The Douchebros snickered. My smile was starting to get painful. By the end of the night I might need to have it surgically removed with a chisel.
I was doing my best to stay on Chuck’s good side, at least until the results from my ad campaign were in, and that meant doing my best to smile at his jokes and ignore the Douchebros. I only had to make nice until they were distracted by some passing starlet’s tits, and then I could get back to my main mission: Operation Charm. Target? The members of the board.
I’d already chatted to Mrs. Aaronovitch about her dog-breeding program, promised to speak to a Yale admissions officer for Mr. Stiefvater’s son with the low grades but promising extracurricular set, and chatted about volunteering for one of Ms. McGuire’s pet causes, alligator conservation.
And then I had carefully guided the all those conversations toward the wonderful job I thought Hunter was doing with the company, and the exciting future of Knox Liquors once my ads had hit the world. And if you think it’s easy to guide a conversation from the rate of dental decay in captive alligators gathered from the Everglades, to the future of a bourbon company, you are sadly mistaken.
But it would all be worth it, once I had proven myself.
I surveyed the crowd for my next target and spotted Ben Minister, a portly gentleman of fifty with a walrus mustache, a spotless silver suit, and twinkly green eyes. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of him: used to breed Greyhounds, tended to vote moderate candidates, had spearheaded a clean-up of the local pond after two small children caught sicknesses swimming there.
“Mr. Minister!” I flashed him the winning smile that had disposed teachers kindly toward me since kindergarten. “Will you join us? I was hoping to get some news from the horse’s mouth on how the Margaret Lake clean-up is progressing.”
“Certainly, certainly,” he said, his voice like a finely oiled piece of old mahogany that had only just begun to crack and creak in the humid Southern air. “You’re that young lady down from D.C., aren’t you? What do you think of us barbarians down here in the jungle?”
“I think it’s beautiful down here,” I insisted passionately, and I wasn’t even acting. I couldn’t have lied about something like this. “The forests, the hills—even the light over the swamps. Sometimes I watch the sun going down over the lake at Hunter’s plantation—”
“Bet that’s not the only thing ‘going down’ at Hunter’s plantation,” one of the Douchebros muttered. The rest of the posse snickered and high-fived him.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Minister said in a tone that could have formed frost on palm leaves. “What did you just say?”
That’s right, boys. Never impugn a lady’s honor in front of an old-fashioned Southern gentleman.
But Chuck pulled together a fairly innocent look, and let his down-home accent that he usually worked so hard to conceal seep back into his voice. “Oh, nothing, sir. We were just hoping that Ally here was about to share what she’s been working on all this time at the Knox place. She’s been spending so much time on it, and we purely hope it’s something we can help her out on.”
Help yourself to the credit for, you mean, I thought.
“Yeah, Ally,” one of newest Douchebros, Seth, piped up. “Let’s hear all about this great new rebrand.”
Ben Minister raised his brows. “I admit I am rather intrigued myself. Hunter has been playing things quite close to his vest.”
“Well, I don’t want to spoil the big reveal for him,” I hedged. “He’s put so much work into unveiling it at the anniversary party; I couldn’t go and steal his thunder like that.”
“Understandable, completely understandable,” Mr. Minister agreed. “But surely you could give us a few hints…?”
And damn, I couldn’t refuse, not without looking like a flake who hadn’t been doing any real work. I had to tell him something at least a little bit concrete, even though I could see the Douchebros practically salivating, eager to get their grimy paws on my concepts.
“Well,” I began hesitantly, “it’s focusing on a lot of the history of the product. We’ve been collecting some oral histories from local sources—”
“Booo-ring!” Chad said with an eye roll that made me concerned for the strain on his facial muscles. “The only oral sources the American public wants are a hot blonde in a—”
Chuck discreetly elbowed him in the ribs.