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“What was the second thing you wanted to talk about?” I ask.
“Tequila,” he says, an edge of pride in his tone. “My lawyer found a white label I can step into.”
“Oh yay! That’s great. Is it a hundred percent agave?”
“Yeah, a reposado, and they’re willing to work with me. I can license it or buy it outright.”
“Have you tried it?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I just spoke with my lawyer. I’m paying to have them overnight me a few bottles so we can try it tomorrow and see if it’s a good fit.”
“This is actually perfect timing. I wanted to get your take on the vibe you’re going for. I have some ideas, and I did a bit of market research.” I tell him what I found about other celebrity brands, and when I glance up, he’s staring at me.
“What?” I ask, and I wipe my chin in case there’s something on it.
He shakes his head and tilts it as he studies me. “You’re good at this shit, Ive.”
I point to my chest and raise my brows. “Me?”
He nods. “You knew exactly what to research, and you already realized that the market is packed full of luxury brands. I don’t feel like I fit the down-home, truck-driving Minnesota Midwestern vibe, but I’m curious to see what you came up with.”
“Well, from what little I know of you already, I can tell you’re bold and confident, and I think your branding needs to reflect that. And then I got to thinking about the night we met. That first night at the club, and then there was the night we got married, the rooftop bar, the kiss…all of it. Your personal headlines, your personality, you just scream masculinity and exclusivity, but most of all, nightlife. The party goes where you go. You’re the life of every room you step into. And I think that should be the vibe we feel every time we pick up a bottle of your tequila.”
“Nightlife. A dark bottle and a dark label. Big, bold lettering in a dim color. Nothing too flashy, just confidence and masculinity. Give it that exclusive feel, but still feel like it fits in as the life of the party,” he says, sort of repeating my ideas back at me while it meshes with whatever ideas he had in mind.
“What do you think of nocturno? It’s a Spanish adjective that means nighttime.”
“Nocturno,” he says, trying the word on for size, and I swear to God, hearing the “r” roll off his tongue in the word does serious things to my libido. I want to get drunk on Nocturno and then get naked with the man behind the label.
I pull open Canva, the web app I use as a photo editor, to show him a few things I mocked up, and he glances at my dashboard.
“What is all this?” he asks.
“Just ideas I’ve had. Graphics I’ve thrown together.” I lift a shoulder as I pull open the file I titled Nocturno, and I scroll through the mockups.
“Dude, holy shit. These are incredible. All your graphics are. Do you have a background in graphic design?”
“I took one visual merchandising class, but it was more focused on in-store displays and layouts, not on digital media.”
“Well, fuck, babe. You’ve got an eye for it.” He pulls open his Instagram, and he pushes his phone in my direction. “What do you think of all that?”
I scroll through a few of the rows. “It looks curated. It doesn’t tell me much about you, and I would imagine anyone with half a brain would immediately know it isn’t you making the content.”
“So you think you could do better?” he asks.
I glance over at him. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“Always.” He nods.
“I think I’d have to do better. If you want to sell the vibe we just discussed, then we need your socials to match that. We need your entire public personality to match it. The way you dress for events. The way you speak in post-game interviews. Every aspect of how you present yourself to the public has to be cohesive.”
“And you have the ability to do that?”
I lift a shoulder. “How hard can it be?”
He smirks at me…my first clue that I definitely have my work cut out for me when it comes to Cash Maddox.
CHAPTER 21: Ivy Maddox
