Page 6 of Connor

“Fine. Okay. Well then… did you have any questions? About the treatment or anything? Perhaps I can give you my expertise for free so you can create your own amazing wellness center based on my experience and knowledge. You know… one that has a newer fit-out and a computer to do half the work for you?”

I’m not used to people taking this tone with me. Probably because I’m usually not such an asshole that I would step into someone else's business and verbally tear it down like I just did. Maybe that witch did drug me…?

As I look at her, I see no dollar signs reflected in her eyes, and she didn’t offer any flirtatious remarks. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. She’s visibly annoyed, and perhaps when we booked, we should’ve been more transparent about our trip being for research. But most people I speak to jump at the word “distillery.” Women, in particular, want to know all about it. And I know she saw my name on the client form, yet Daisy doesn’t seem to care.

“I don’t normally sleep when I have a massage,” I grumble, not that I really know. I don’t make a habit of taking time for massages, having only had one before, but I never was able to get my mind to fully relax, not like today.

“Is that a question or a statement?” she asks, eyebrows raised, and I bite my tongue. I should’ve expected that. She’s quick. Calling me out. I clear my throat from the incense and try again.

“Can you explain sound therapy to me?” I ask a clearer question, something I’m not used to doing. I rarely repeat myself. Calm, confident, concise are all words that people use to describe me. Those attributes have all left me today.

“Sound therapy is good for relaxation. It taps into the inner body, sending vibrations through your cells and connecting those frequencies.”

I nod, taking in the information and appreciating her words, yet having no real idea what she’s talking about. She seems to see my confusion, and this time when she takes in a deep breath, her shoulders lower, more resigned to talk than wanting to.

“In basic terms, I think the sounds lulled your body and mind to sleep,” she says, smiling a little, that Cupid’s bow now in full effect. I force my lips to stay level and not curve at the ends like they’re wanting to. “That, or maybe you’ve just been tired and stressed lately and needed an hour of me-time.”

There’s been a lot going on. We’re expanding the distillery, so work is busier than ever. Hudson is back in town, so I’m spending more time with him. Dad and Victoria are starting to settle into their new routine, and having a new person, especially a woman, in the family brings a new dynamic. Not to mention, her fucking goats.

“Tired and stressed sounds about right. You didn’t use any oils or products, is that a usual thing?” I ask. From a pure financial point of view, the less products we use, the better for our bottom line. It also means less storage, less waste, and less opportunity for damaged products, so overall a better investment. Her eyes narrow on me, like she’s seeing through me, like she’s deciding how much information to offer.

“There are treatments where products are used, like a little oil during cupping, for example, and obviously needles during acupuncture and things like that, but what I do is work with the body for it to find its own natural rhythm. Mud wraps and body scrubs are all a bit of fun and topically relaxing, but they don’t provide any harmony within the body for overall well-being and alignment. They also require a higher usage of water, more product, towels, heavier cleaning in the rooms between clients. They’re a bigger burden on the environment, the staff, and so they eat into the profit more.”

I raise my eyebrows. She clearly knows a lot about it, and I have the feeling I severely underestimated her. I’m more about the dollars and cents, always looking at the bottom line, so it’s interesting to hear her speak about it all.

“But… we do have after-treatment products, because with only two of us here, that creates an income ceiling, so in order to make money, retail is really where we need to focus.” She walks over to the shelves in the small waiting area that I spotted earlier. “We develop our own teas, which are elixirs for a variety of symptoms, as well as build our own natural oils and blends for burning or massage. We also have crystals, which are not for everyone, but they do help bring a sense of natural energy to your body and your environment.” As she showcases the products on the shelf, I feel like I may have been too flippant when I entered before, because Daisy is passionate and clearly intelligent about all this.

“Do you have an issue with dead stock? Or stock that goes off and needs to be thrown away?” I ask as I pick up a small box of tea. Their branding is cute. Of course, it has a sun on it, the bright yellow making me feel energized just from looking at it. I turn the box, reading the all-natural ingredients, of which there are only a few, all easy-to-pronounce herbs or plants of some kind. I wonder what their shelf life is. She has a lot of them, seemingly something for every ailment you can think of.

“No, not really. The tea is obviously dried and so that lasts a while. We box our tea, because the packaging is recyclable. As far as the oils are concerned, they don’t really go bad. But I think the key with the wellness treatments we do is that it’s less about general retail to make a buck and more about prescription.”

“Can you explain that?” I ask, very interested, but I have no idea what she’s getting at. If we can hold stock that doesn’t spoil, I’m seeing a lot of savings with having wellness as a focus as opposed to having mud wraps and creams everywhere. I see her tone change, her body now more at ease as her face lights up. She enjoys talking about this, the business side.

“I like to think of us as wellness doctors in a way. We treat people for a variety of ailments, or just for general well-being, and as such, they’ll usually be prescribed a tea or an oil that they can take home with them to use and order more regularly or come back for a reassessment. So it’s less about pushing the nice teas or candles, and more about prescribing a healing tonic that’s going to give them at-home care they can do on their own.”

“So let me get this straight. You treat people without the need for a lot of product usage, therefore limiting breakage and spoiling and storage. You then have long-life products available that, from what I can see, are easy to store and that last months, perhaps even years, in some cases. Meaning that your overhead must be…” I say, thinking about it.

“Low. One of the lowest in the health industry,” she says, nodding, and as the CFO of Whiteman’s Whiskey, my radar for financial success is strong. I admire Daisy’s passion. Beautiful and smart, it’s a deadly combination.

“You sure run a pretty tight ship here. Very knowledgeable about it all.”

“Oh sorry, are you talking about me? Here? In this run-down clinic without any technology and incense that makes you cough?” she sasses, and my eyes narrow as my mind runs wild with an idea.

“I want you to come and work for me,” I state, and she stills. The words leave me before I really thought about them, but when I get a gut feeling about something, I usually just go for it. My gut is telling me that Whiteman’s needs someone to consult on the spa to bring it to life and that someone is Daisy.

“Excuse me?” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but I ignore her and keep talking.

“As I said, I’m opening a spa at my distillery, one that I thought would consist of mud wraps and massages and facials, but now I see a different vision. A vision that I think could be brought to life with your expertise,” I tell her, wondering if I can get her over the line.

“Oh, wellness and whiskey… they go so well together…” There’s that sarcasm again. I frown but continue.

“Come on as a consultant, for a month or two… maybe three. Come to Whispers, the small town where we’re situated. I’ll fly you in, organize accommodations for you, you can meet the team, work with my colleagues, Victoria and Lacy, to get the spa off the ground.” I give myself a mental pat on the back, because this is a fucking brilliant idea, and I’m not sure why none of us thought of it earlier. A consultant who can bring it all together is perfect. I know a good opportunity when I see it.

When she doesn’t respond, I hand her my card. “Here’s my card. Take the weekend to think about it.” Giving her no other option than to take it, her fingers almost touch my own, and I feel a buzz ripple up my hand. It must be all those vibrations she was talking about.

“Wow, I wonder how many trees died for this beauty to be made.” Looking at my thick, glossy card, she shakes her head, and I cut in again, not a man who takes no for an answer in the business world.

“I expect a call from you on Monday,” I tell her.

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