...with a splash of Kay, page 12
“Right. This demographic is trending away from alcohol and toward mocktails, from traditional brands to new experiences. Even better, Brunch in a Bottle isn’t a direct threat to any of our existing clients since they’re alcohol-free.” I shared my armor of knowledge with Samantha, who I think stopped paying attention. She looked out the window to think for a few moments before turning back to me.
“This is exactly what the board has in mind. We just need to lock it up. Myra’s a fan, clearly, but we need to reel her in if other teams are poaching. We might want a client lead on this.” Her tone was uncertain. But I knew in my gut I could handle this alone.
“I want to handle this. Brunch in a Bottle already has a following in the Southwest, especially on college campuses and in bigger cities like Austin. I know we can make them a household name across the Northeast, starting with New York. We have the best pulse on this city and can use our connections here as their launching pad,” I pleaded.
“Okay, okay, I like that. But we’ve also got to change their name,” Samantha said, subtly agreeing with my plea.
“I absolutely agree. I actually mentioned this to Myra at the event!”
“Ah, lovely. They must already be simmering on the idea. Great, great.” Samantha said great when she liked something, so I was thrilled to hear her say it twice.
“Myra mentioned she wants to get Brunch in a Bottle into upscale cafés, like Pink House. It’s what inspired their all-pink event,” I said.
“Why don’t you go there this weekend and scope it out? We can use your experience to curate a list of other venues they’ll fit in. And while you’re there, brainstorm some creative ideas for our next pitch,” Samantha directed. I presumed this meant we didn’t need another client lead. “And don’t get too excited. Let’s see what you can do on your own first.” I nodded, knowing I could craft a plan that would not only reel Myra in but would keep her hooked.
Later that evening, I celebrated my work feat with a glass of wine and a new episode of my favorite show. Tomorrow would be a long day. Between my first date with Milo and working Lola’s Cinco de Mayo party, I wanted to be fresh and energized. I enjoyed my couch, my TV, and my eagerness for the day ahead.
…with a Splash
* * *
Unlike most first dates, I wasn’t nervous about going out with Milo. Contrary to my dates with Adam, our conversation had been effortless the few times we were together, and I felt less pressure to impress him.
Milo suggested we meet at a bar in Midtown, which seemed random given it was Friday afternoon and Midtown was mostly quiet. Nonetheless, I went to his suggested restaurant. I pushed a large brass door to enter a dimly lit space, the inside gloomier than the sunny weather outside. Big round bulbs dangled above a long bar where only a few patrons sat. A sole gentleman on one end and two young girls laughing at the other. No Milo yet.
Glancing at my seating options, I opted for a small love seat next to the window, overlooking the street. Waiting, I noticed two servers counting money and rolling silverware in a booth next to the kitchen door. As an experienced restaurateur, I knew they were finishing side work during their lunch-to-dinner lull.
The music played softly over the cream and orange furniture. There was something about an aesthetically pleasing restaurant that elicited possibility. I imagined this place could be very lively if the right crowd and time permitted.
As I moved my attention to the illuminated wire running like a jigsaw inside each bulb and the lead pipes zigzagging along the industrial walls, Milo walked in. He went straight to the bar, unaware I was already there. Like the Henry’s event, he wore modern streetwear and a pair of Vans, a departure from his work clothes.
When I saw he tried grabbing the bartender’s attention, I got up to let him know I was already here. He was in the middle of his order when I leaned my arm against his. “…straight up, with a splash of…” He paused when he realized I was aside him. He smiled handsomely. “Oh! … with a splash of Kay.” He finished his sentence, smiling at his own pun. The bartender looked confused before realizing Milo was being cutesy with me. He sucked his teeth and picked up a bottle to make Milo’s drink.
“You were already here? Not fair!” Milo hugged me.
“Right over there.” I pointed to the love seat where my scarf lay. “Actually, I was checking out the architecture in here. This place is new, right? They did a great job.”
