cream ale if you’re a beer drinker. Otherwise, you can’t go wrong with a gin and tonic.”
She was not a beer drinker and happy to be offered something else. “A G&T would be great.”
“Preference of gin?”
The fact that they had more than one seemed like a good sign. Even if she wasn’t enough of a gin drinker to know the difference. “Whatever you suggest.”
Charlotte smiled. “Barrister’s is local, a traditional London dry. Personally, I’m partial to Carriage House, a new line from Barrister’s. A little peppery, great with tonic.”
“Sold.”
Charlotte made her drink and set it in front of her. “Travels okay? You’re from New York, right?”
“That’s right. And yes, thank you.” She took a sip. It had a slice of lemon instead of lime, which actually seemed to work better. “Oh, this is very good.”
“It’s Cam’s brainchild. She spent years perfecting the recipe.”
Despite the briefness of their meeting, she had no trouble conjuring Cam’s face. “Really?”
“She does all kinds of funky things in small batches. This one finally made the cut to get its own label.”
Lauren had heard of Barrister’s. It was one of the middle-shelf standards at a lot of bars back home. This was the first she’d heard of Carriage House though. Strange considering how good it was. “Is it new?”
“It’s been in commercial production for a year or so. Everyone who tries it loves it, but I think Cam is still figuring out how to get people to try it.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah. She’s brilliant at making it. Marketing it is a different story.”
“It always is.” Lauren nodded. She was inclined to like Charlotte, if for no other reason than she was young and had the kind of energy Lauren could relate to. But she also seemed to have her finger on the pulse of things—something Lauren desperately needed if she was going to make her plan work. “So, how long have you worked here?”
“Since I was old enough to have a job. Close to fifteen years now. Albert was good friends with my pa, so I’ve been coming here since I was a little thing. Albert used to let me come behind the bar and fix my own fizzy orange in a fancy glass. I was hooked.”
Lauren imagined she was referring to the British equivalent of a Shirley Temple. Although she’d had her share of those as a child, they’d been served to her at the club where her mother played tennis and had lunch with her friends. It was funny to have such a thing in common, yet have the fundamental experience of it be so different. “It sounds like you were very close with Albert. I’m sorry for your loss.”
A look of embarrassment swept over Charlotte’s face. “Oh, bollocks. You’re the one related to him. I should be saying that to you.”
Lauren waved a hand and offered a sympathetic smile. “That’s very kind, but not necessary. I’m sorry to say I hardly knew him.”
“We were wondering about that. No offense, but none of us even knew he had a niece.”
She appreciated Charlotte’s frankness, and not just because she’d be able to use it to her advantage. “I’m technically his great-niece. He visited us in New York a few times when I was young. I think he was my mother’s only uncle. They weren’t terribly close, but she always spoke fondly of him.”
“Ah.”
“That side of the family is very small. I don’t have any cousins through my mother, at least that I know of.” As she explained, the why of how she came to own the Rose & Crown took shape. It made her sad to think she was perhaps the closest relative Albert had. Or, perhaps more accurately, the youngest and most likely to take on his beloved pub.
“Well, we’re glad you’re here. None of us who works here is keen on hunting for a new job.”
Lauren hoped that had more to do with loyalty than there being no other places to work in town. “Speaking of, I have a lot to learn. I’m hoping you’ll be willing to help bring me up to speed.”
Before Charlotte could reply, the door opened and a group of five men came in. They all wore variations of the same outfit: wor
k pants and boots, T-shirts or button-downs with the sleeves rolled up. Lauren glanced at her watch. Not quite five. Charlotte excused herself and greeted them by name, filling pint glasses without needing to know their preferences. Lauren chuckled to herself. Like Cheers.
The evening continued like that. Lauren asked questions and Charlotte answered in between pouring drinks, mostly beer. A handful of people ordered food and Lauren snagged a menu to peruse the offerings. Fish and chips, pies filled with chicken or lamb or vegetables. Realizing she’d not eaten all day, she ordered a lamb pie. A bit heavy for her, but probably a local specialty. And assessing the quality would be step one in revamping the menu.
When her food came, she switched to wine. There were exactly two reds to choose from, a situation she’d need to rectify sooner rather than later. She went with the Cab Sav and was relieved to find it not a total disaster. The pie was good, too, even if it seemed more suited to a chilly winter evening than a day in the middle of June.
By eight, her lids felt heavy and her eyes grainy. The travel and the time change had caught up with her. She bid Charlotte a good night and excused herself. Back in her room, she didn’t bother with another shower, choosing instead to swap her clothes for a tank top and a pair of boy shorts before crawling into bed. She shut off the light, expecting to spend a good hour or two mulling everything over and starting to formulate a game plan. Instead, she drifted off almost immediately, falling into the kind of deep sleep that eluded her most of the time back home.
Chapter Four
Cam rarely had a poor night’s sleep, but when her alarm went off at six, she rolled over and groaned. Strange dreams and a seemingly never ending cycle of being too hot and then too cold had kept her awake more often than not. Irritated, she threw off the covers and headed to the bathroom. She cranked the shower to cold and stepped in.
The temperature of the water shocked her system, leaving her alert if no less wound up. She brushed her teeth and worked her fingers through her hair, then padded to the kitchen in her robe. She put on the kettle and added an extra spoon of tea to the pot, leaving it to steep while she got dressed.