I’m tired, my arms, my legs, and my back are so sore that I’ve been popping aspirin like candy. But I’m ready. Even though my nerves are on edge, I’m ready.
“I am,” I say, and I adjust my grip on the bag I’m carrying. “Let’s not keep Stone waiting.”
We step into the clubhouse together, and from the second we enter, I feel my nerves soothe. I’ve been in here many times in the weeks since I’ve been back, and I’ve gotten to know a lot of the faces around here — Adella, Tricia, Samantha, Mack, Sarge, Tiffany, Stitch, Blaze, and so many others — and made some friends, too. Some women wear property cuts, which I’m looking forward to wearing soon myself, and some of them don’t; Sophia and Samantha, mainly — but Samantha’s still in nurse scrubs, fresh off of work, and has the hard-edged glower that is enough to chase off anyone foolish enough to make a move on her man. And Sophia, well, she doesn’t need a property cut because she’s got Mack’s name tattooed on her arm in some kind of intricate, heart-like design. It takes me nearly five minutes to cross from the entryway to the corner table where Stone is sitting. On the way, I give out plenty of hugs and end up picking up a pint of beer as I go.
I lost a lot coming here, my bar and my old hometown of Carbon Ridge, but I’ve gained so much, too. A network of family and friends that’s deeper and more tightly knit that I could have ever imagined.
And, with any look, I’m about to gain something else.
“Take a seat. You look like you could use it,” Stone says as we approach his table. We sit down, and he continues. “Crash tells me you’ve got some kind of business idea you want to run by me.”
I sit down with Crash by my side. He rests his hand on my leg and gives it an encouraging squeeze. Stone’s an intimidating man. He’s not as big as someone like Blaze, or as fiery as Mack, but he has this presence like he’s seen and experienced the toughest the MC life has to offer and he’s bent every challenge he’s come across to his will through sheer determination. My nerves surge again, even though I know Stone views everyone in the club as family and does his best to look out for them, and I’m grateful when Crash gives my leg another squeeze.
“I do.”
“Well, have at it.”
I swallow, hesitate, then feel frustration rise inside myself over the fact that I’m hesitating and feeling nervous; I’ve been through so much and I’m getting shaky over a business proposition? Still, I know I’m about to ask for a lot.
“I’m sure you heard from Crash and the others everything that happened in Carbon Ridge.”
“I did, yes.”
“And you know that, before it was burned down, I used to own and run the Timberline Tavern?”
“I do. Go on.”
“Well, what Crash might not have told you is that, before I ran that bar, I worked for a petrochemical company and that I have a master’s degree in chemistry. I’ve always dabbled in distillation and mixology — I made several blends and bitters for my bar — and I’ve always dreamed big and looked at times when I have to start over as an opportunity to aim higher and go bigger,” I say and I pause. This is my moment, where I can make everything happen or I can suffer yet another setback.
Breathe, Violet. You’ve got this, I say to myself.
I can feel Stone’s considering look on me. He’s weighing me, sizing me up, but I can sense encouragement coming from him, too. Like he knows where I’m going, knows what I’m going to say, he just wants me to have the strength and commitment to come out and say it. So, after a deep breath, I remind myself that I’ve faced much tougher challenges than giving a business presentation, and I take a folder out of my bag, open it, and spread out on the table the papers and proposition that I’ve prepared.
“Losing my bar was a setback, but it’s also an opportunity. I gained a lot of experience running it, mixing and blending alcohols, and learning the preferences of my more blue-collar local customers and the rich types who would come down from Aspen to enjoy a little more raw experience. What I want to do is start a distillery. Bourbon and whiskey, mostly, but vodka, too, because it can be brought to market a lot sooner since it doesn’t need to age nearly as long. And I want you to join as a business partner. If you can provide some capital — thirty thousand dollars — to match my own savings that I’m putting in, and some land that I can set up a distillery on, we can go into business.”
“You sound like you’ve done your research,” Stone says, looking over the facts and figures on the many papers I’ve lain out.
“California’s a great market for craft alcohol. The excise taxes are a little higher here than in Colorado, but they’re still pretty low, and California’s got a big market, plenty of people in big cities willing to pay good money for handcrafted, small batch liquor. The market is there, the environment’s right, all I need is some additional capital and some land to set up shop on.”
I finish and I