“Ahem, thank you,” Milo said proudly.
“Don’t tell me this was you?” I asked in disbelief. “Is that why you invited me here?”
“You think I’d bring you to Midtown on a Friday for any other reason?” He went on to tell me how he helped develop the space during his internship two semesters before. That it was actually a factory and difficult to integrate the pipes with the overall design. I looked around as he explained. I saw Milo everywhere.
Over the next two hours, our conversation flowed as effortlessly as the ones before. There were no extra breaths to count or awkward pauses. But the sun shifted West, and my shift at Lola’s was starting soon.
“Where’s your sombrero?” he joked as a group of people walked by in Mexican-inspired attire.
“Don’t remind me. I can’t believe Lola’s is having a Cinco de Mayo party.” I didn’t mask my unenthusiasm. “Actually, I probably need to leave soon.” I checked the time on my phone. “Oh my god! I needed to leave ten minutes ago.” It was unlike my punctual self to lose track of time.
“For Lola’s? Already?” he asked.
“Ugh, yes. Apparently, it’s a ticketed party, and Sisi sold out. Good for her but exhausting for me.”
“So, uh, no sombrero?” he joked again. We both stopped speaking for the first time since we sat down. His face read, Please don’t go. I assumed mine read similarly, like, I really don’t want to.
But I had to. Not only would Sisi kill me if I didn’t show up, but I promised myself not to be so available after first dates anymore. As nice as my time with Milo was, I had reservations about what could truly manifest from this relationship, or any relationship for that matter.
“Okay, then. Let’s get you out of here. I’ll grab the bill. You go.” Milo stood up, gently grabbed my face, and leaned over to kiss my forehead. For a day date, it was the perfect kiss.
“Thank you!” I shouted before running off. My slight buzz eased my anxiety about being late but didn’t stop me from rushing.
A block away, I saw Lola’s rooftop overflowing with people, and a crowd formed outside the door. Inside, the bar was more packed than I’d ever seen. Afraid Sisi would scold me for being late, I tried to sneak in with the crowd. But, of course, she spotted me right away.
“Kay, you’re here!” her tone surprisingly fun-spirited.
“It’s not even four! What the heck is going on here?” I asked.
“Um, hello! Have you been outside? It’s freakin’ gorge. And it’s a Friday!” Today was unusually warm for early May, and the sun was out without a cloud in the sky. On days like these, New Yorkers flocked to any rooftop they could find.
“I’m surprised you’re not more stressed,” I told her.
“I was either gonna have a stroke or a shot. So, your girl is feeling good!” I laughed, glad to see Sisi embracing the environment. “Now, do me a favor. Get your butt behind the bar. You’re late, and they need you.”
“Ah, there’s the Sisi I know!”
I followed her order and “busted my butt” behind the bar, where drinks flowed, cash and credit cards flung, and red, green, and white confetti fell from everywhere. I’d never attended a Cinco de Mayo party before but imagined this had to be one of the wildest.
By the end of the night, my hands felt frozen from fetching so many Corona bottles on ice, and I was covered in Modelo from the tap. I knew the tips would be unbelievable, but something else was on my mind. I kept thinking about Milo. Although I promised I wouldn’t get ahead of myself, I couldn’t resist sending him a text. I sent a photo of the party’s aftermath, told him I almost put on a sombrero, and, most importantly, that I had a nice time with him. He responded immediately.
Milo: I had a nice time too.
Pretty in Pink
* * *
Without a sip of alcohol the night before, I somehow felt hungover the next day. My back ached from bending over the bar, and my knees hurt from standing so long. Even worse, my ankles looked swollen.
I wanted to stay in my cotton sheets, the fresh air from my open window flowing over me. I smiled, knowing I was eight hundred dollars wealthier today. Kind of makes the pain worth it.
I picked up my phone from my nightstand—a barrage of notifications, but one stuck out distinctly.
Sisi: What time do you want to meet at Pink House?
