The Case of the Natty Newfie

by B R Snow

  “Hi,” I said, holding Chloe’s lead tight as she strained to get closer to the guard to say hello.

  “Look at these guys,” the security guard said, getting up out of his chair to greet the dogs. “They’re gorgeous.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “We have an appointment with John Naylor, but these guys need to take care of a little business first.”

  “Sure,” he said, kneeling down to rub Chloe’s head. “She’s an Aussie shepherd, right?”

  “She is,” I said, releasing the tension on her lead. “How much snow are they predicting?”

  “This morning they were talking about only a dusting,” he said, turning his attention to Captain. “Now, they’re saying we might end up breaking the record.”

  “What’s the record?” Josie said.

  “I think it’s around fifty centimeters,” the guard said, rubbing the Newfie’s head.

  I frowned. Josie caught my expression and laughed.

  “That’s around two feet,” she said.

  “I knew that,” I said, making a face at her. “Is it okay if we take them out to that courtyard?”

  “That’s the spot,” the guard said. “You’ll find plastic gloves and baggies outside the door if you need them.”

  “Thanks,” I said, glancing outside at the snow that continued to fall and was now swirling in the breeze. “Okay, let’s get this over with.”

  We headed outside with the dogs, and Al and Dente immediately focused on the task at hand, and within a few minutes, Chef Claire was back inside the warm building laughing and chatting with the security guard. Captain and Chloe decided that rolling around in the snow and having a wrestling match sounded like a good idea, and Josie and I stood shivering in the cold until they finally found their focus. Eventually, they left their mark in the snow, and we were able to get them to shake off, and we headed back inside.

  “When are we going to Cayman?” Josie said, stamping snow off her feet.

  “Not soon enough,” I said, hugging myself for warmth. “I can’t believe I used to look forward to this time of year.” I glanced at Chef Claire. “Are we all set?”

  “We are,” she said, pointing at a bank of elevators.

  We waved to the security guard then stepped into the elevator. The dogs sat quietly as the door closed and we began our ascent.

  “It looks like you made a friend,” Josie said to Chef Claire.

  “The security guard? He was nice,” she said. “And a treasure trove of information.”

  “Really?” Josie said. “Do tell.”

  “Well, apparently, our photographer has quite a reputation,” she said, giving us a coy smile.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “But not as a dog photographer.”

  “Nothing gets past you,” Chef Claire said. “He likes to call himself a portrait photographer.”

  “I assume you’re not talking about Norman Rockwell,” Josie said.

  “No, more like rock star,” Chef Claire said. “And models. Lots of models. The security guard said he sees women going in and out all the time. Rumor has it that the guy is a bit of a player.”

  “I guess everybody has got to make a living, right?” I said, shrugging. “And I’m sure he’ll be on his best behavior today.”

  “He’s one of Thomas’s buddies?” Josie said.

  “Yeah, that’s what he said,” I said. “I think they go clubbing together.”

  “Hey, they’re young,” Josie said. “That’s what young people do. You remember what those days were like, don’t you?”

  “Barely,” I said, laughing as the elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor.

  “But that’s not all he does,” Chef Claire said.

  I paused in the open doorway and waited for Chef Claire to continue.

  “Apparently, he moonlights as one of the local paparazzi,” she said. “Several of his photos have shown up in the tabloids and websites focused on celebrities.”

  “But not photos highlighting their charity work, right?” I said.

  “Man, you’re on fire today,” Josie said, laughing.

  “Shut it,” I said, making a face at her. “So, this guy is a total sleazeball?”

  “No, actually, the guard said he’s a really nice guy,” Chef Claire said. “But he definitely has an eye for the ladies. And he also considers himself an entrepreneur.”

  “That’s probably a good thing,” Josie said, taking in her surroundings as we led the dogs down the hall toward his loft. “It must cost a small fortune to live here.”

  We came to a stop outside the door, and Josie pressed the buzzer. Moments later, Thomas opened the door and beamed at us.

  “You made it,” he said, giving us room to enter. “How bad is it out there?”

  “It’s getting nasty,” I said, giving him a hug. “It’s good to see you. How’s it going?”

  “Things are great,” he said. “Let me take your coats.”

  We handed them to him, and he headed for a long line of metal hooks attached to one of the walls near the door.

  “Hey, guys.”

  “Hi, Abby,” I said, giving our CEO a warm embrace. “How are you doing?”

  “Terrific,” she said, then nodded at a young man at the far end of the loft I assumed was the photographer. “You’re not going to believe this kid.”

  “Really? So, the rumors are true,” I said, scowling.

  “It’s okay,” Abby said, laughing. “He’s just young and a bit of a flirt.” She bent down to greet all four of our dogs just as two beautiful Springer Spaniels came bounding across the floor. “And these two are Bert and Ernie.”

  Josie and I sat down on the floor to say hello to the Springers and ended up rolling around on the floor with all six dogs. We eventually got to our feet when the photographer strolled toward us trailed by a young woman. He was in his early twenties, and his goofy grin seemed etched in place. The woman with him was also young and smiling, but every move she made seemed tentative, and for some reason, she reminded me of a fragile baby bird.

