I shoot the email, not expecting a response any time soon. Corporate Jasper used to set a strict no-emailing-after-business-hours rule. That is in the past, though. I put my phone down and continue to scarf down my tacos when I hear a ping. Sure enough, I received a new email. Despite it being nearly 7:00 at night, she already responded.
RE:Subject Line: Soi Marketing Agency Events
Mr. Alcott,
That’s actually my favorite spot in town. I’ll see you at 10:00 a.m. on Friday.
Warmly,
Iris
RE:Subject Line: Soi Marketing Agency Events
Great, it’s a date.
Jasper
Ah, Little Falls is her favorite place? My gut is telling me this is the same Iris I saw on Monday. I smirk before setting my phone down. Let’s see how her boyfriend feels about this email thread. I am sure using the word “date” will cause him to have an aneurysm. I scoff. Sure,maybeI don’t like him, I don’t exactly feel inclined to be nice after Monday's incident. At this moment, though, I’m more interested in why Soi Marketing has taken an interest in Aged Emporium.
Six
Iris
Ibegrudgingly decide to skip Little Falls for coffee before work because I’m meeting with Jasper Alcott, Aged Emporium’s new owner. After receiving the green light from Human Resources on Tuesday morning, we extended Joy an offer later that afternoon. She accepted, so her official start date is next Monday. I ran her fundraiser idea by other marketing team members, and of course, they ate it up. I decided to schedule a meeting with Mr. Alcott to discuss the opportunity. I have no idea whether or not he will bite, but I’m feeling jittery nonetheless and I haven’t even had caffeine today.
Just before 10:00 a.m. I stroll into Little Falls, greeting Davis, and choose to sit in a plush rustic orange loveseat in the back corner. I’m still drying off from the rain outside. Not packing my umbrella today may have been a rookie mistake, but I had other things on my mind. Across from the loveseat sits two forest green chairs, and a quaint rectangular wooden table connects the seating. I take out my laptop and planner, resting them on the table’s coarse surface.
Soft bells chime, leading me to glance up at the front door. I see a tall man with tan skin, likely in his thirties, stride inside. He has dark brown—nearly black—tousled hair, the smallest hint of facial scruff, and a sharp jawline. His attire consists of a black coat, navy blue button-up, fitted charcoal jeans, and some leather lace-up boots. I don’t recognize him. I turn away to avoid getting caught staring, and to my surprise, he makes a beeline toward me, standing next to the table I’m currently seated at.
“Ms. Greene, I presume?” Oh, my.Thisis Mr. Alcott? I greet him immediately, nearly fumbling out of the oversized seat to do so.
“Mr. Alcott! Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please feel free to take a seat.” I motion toward the chairs, attempting not to get lost in his deep gray eyes. Shockingly, he chooses to forgo the seat across from me and sits on the loveseat beside me instead.
Be cool, Iris. You’re a professional.
Noting my hesitation, he says, “Sorry, I prefer this soft spot over the hard one,” while grinning—he has dimples. Up until now, I haven’t been close enough to look at his face. His eyes gaze into mine, unwavering. “I’m happy to sit across from you if that’s what you had in mind?”
“No, that won’t be necessary, I mean, honestly, who wouldn’t choose the loveseat over those hard chairs?” I angle my body toward him, taking note of his defined arms. Suddenly, it feels hot in here. I won’t be surprised if I start sweating. “Well, Iimagine you’re curious as to why I’ve asked you to meet with Soi Marketing today, so I can get right to the point. A little birdy told me that Aged Emporium recently underwent new ownership due to less-than-ideal circumstances.” He nods. “I don’t know how familiar you are with Soi Marketing, but we’re a local agency that’s been around for about ten years now. Every fall, we host a fundraiser for a local business or organization. We typically set aside funding for this, so the organization’s costs for the event are at a minimum price point. We feel Aged Emporium would be a great choice for this year’s fundraiser.”
He stares off into space, seeming to contemplate what I just shared. The silence lingers, so I take that as my cue to continue my pitch. “Regarding the timeline, we could host the event as early as November 10 and as late as December 16. Given that your shop is founded upon vintage and older items, I am leaning toward organizing a masquerade ball or art auction event if you’re open to either of those ideas. It really depends on what you’re comfortable with.”
“Wow, I’m impressed; it seems you’ve already put a lot of thought into this. What would the fundraiser be for, exactly?” he asks, scanning my eyes.
“Well, that’s thefunpart of the fundraiser—it’s up to you. Typically, our fundraiser partners use the funds for renovations, marketing, or upsizing the business. This is a special case, though, considering what led us to reach out to you. Honestly, we just want to help. Based on what I gathered, the previous owner didn’t choose to stop running the shop, right? He fell and no longer could. There is a distinct difference between choosing to let go and having no other choice. We’d love to support his family in any way we can.” I hope Mr. Alcott understands Soi Marketing values authenticity above all, so I mean it when I say we want to help his business and the family thrive. He considers me.
“This almost sounds too good to be true—so you organize the event to raise publicity and funding for us? What’s the catch,Ms. Greene?” I don’t miss the playful tone coating his voice when he uses my last name.
“Like I said, we really just want to help,Mr. Alcott.You can take some time to think it over and get back to me if you’d like. Here,” I hand him my business card. “Call, email, or text me, whatever works for you. I’m at your disposal until I hear back from you.”
“Okay, sounds good. I’ll think about it and let you know.” He puts my card in a leather vintage-looking wallet—he’s so on-brand. I glimpse away and begin shuffling items in my work tote when he says, “I’ll be sure to share your sentiments with my dad, too. I know he’ll appreciate the support from you and your team at Soi.”
I pause, unsure how to respond, gazing at him with wide eyes. “Your dad?”
“Yeah, my old man is the one who fell. I took over Aged Emporium shortly after,” he says while looking outside through the window, seeming to get lost in the gentle raindrops streaking down the window’s surface.
“Oh, wow,” I gawk, completely unable to hide my shock. “I am so embarrassed, I should’ve done more research. I am so sorry you’re going through this.” He looks back at me with a flicker of emotion, then dismisses it.
“Don’t worry about it; my parents are the ones who need support here. I’ll be just fine,” he affirms assuringly. I continue settling my laptop in my bag as several questions cross my mind at once.
