Page 34 of Joy to Noel
Beau clenches his jaw and nods in appreciation. He thanks me and then says, “On that note, I had an idea to run by you. I know this may not be the best time to bring this up when you’re still trying to fixwhat’s already here, but I’ve been thinking about something that could benefit both the plant and the brand in the long run.”
Leaning one hand on my desk, I motion for him to go on with the other. “Hit me with it. I always like to hear proactive ideas, not just reactive moves.”
“Well, I’ve been seeing some commercials for freeze-dried pet food recently. It has all the benefits of the fancy, fresh pet foods, but it’s more cost effective because it doesn’t have to be refrigerated to ship to consumers,” Beau explains. “I looked up some of the machinery on a supplier’s website, and the specs look like a production line could fit in the empty warehouse space that we have. Being located in Arkansas, we’re really close to a nationwide retailer. We could get our foot in the door with retail stores as well as selling online.”
The visionary gears of my mind pick up speed as Beau explains his idea. It’s brilliant, actually. If we could pull it off from an operations standpoint, it could be the next big leap in Pure Fur All’s brand. Not to mention solid job security for everyone at this plant.
“What about personnel? Do you think there are enough potential employees in the town to man a whole new production line?” I ask.
Beau nods enthusiastically. “Yes, sir. We’re constantly turning away applications from people from all the surrounding towns. This plant is a stable income opportunity for a lot of people. It would take some training, of course, for a different type of production. But we could have the manpower if there was the demand.”
I can’t contain the full smile that escapes as I nod at Beau. “This is an excellent idea. I’m heading to Houston to meet with the legal team about Wilson’s case, but I’m also going to pitch this idea to the powers that be—pitchyouridea.”
He smiles back at me. “Thank you, Mr. Park. Thanks for everything you’re doing.”
Beau stands when I do, and I hold out my hand to shake his. “Beau, call me Liam.”
When I pull up to my cabin, I notice Madison sitting outside with her laptop balanced precariously on the arm of the Adirondack chair. We’re currently experiencing those final few weeks of spring in the South when the weather is perfect, just before we plummet into the miserable summer heat. A breeze picks up strands of Madison’s long hair, blowing them across her face. She reaches up a hand to tuck the strands behind her ear, and I notice the ear bud that must have drowned out the sounds of my arrival.
I take advantage of the moment to watch her for an extra few seconds while she’s oblivious to my presence. From what she’s told me, she’s landed two clients in the past week on top of working a few shifts at the coffee shop. I haven’t visited her there, mostly because of work, but also because the menu sounds entirely like frou-frou drinks as opposed to real coffee.
If I’m honest, I hope she doesn’t work at the coffee shop for very long. Because I hope Madison Joy Editorial starts taking up all of her time as soon as possible.
Bending down, I scoop a few pieces of gravel into my hand. As I walk toward her, I toss a small rock close to her chair, hoping to get her attention without startling her by suddenly hovering over her. The second pebble I throw successfully interrupts her focus, and she looks up at me with those dagger eyes that I like so much.
“What’s with the stone throwing?” she chastens.
My lips quirk in a half-smile. “Just wanted to snap you out of that laser focus before I dared approach.”
Madison drops her head back with a sigh. “Puh-lease. I’m not that scary. I wouldn’t have ripped your head off too much if you’d startled me. I’m perfectly level-headed.”
“Hmmm, ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks,’” I tease.
Her eyes narrow. “You still owe me an explanation of why you know so much Shakespeare.”
“Puh-lease,” I mimic. “Practically everyone knows that line. Hey, I need to ask you a favor.”
She sits up in the chair, closing her laptop. “I’m listening.”
“I have to fly to Houston tomorrow for one night. Could you check in on Hamlet for me a few times? Fill up his food and water dishestomorrow night and then the following morning and evening? Make sure he hasn’t destroyed anything?”
“That’s not a very good selling point, you know,” she counters. “‘Could you make sure my devil feline hasn’t destroyed the world?’ Super appealing request.”
“He’s not that bad,” I say. “He’s just . . . distrusting. But I swear he won’t hurt you. Please?”
Madison pauses to pull her hair into a ponytail, and the devilish gleam in her eye concerns me. “I’ll do it. On one condition,” she says. I motion for her to continue. “Explain Shakespeare. You’re quoting obscure lines. Your cat is named Hamlet. Explain yourself.”
“I think you’re going to be disappointed by the non-sensational reality of my answer,” I say, although I’m inwardly panicking with my knee-jerk aversion to sharing personal information. “My mom is a professor of early modern English literature with an emphasis in Shakespearean study. We heard alotof Shakespeare growing up.”
Madison’s jaw drops open, and it’s kind of adorable. I purse my lips to stop a smile.
“All right, I didn’t expect that answer,” she says. “Also, you said, ‘we.’ That means you must have at least one sibling.”
Shoot. How does she keep luring me into sharing personal details?
I shrug. “I answered your question already.”
“Ah, but that question just got your first Hamlet feeding secured,” Madison quips. “Siblings?”
