Mariela nodded, and my chest loosened.
Clicking to the next slide, I showed Black Ember’s growth timeline alongside my campaign ideas, explaining this wasn’tabout changing them but ensuring the right people knew who they’d always been. I walked them through each strategy element, reading reactions.
Douglas’s posture had shifted from skeptical to engaged. Sarah had set down her phone. Maxwell was taking detailed notes.
“The bourbon market is crowded,” I said, clicking to my next slide. “But it’s crowded with stories that all sound the same. Small batch. Artisanal. Handcrafted. Those words have lost their meaning because everyone uses them. Black Ember’s story is different because it’s true. It’s documented. It’s lived.”
I caught Bronson checking his watch and felt a flicker of satisfaction. He was getting restless, which meant I was taking longer than he’d expected. Good. Let him sweat.
Twenty-five minutes later, I clicked to my final slide. Not a call to action or contact information, but another photograph showing Douglas and Mariela standing together in front of the new barrel warehouse.
“Leroy Embers built something meant to last. You’ve honored that legacy while making it your own. While growing it into something he’d be proud of.” I set down the remote. “I want to help you make sure it lasts another four generations. That your grandchildren’s grandchildren stand in a room like this someday and feel the same pride you’re feeling right now. Questions?”
The silence stretched for what felt like forever. Oh God. I lost them. I talked too long, got too emotional, and made it too personal.
Then Douglas’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “Well now, that right there’s exactly what I was hopin’ to hear.”
Relief flooded through me so hard my knees almost buckled. I didn’t need to look around the room for validation or search faces for approval. I already knew I’d nailed it.
After answering questions and gathering my materials, Bronson stood at the front, tablet in hand, and presenter clipped to his lapel.
I slipped back to where Aris stood against the wall. He took my hand and pressed a kiss to my wrist.
“Thank you, Deanna. That was... very heartfelt.” The pause before ‘heartfelt,’ made it sound like a weakness. “Now let me show you what twenty-first century brand strategy looks like.”
His first slide exploded across the screen in animated glory. The Black Ember logo spun in 3D before dissolving into a cascade of data points and demographic breakdowns.
“He’s good,” I whispered as charts and graphs flashed by in perfect succession.
Aris kissed my wrist again. “He is flashy.”
He was right. All those animated graphics and 3D logos, and data visualizations that looked impressive but didn’t actually tell you much if you knew what to look for.
But the family didn’t know what to look for. Sarah seemed fascinated by the social media strategy. Maxwell furiously took notes on the projected revenue figures. Even Mariela looked intrigued as Bronson showed mockups of Black Ember merchandise and experiential marketing events.
“This is just incredible,” Sarah murmured as Bronson demonstrated how AI could optimize their ad spend in real-time.
“Those growth numbers... are those realistic?” Douglas asked, nodding approvingly at the market expansion projections.
“Conservative, actually,” Bronson said smoothly. “Our client Willowbrook Whiskey saw 340% growth in their first year with us.”
“I can’t compete with that,” I breathed, watching the family’s impressed faces.
What was I thinking? That Douglas would choose sentiment over substance? That Mariela’s nostalgia would outweigh Maxwell’s spreadsheets?
I’d built my pitch on connection and heritage. Bronson had just shown them how to double their revenue.
My hand went to my throat. I imagined telling my team I’d lost, then hustling for clients while juggling newborns and trying to prove I could handle it all.
Aris’s palm found my hip. “They are impressed,” he said quietly. “But impressed is not the same as convinced.”
When Bronson’s final slide exploded into digital fireworks before reforming as the EchoHive logo, the applause that followed was enthusiastic.
“Outstanding work,” Douglas said. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”
My heart plummeted.
I slipped out the side door onto the covered porch, gulping air. The crisp afternoon was a shock after the warm tasting room, but I needed space to breathe.
