He did not smile at the jest, nor did he comment further on the obvious lie.
“Beverage income,” he said instead.
Bryony hoped she kept her jolt of instant satisfaction at having guessed correctly from showing in her eyes. “Is the number good or bad?”
“All positive numbers are good numbers in this case.” He glanced down at the list. “I’m hoping to increase them. I don’t know if your idea to double the price of French imports will end up costing more than it gains.”
Bryony did know. She’d studied the numbers. Not just his, but the books of all the other establishments in which she’d invested over the years. Numbers did not lie, and trends were predictable.
She moved her hand closer to the journal. “May I?”
His brows darted skyward as if the absurdity of their situation had finally hit him. A man feared and respected by the underworld and aristocrats alike, discussing hypothetical pricing strategies with a woman in trousers trespassing in his private domain against his will.
This time, his lips did twitch as he turned the journal around to face her. “By all means.”
He’dagreed. Bryony’s heart skipped, then seemed to beat twice as fast to make up. Other than her family, Max was the first man to treat her opinions like they mattered. As if her mind worked just as well as his. As though she were an equal.
The sensation was as bewildering as it was liberating.
Before he could change his mind, she lifted the journal and flipped through it in the hope that he had recorded the sort of detail she was looking for. The monthly reports she received from him were clear, but summarized.
She need not have worried. Within seconds, it became apparent that the journal she was holding was exhaustively and exclusively dedicated to the purchase, sale, and usage patterns of all beverages that had been consumed at the Cloven Hoof since its inception. She could not have asked for better primary information from which to defend her hypotheses.
“Here.” She grazed her fingertip along the pages near the beginning. “And here, and here, and here.” She skipped forward again and again, stopping only to point out certain figures. “And here, just six months ago.”
Max leaned forward. “What are we looking at?”
“Those are times you raised prices on different offerings.”
“I had to,” he said with a lift of his shoulder. “My providers change prices and I cannot lose money on a sale.”
“But that’s the point.” She showed him again. “You didn’t lose money. If you compare sales numbers before and after each price increase, you’ll see that there’s no appreciable difference.”
His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I was fortunate.”
“You weren’t fortunate. You lost money.”
He frowned. “But you just said—”
“I said there was no difference in raw sales numbers despite raising prices,” she repeated. “That means, raise your prices. There is no difference in sales numbers.”
He looked at her.
“Your customers come for the gaming,” she explained. “They’re here to spend money, not to pinch pennies. They’re paying attention to their cards, not their credit at the bar. If they want a glass of ale they want a glass of ale. If they want a bottle of champagne, they want a bottle of champagne. No gambler who truly believes himself on the verge of winning a fortune gives a fig about the price of whatever wine he’s swilling as he does so.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then gave a low chuckle.
Bryony’s insides crumbled.
She had been too enthusiastic, too energized by numbers and profit curves and sales trends. Of course he could not take her seriously. She was a child playing dress-up. A court jester, not a financial advisor.
Max retrieved his journal and scanned through a few pages before setting it face down and closing his eyes. “I’m not fortunate.”
Bryony’s spine straightened. “What?”
He opened an eye in her direction. “You’re right. I could have raised my prices long before my providers raised theirs. That journal records five years of profits that could have been much greater. I did not think of it, because I do not think that way. I am conscious of the price of every purchase I make. It’s easy to forget that my patrons are not necessarilylikeme. Even if they are frugal in other matters, you are absolutely right. This venue is not a place where one wishes to mind one’s pennies.”
You are right.