Ah, that’s right! What time is it? Shit. I got up and showered right away.
—
Pink House was a café downtown and the inspiration behind Brunch in a Bottle’s Pink Party. Apparently, Myra came here last year and loved the decor and clientele. It served as an intentionally idyllic Instagram story, more snappable than functional. The pink walls were too bright, the rosy pink tables too tiny, and the baby pink chairs uncomfortable. But I’d hand it to them, the place lived up to its reputation—overly pink.
I also noticed it was overly crowded, comprised mostly of college students and twenty-somethings on their phones or taking photos.
Sisi arrived before me, seated over a muffin and a teeny pink mug. “What is wrong with New York? Either everything is too much or not enough. I’m going to need more coffee than this!” Sisi pointed to her tiny cup when I approached the table. I was about to sit down when someone’s shoulder hit my backside.
“Sorry!” he said before hurrying off to his table to jump in his friend’s photo. Sisi rolled her eyes.
“Tell me again, why are we here?” she joked. We collided another small table with ours in hopes it’d create enough space for our four teeny coffees, then spent the next hour catching up.
We could have chatted for another few hours, but we both had work to do. I needed to conduct research for Brunch in a Bottle, and Sisi needed to prepare for her nearing meeting with Lola’s investor group.
“What about Brunchless?” I asked Sisi about an hour into our work session. “I need to have at least one good idea before my meeting with Samantha next week.”
“That makes no sense,” Sisi said matter-of-factly.
“More to Brunch? Uh, no, that’s terrible.”
“Brunchies. Call them Brunchies. Kind of like munchies,” she said effortlessly as her gel nails clicked against her laptop’s keyboard.
“Yes! That’s it! Brunchies!”
“Yeah, yeah, pay me in royalties later.” Unfazed, she continued typing.
Having, hopefully, discovered Brunch in a Bottle’s new name, I rewarded myself with a break. I slid out of my seat and toward the bathroom when I saw a familiar face walk into Pink House. It was Noah, the tall, messy blond-haired investor from Lola’s, whom I dated for a brief time last year. Though our chemistry was undeniable—Noah had a zest for life and the affluence to afford it—his work schedule and short attention span were impossible to keep up with, even if his playfulness and lovable demeanor were hard to resist.
It’d been months since I last saw him. My chest pounded, and my stomach dropped. Unsure of what to do, I scurried inside the bathroom, locked the door, and put my hand on my chest, where I felt my heart beat a mile a minute. Calm down. You’re acting like a lunatic!
I took a few deep breaths, peed, and stared at myself in the mirror before I heard a knock on the door.
“Hello!” When I didn’t respond, the person pressed on. “Let me know if you’re doing number two. I’ll go somewhere else!” As if I couldn’t be any more panicked, I opened the door to find the same guy who bumped into me earlier.
“All yours.” I snickered.
I looked around to find Noah before he saw me. There he was, sitting with Sisi at our makeshift table. Why would she invite him here?
I couldn’t stare from afar forever, so with my nerves somewhat subsided, I tucked my auburn hair back and walked over. If I could speak up to Samantha, then surely, I could face a kind of ex.
Noah looked like an actor. He had the best skin, a perfect hairline, and well-fitted clothes. He echoed money and success the moment you saw him. I remembered why I felt so attracted to him.
“Woah, woah, woah. You didn’t tell me Kay was here,” he said to Sisi. He looked up at me. His jawline was as strong as I remembered. I most certainly blushed but didn’t let that prevent my confidence.
“And Sisi, you didn’t tell me Noah would be here.” I widened my eyes at Sisi to indicate, What the hell?
“Oh, give up the act, you two. I had no idea Noah would be here, either. By the way, what the hell are you doing at this place?”
“I have a five percent stake in this place. And their coffee isn’t half bad.” Noah held up his cup.
He was the one investor Sisi had a causal work relationship with. Could be that he is the youngest, and his playful personality diminished any sense of superiority. Noah was in his late twenties, and while immature for his age in some respects, he had an admiration for the finer things, like expensive clothes, global cuisines, and, apparently, small coffees from Pink House.