  “I’m John Naylor,” he said, smiling and giving all three of us the once-over. “And this is my assistant, Melinda.” He sat down on the floor and greeted the dogs then almost disappeared from view when Captain placed a huge paw on his shoulder and pinned him on the floor.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand toward the young blonde who was obviously a dog lover. “I’m Suzy. That’s Josie. And that’s Chef Claire.”

  “Welcome,” Melinda said, returning our handshakes with a big smile before giving her undivided attention to both Goldens. “These guys are incredible.”

  “Thanks,” Chef Claire said, petting the two Springers. “How old are your guys?”

  “They’re two,” Abby said. “And finally starting to settle down.”

  Thomas returned, and John climbed to his feet and brushed himself off. That seemed to be unnecessary since the place was immaculate. The fact that a young man in his early twenties kept such a tidy home caught me by surprise.

  “You guys want something to drink?” John Naylor said. “I just made a big pot of coffee.”

  “That sounds good,” Josie said.

  As we followed him toward the kitchen that dominated the middle of the loft, I got my first good look at the place. It appeared to be about the size of a basketball court, and the dark hardwood floor was polished to a high sheen. The back quarter of the loft where I assumed he did most of his photo shoots was already set up for our session. The living room area was near the kitchen, and another section I assumed to be the bedroom was cordoned off by an elaborate set of Japanese screens. I continued to take it all in then looked over at Josie who was doing the same.

  “This place is amazing,” Josie said.

  “Yeah, it’s gorgeous,” I said, nodding. “The kid has great taste.”

  “Either that or a really good decorator,” Chef Claire said. “I love the kitchen.”

  The photographer noticed us admiring the loft as h
e began setting fresh mugs of coffee on the counter that ran along the front of the kitchen.

  “I love it here,” he said, glancing around.

  “I’d be shocked if you didn’t,” Josie said. “What do these lofts rent for?”

  “I think they go for about five grand a month,” he said, frowning. “But I’m not really sure. I bought this one.”

  He saw the look of surprise on all our faces and grinned.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I get that all the time. How is it possible for a kid like me to buy a place like this?”

  “You read my mind,” Josie said, stirring her coffee and taking a sip. “Business must be good.”

  “It better be,” John said, laughing. “I’ve got a monthly nut that could choke a horse.” Then he shrugged. “But what the heck, right? If you’re not working hard, you’re not trying.” Then he noticed the look on my face. “What is it?”

  “Given the size of your monthly nut, I was just wondering what you’re charging us,” I said, laughing.

  “We were just discussing that when you guys got here,” Abby said. “John has offered to do the shoot and the initial marketing campaign for free if we’re willing to give him a cut of the first-year revenue.”

  “Interesting,” I said, remembering what the security guard had told Chef Claire about his entrepreneurial spirit. “How much of a cut are you thinking about?”

  “Abby said your first-year revenue target is around five million,” John said.

  “That sounds about right,” I said, glancing at Abby who confirmed it with a nod.

  “No offense, but I think it’s way too low,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I got a good look at your dog toys this morning, and they’re incredible. And with the distribution deal you have with Middleton Enterprises, combined with what I think you’ll be able to do online, your first-year revenue should be higher. If you only did five million, I’d be very disappointed. That is if I were you.”

  “The margins on five million are nothing to sneeze at,” Abby said, an edginess creeping into her voice.

  “Not at all,” John said, casually topping off everyone’s coffee. “But why be happy with five when you can do ten?”

  “Ten million?” I said, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “It’s very doable,” he said, nodding his head vigorously. “And it should ramp up to at least fifty million in year two.”

  I had no idea where his confidence came from, and I was both mildly annoyed and impressed by his cockiness.

  “What do you know about the pet industry?” I said.

  “Not much,” he said, shaking his head. “But I know a lot about putting together ad and marketing campaigns. And I know a winner when I see it. This thing could be huge.”

  “We think so,” I said. “And that’s why we hired Abby.”

  “And that was a very smart decision on your part,” John said. “Not to mention what a great call it was hiring this guy to handle your logistics.” He draped an arm over Thomas’s shoulder. “But you’re very thin at the moment on the marketing side.”

  “We have Middleton Enterprises to handle most of that,” I said.

  “On the retail side, sure,” John said. “But your idea of doing an online subscription service for the toys is brilliant.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “That’s a billion-dollar idea,” John said. “If it’s designed and executed well.”

  “I’m listening,” I said, folding my arms and leaning back against the counter.

  “Okay, let’s start with the size of the dog market. It’s around sixteen billion a year in the States.”

