Page 69 of Rescuing Aria
The brief power play settles, leaving charged silence in its wake. Marcus breaks it smoothly, turning to business like a shark returning to familiar waters.
“As I was saying, our expansion plans for The Little Matchstick Girl present certain security considerations. The increased inventory alone will require upgraded systems.”
“Expansion plans?” I keep my tone neutral, though Aria’s sudden tension beside me speaks volumes.
“Dad.” Aria sets her napkin down with deliberate care. “We haven’t finalized anything yet. Ember and I are still discussing options.”
Marcus waves a dismissive hand. “Details, darling. The direction is clear. Miranda’s projections show the growth potential is too significant to ignore.”
“Miranda?” I glance at Aria.
“My father’s business consultant.” Her voice carries a tightness I’ve rarely heard. “She’s been running numbers.”
“At my request,” Marcus adds smoothly. “And her findings are quite compelling. We’re looking at potential national distribution within eighteen months.”
Weagain. Aria’s fingers curl around her water glass, knuckles whitening slightly.
“That’s an aggressive timeline.” I glance at Aria, wondering how hard I can push. She asked me here for a reason, and I’ve got her back. “Especially for an artisanal product.”
“That’s precisely what makes it such an attractive opportunity.” Marcus leans forward, his intensity palpable. “The artisanal narrative provides excellent marketing leverage. Consumers love a good story—the street girl made good, the handcrafted touch. It differentiates in a crowded market.”
The street girl made good.Ember reduced to a marketing angle. I catch the flash of anger in Aria’s eyes before she masks it.
“Ember isn’t a narrative, Dad.” Her voice remains level, controlled. “And her candles aren’t mass-market products.”
“Not yet.” Marcus’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But with the right scaling strategies, proper quality control protocols?—”
“The hand-crafting is the quality control.” Aria sets her glass down with just enough force to create a small sound. “That’s the entire point.”
“Darling, I understand the emotional attachment.” Marcus’s expression softens into something patronizing. “It’s charming, really, but business is business. Sentiment makes for poor strategy.”
The sommelier returns with our wines, creating a brief respite in the tension. As he pours, I study Marcus Holbrook more carefully. This isn’t just a controlling father. This is a man who genuinely cannot conceive of a world where his vision isn’t the correct one—the only one.
The sommelier returns, and I accept the wine he pours, taking a moment to taste it properly. Marcus watches the ritual with barely concealed impatience.
“Mr. Holbrook.” I wait until the sommelier retreats. “Having seen The Little Matchstick Girl’s operations firsthand, I can tell you what makes it special is precisely what makes it difficult to scale. The craftsmanship, the personal touch—these aren’t just marketing angles. They’re the product.”
“You seem unusually informed about candle making, Mr. Knutt.” Marcus’s gaze shifts to me, reassessing.
“Jon has been very supportive of the business.” Aria’s hand finds mine under the table, a silentthank you.“He understands what we’re trying to build.”
“Does he?” Marcus’s eyes drop to where our hands have disappeared, though the tablecloth hides the actual contact. His expression remains pleasant, but something sharp enters his gaze. “How—involved have you become with my daughter’s venture, Mr. Knutt?”
The double meaning hangs in the air between us. Before I can respond, a server appears with our appetizers—small plates of artfully arranged seafood.
“I’ve always believed in supporting local businesses.” I meet his gaze directly. “Especially ones with integrity and vision.”
“Admirable.” Marcus samples his dish with appreciation. “Though I wonder if your expertise in security translates well to retail strategy. Different skill sets entirely.”
“You’d be surprised what skills transfer.” I keep my tone light. “Risk assessment, identifying vulnerabilities, distinguishing between actual value and perceived value—these apply in many contexts.”
Marcus’s mouth curves into something not quite a smile. “Indeed. Though in my experience, security professionals tend to focus on threats rather than opportunities. A necessarily limited perspective.”
“Dad.” Aria’s voice carries a warning note. “Jon is here as my guest…”
“Of course, darling.” Marcus dabs his mouth with his napkin. “Merely making conversation. After all, I should get to know your—friends.”
The slight pause before “friends” carries weighted implication. The game is now fully open. He knows. Or at least, he strongly suspects.
