I blink at him, surprised at such sincerity from someone who has the same ham sandwich for lunch every day.
“Right. Exactly,” I continue. “But I think that in the past, the advertising around Bodacious has solely concentrated on its taste. For the new campaign, we should consider telling its story, too. I think it’s important to focus on the passionate, brilliant people behind the drink.”
“That’s interesting,” Phil says thoughtfully, as everyone round the table nods.
“You see, Bodacious is family-run in Shropshire. But you’d never know it from their online presence. Bodacious social media has plenty of beautiful shots of the bottle next to a delicious-looking glass of gin and tonic, but there’s nothing that makes the brand more human, nothing personal about it. The ‘About’ page on their website has a brief history of the company but no memorable details. They describe how they distill from British wheat and they infuse botanicals, which is important, but there’s no mention of those at the helm, the passionate people who are actually doing the distilling and infusing. Personally, I want to know more about them and I think other people would, too. There’s a sense of connection to a product, isn’t there, when you know the hard work and passion that’s gone into it, especially when it’s homegrown. You end up remembering not just the great taste, but the great story, too—that sort of thing might bring about a fresh way of looking at Bodacious.”
I finally pause, catching my breath, and look around the room expectantly. Everyone is staring at me, but they’re still nodding, and Phil smiles encouragingly.
“Good thinking, Freya. Let’s try that route and see how we go. I’ll leave it in your hands?”
“Leave it in my hands,” I reply confidently, excited for this project.
Like I said, I owe Jamie a thank-you.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I’ve learned something new about Leo,” Ruby announces, after we’ve finished ordering our food and handed the waiter our menus. “It’s really weird and off-putting.”
I look over at Leo accusingly. “Have you been cutting your nails in the shower again?”
“Ew!” Ruby stares at him, horrified. “You did that?”
“Years ago and it was only a couple of times until I happened to mention it to Freya and she told me I was never allowed to speak of it again,” he explains, holding up his hands. “I promise I haven’t done it since university. Not that I think it’s that gross. The clippings go down the drain, so what’s the—”
“It’s absolutely disgusting,” Ruby remarks, wrinkling her nose as she cuts him off. “I also don’t want to know what you two were talking about so that that kind of personal information just came up in conversation. Anyway, this wasnotabout that.”
I sit back happily, sipping some iced tea through a straw, as we enjoy dinner on the South Bank. I’m biased, but there’s something about London in the summer. It’s such a good atmosphere, everyone is out and about, enjoying the sunshine. Maybe it’s because such amazing weather is a bit of a rarity here that when it does strike, spirits are more easily lifted and everything seems that little bit brighter and better.
“So, what’s this weird, off-putting thing?” I ask, intrigued.
Ruby adjusts her sunglasses. “Until now, Leo believed there was only one type of quiche.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he”—she jabs her finger in Leo’s direction—“thought that there was quiche Lorraine… and that was it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m lost.” I hesitate, looking to Leo for clarification. “You thought quiche only came as quiche Lorraine?”
“That’s correct. Who knew there were so many kinds? We had a mushroom and spinach one the other day. I thought it only came with bacon in it. That’s how this all came up.”
“What? How is this possible? How did you not know a quiche could have different ingredients?”
“I had the exact same questions, Freya,” Ruby says, shaking her head at Leo in disappointment. “All these years, he’s lived his life under the impression that quiche Lorraine was the only quiche in existence.”
“This whole thing has blown my mind,” Leo admits. “Talk about a roller-coaster week.”
“Bloody hell.” Ruby winces. “When did we get so old and boring that Leo’s ignorance on quiche is the excitement of our week? We need other things to talk about.”
“I think Freya will be providing gossip soon enough,” Leo declares, grinning at me. “The next Wedding Season task is just around the corner.”
“Oh yeah!” Ruby squeals, her expression brightening as she leans back to allow the waiter to place the sharing starters in the middle of the table. “Freya, are you ready to get naked?”
The waiter looks startled. “Uh… is there anything else I can get for you?” he squeaks.
“Nothing, thank you, this looks great,” Ruby assures him, before he wanders off with a strange glance back at our table.
I blush furiously. “Thanks for that.”