  “But that’s all in,” Josie said. “And it includes veterinary services and all sorts of ancillary items.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” John said, nodding. “But I just read where dog owners spend over a hundred bucks a year on average for toys and treats. And there are about eighty million dogs in the U.S. alone. So, let’s be really conservative and take out strays, shelter dogs, and poor guys like that and say there are around fifty million dogs that people spend a hundred bucks a year on for discretionary items. That alone is a five-billion-dollar market. Ten percent market share of that is five hundred million.”

  “We’re very familiar with the numbers, John,” Abby said.

  “I’m sure you are,” he said, shrugging. “And I’m also sure your business plan is a lot more precise than the numbers I’m tossing off the top of my head. I’m just saying you guys should ramp up your projected revenues a lot faster than what you’re currently planning. With my help, I think you can grow this thing to three hundred million annually by year five.”

  “I thought you were a photographer,” I said, laughing as I found myself warming up to him despite his annoying cockiness that was off the charts.

  “I am. Photography is my passion,” he said. “I just have a knack for marketing.” He took a sip of coffee and beamed at us. “And I also have a knack for making money.”

  “So, I repeat. How much of a cut are you thinking about?” I said, glancing back and forth at Josie and Chef Claire who were listening closely to the conversation.

  “Here’s my offer,” he said, setting his coffee mug down. “I’ll do the photo shoot and develop all the marketing materials and design your website for the cost of materials. It shouldn’t be more than ten grand tops. And I get two percent of the first five million, your first-year target.”

  “A hundred thousand?” I said.

  “Well done,” Josie whispered. “And you didn’t even need to take your shoes off.”

  “Shut it,” I said, grinning at her.

  “It’s a lot cheaper than hiring a senior VP of marketing,” John said.

  “No argument there,” Abby said.

  “And I get five percent of everything in excess of your annual sales targets,” John said, holding up the coffee pot to see if anyone wanted more.

  I waved the offer away as I tried processing the numbers involved. I glanced at Abby who was also deep in thought.

  “So, for every million bucks in revenue over our annual target you get fifty thousand?” I said.

  “That’s my offer,” he said, smiling. “Subject to negotiation, of course. And if I do get you guys to ten million in year one, our deal continues for another two years at the same percentages.”

  “You’ve given this a lot of thought,” I said.

  “Some,” John said, nodding. “You should probably know that I always try to live by my personal mantra.” He smiled and paused for effect. “Either go big or go home.”

  “Yeah, I sort of figured that one out,” I said, staring at him.

  “But you wouldn’t actually be on our staff, right?” Abby said.

  “No, as much as I think I’d enjoy your company, I can’t think of anything worse than sitting in an office all day. I’d be a contract consultant and set my own hours. And I have to warn you up front, I keep some very strange hours.”

  “We’re going to need to discuss this,” Abby said, setting her mug down on the counter.

  “Absolutely,” John said. “Take all the time you need.” He beamed at all of us, then clapped his hands once. “Now, how about we go take some pictures and see if we can turn these gorgeous dogs into stars?”

  He gestured at his assistant, and they strolled toward the far end of the loft. I watched them go, then turned to Thomas.

  “How well do you know this guy?” I said.

  “Really well,” he said. “We went to high school together for a couple years. Then John took the equivalency exam and graduated early.”

  “To go to college?” I said.

  “No, to do this,” Thomas said, spreading his arms. “I’m going to go give them a hand getting ready.”

  He wandered off, and I sipped my coffee, deep in thought.

  “He’s an impressive young man,” Abby said.

  “Yes. And incredibly annoying,” Josie said. “Smug central.”

  “He’s reall
y smart,” Chef Claire said, then nodded to the far end of the loft where John was rolling around on the floor with all six dogs. “And he’s a dog lover.”

  “Yeah, you can’t fake that,” Josie said, watching the action. “So, what do you guys think?”

  “The worst thing that could happen is that we only get a free marketing campaign out of it,” I said. “What do you think Abby? You’d be the one dealing with him most of the time.”

  “If he can drive the numbers anywhere close to what he says he can, I don’t care how annoying he is. I’ll figure out a way to deal with him.”

  “Okay, then I guess we’ll give the kid a shot, right?” I said, glancing around.

  “Shouldn’t you check with your mother first?” Abby said. “She does own twenty percent of the company.”

  “Are you kidding?” I said, shaking my head. “My mother is gonna love this guy.”

  “I knew he reminded me of somebody,” Josie said, laughing.

  Chapter 3

  I looked out the bank of windows that filled the back wall of the loft, then noticed a door next to the windows that led out to a large patio. Other industrial-style buildings that I assumed had also been converted into lofts were nearby but barely visible as the snow continued to fall. A pure white blanket dominated the landscape, and from inside, the winter scene was idyllic. But I was certain it would be miserable being out in it, especially since we’d arrived in town completely unprepared to deal with two feet of snow. I glanced over at John and his assistant, Melinda, who were making a few final changes and decided I had a few minutes before we were ready to start. I grabbed my phone, and Max answered on the second ring.

  “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad you called. Your phone has been off, and I was getting worried.”

  “We made it in,” I said. “Barely. I can’t believe how hard it’s snowing. Where are you?”