“The coffee? Isn’t it a little tiny?” Sisi asked sarcastically.
“Be careful, you.” Noah tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows. “I’ll be at that meeting next month, and I’m pretty sure your career is on the agenda.”
“Oh please, you know I’m the best thing that ever happened to Lola’s.” Sisi waved her finger at Noah, continuing their banter while I stood standing, fading into the background.
“Noah! Americano with Soy!” the barista shouted.
“That’s me. Kay, why don’t you take your seat back?” He stood up and pulled out the tiny pink chair for me. “Sisi, I’ll be by Lola’s soon. Let’s talk about that meeting. I want to help.” That was the thing about Noah—he had an irresistible likability about him. He could draw anyone in.
—
I sat down and reopened my laptop without a word to Sisi.
“Kay, I didn’t know he’d be here.”
“No, I believe you, I believe you. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Well, you look beautiful today!” Sisi tried comforting me, because she knew I would’ve done anything to lock things in with Noah a year ago.
Yet today was different. I wouldn’t let Noah’s kindness outshine any confusion he’d put me through before. No. Today I had bigger things to worry about, like getting Samantha to sign off on Brunchies.
Simply
* * *
Vibrant as ever, Samantha made a grand entrance into LaToulle. Wearing a canary yellow top, teal blue pants, and hot pink heels, I imagined she was conveying some kind of message. Maybe a new coconut rum client? I wasn’t sure.
“Team, I have some news,” she announced to the floor. “I will be on vacation from the end of May through July.”
What? Samantha had already been out of the office more often than usual, relying heavily on her team, but to leave for more than two months was wild. Why was I required to be on until six every day, but she could be out as she pleased? CEO or not, I found it sanctimonious.
“I know, I know,” she continued. “You’ll miss me dearly. But not to worry. I will have check-ins with you in the mornings, and we’ll continue our brainstorming meeting virtually.”
Rumors came out after that Samantha was recently proposed to and would celebrate the engagement with family in Peru before bringing her daughter to Ibiza for social media content. It wasn’t unusual for an executive to take time off in the summer, but the length of her break was longer than anything I’d heard of. I guess the silver lining is that I’d be more available for Lola’s with Samantha in a separate time zone.
—
As was becoming a pattern during Monday meetings, my nerves subsided. I gave an update on my visit to Pink House along with initial ideas for rebranding Brunch in a Bottle to Brunchies.
“The clientele at Pink House are young and fun, yet sober. They yearn for individuality, which creates uniformity. Like how their individual decision not to drink means they’re collectively sober. With this in mind, each can should come with their own nonalcoholic personality.” As my confidence ensued, I saw Samantha on her phone, hardly paying attention.
“A ‘Peachini’ for the peach Bellini, a ‘Miss Mosa’ for the mimosas, and a ‘Hail Mary’ instead of the spicy Bloody Mary. And we need to drop Brunch in a Bottle. For one, they’re not bottles. And for two, it’s not catchy. I propose we pitch their new name as Brunchies.” The room nodded in agreement, and Samantha finally looked up.
“Let’s change Peachini to Peach-a-lini. Otherwise, this looks good.” She looked back at her phone.
“Thank you. Should I share it with Myra?”
“Yes, yes, that works. I’ll dial in.” I wasn’t sure why she was so aloof, but I quickly shook it off when I realized I’d be leading my second client pitch.
Natasha provided her update next, which was typical of the ones she’d given before, just with more event work. We hadn’t talked much since the Henry’s event, so I grabbed her after the meeting to check-in.
“Natasha, that’s fun you’re working on more events.”
“Mm, yeah,” she responded. I figured it’d take more than a friendly comment to get through to her.
“Cool… So do you want to grab a coffee later today? I’d love to hear more about it.” I discerned my desperation as the words came out of my mouth.
