4. Connor
4
CONNOR
I wake up feeling like I slept for days, except my throat is dry like I went on a bender last night. I can’t remember the last time I smoked weed, but it’s been a while.
Rubbing my eyes, I roll to my side, then stop, something amiss. The bed feels different, and I open my eyes and get my bearings.
I’m in a large white room. I spot bowls on the floor, the haunting melody of pipes coming through the speaker at the side, and my memory kicks back in.
I groan as I sit up, looking around the room for Daisy, the curvy redhead, who not only didn’t look at me, but also didn't touch me. The sound healing treatment is something I’ve never heard of, but after about five minutes, it had me out like a light, so I guess they get a big check for relaxation, even if her hands didn’t make contact with my body.
As I wake fully, I roll my shoulders, feeling less tightness than I usually do and the familiar ache in my back now gone. Pain relief, stress relief, and relaxation, all things I want for the distillery spa. I’m impressed.
Voices are murmuring from down the hallway as I sit up, so I grab my things and walk back toward the reception area.
“I need to go. You need to lock up,” one woman says, whom I recognize as Rainbow, the witchy lady from earlier.
“Seriously? You’re just going to leave me here with him?” Daisy says, and I balk. Clearly, she doesn’t like me. My ego is getting more bruised by the second with this woman.
“Well, you’re the one with magic hands,” Rainbow says, and I begin to feel like a creeper just standing in the shadows of the hallway listening. But I’m not sure if I should retreat or walk out to meet them. Not wanting to interrupt, I remain rooted to the floorboards, scared to move in case they creak and give away my position.
“You gave him ginseng and ginkgo. You gave him our tea !” Daisy exclaims.
I frown as I swallow past the dryness in my throat again. That tea was pretty awful I have no idea what ginkgo and ginseng are, but I hope they didn’t drug me. I lift my hand in front of my face, and I see it clearly, my vision not blurry, and I feel alright. Actually, I feel great. More energized than when I arrived here, that’s for sure. I don’t know how long I’ve been out for, but I feel like I’ve slept for days.
“So? I give it to your father almost every night, and he doesn’t complain,” Rainbow says, and I raise my eyebrows. Father? Is Rainbow Daisy’s mother? And is she drugging her father every night, or is it some type of health elixir that they’ve given me?
“Oh my God, my ears!” Daisy groans, covering her ears. And I wonder why she continues to cover her face so much when she’s so beautiful.
“He could be an axe murderer, for all I know, and you’re leaving your only child here like a lamb to the slaughter.”
I’m starting to see the family dynamic, and now as I watch them, they do look alike a little. I decide then to step out, because I don’t want either of them to be afraid of me.
“Not an axe murder,” I say, stepping out from the beaded curtain, putting my hands up like they’re holding a gun to my chest. Daisy is odd. She doesn’t want to see me, barely touches me, and now doesn’t want to be alone with me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean…” She stumbles over her words, rubbing her face, looking flustered and remorseful.
“I need to go. Daisy will take care of things for you.” Rainbow, who I now know is her mother, says, before she glides from the reception desk and out the door like she’s floating on air. Maybe she is a witch. I look out the door after her, seeing my trusty driver still waiting outside.
“How long was I out for?” I ask and cringe, my voice rougher than usual, a clear indication my sleep was deep.
“Only about half an hour, but unfortunately, we need to reschedule the remaining treatment,” Daisy says.
“Remaining treatment?” I question, because I thought that was the treatment.
“You and your wife were initially scheduled for sound healing and a yoga flow. We’ll need to reschedule the yoga flow. Perhaps next time she’ll be able to make it?” she asks, looking up at me with those damn big blue eyes that do something to my insides.
“No wife. Just me,” I confirm firmly so she really understands my meaning.
“Oh, it’s just that today's booking was for two. A couples’ treatment.” Looking back at her booking diary, she frowns in confusion. Again, no computer to be seen.
“My staff were meant to come, but they got held up, so I’m here in their place. I own a whiskey distillery a few states over, and we’re putting in our own wellness spa,” I tell her honestly, waiting to see the penny drop of exactly who I am, but it doesn’t.
“So you’re spying?” Her hands find her hips in a defensive stance. My eyes narrow on the movement. She seems a bit feisty, I’ll give her that.
“No. Researching,” I clarify, sounding cocky, and her stance doesn’t soften.
“Potato, potahto.” She shakes her head.
“It isn’t like we’ll be taking any of your business,” I murmur sarcastically, looking around the room again. It needs remodeling, badly. She inhales in a sharp breath at my comment. Maybe I stepped over the line too far by insulting her clinic, but I’m a businessman, a successful one, and I certainly don’t need whatever lack of business sense they have here, regardless of how amazing that treatment was or how captivatingly beautiful the voluptuous woman standing right in front of me is.
“Oh, well, please enlighten me and tell me what you really think?” she retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. This conversation is moving into an area that wasn’t my intention. But I’m honest to a fault, so I look around again, before my eyes land firmly back on hers.
“This space needs remodeling,” I start, and her expression only hardens. “You need to introduce some technology for efficiency…” I add, thinking back to my form I manually completed. As I do, I swallow, my throat drying up from the incense again, and I cough. “And new scents are required, ones that don't make you feel like you’ve swallowed sandpaper.”
“I just don’t know how I haven’t noticed all that before. You’re obviously a very smart businessman.” Her tone is full of sarcasm and sass, and I clench my jaw. Yep, I overstepped. “There must be something good here at Sunshine to make you come all the way here?” She asks a valid question that I still don’t know the answer to.
“Clearly, it isn't the customer service.” Apparently, I can’t keep my mouth shut, and I see her mouth open in shock at me calling her out, her eyes burning holes into me, before her mouth closes and she takes another deep breath, like she’s steeling herself.
“Fine. Okay. Well then… did you have any questions? About the treatment or anything? Perhaps I can give you my expertise for free so you can create your own amazing wellness center based on my experience and knowledge. You know… one that has a newer fit-out and a computer to do half the work for you?”
I’m not used to people taking this tone with me. Probably because I’m usually not such an asshole that I would step into someone else's business and verbally tear it down like I just did. Maybe that witch did drug me…?
As I look at her, I see no dollar signs reflected in her eyes, and she didn’t offer any flirtatious remarks. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. She’s visibly annoyed, and perhaps when we booked, we should’ve been more transparent about our trip being for research. But most people I speak to jump at the word “distillery.” Women, in particular, want to know all about it. And I know she saw my name on the client form, yet Daisy doesn’t seem to care.
“I don’t normally sleep when I have a massage,” I grumble, not that I really know. I don’t make a habit of taking time for massages, having only had one before, but I never was able to get my mind to fully relax, not like today.
“Is that a question or a statement?” she asks, eyebrows raised, and I bite my tongue. I should’ve expected that. She’s quick. Calling me out. I clear my throat from the incense and try again.
“Can you explain sound therapy to me?” I ask a clearer question, something I’m not used to doing. I rarely repeat myself. Calm, confident, concise are all words that people use to describe me. Those attributes have all left me today.
“Sound therapy is good for relaxation. It taps into the inner body, sending vibrations through your cells and connecting those frequencies.”
I nod, taking in the information and appreciating her words, yet having no real idea what she’s talking about. She seems to see my confusion, and this time when she takes in a deep breath, her shoulders lower, more resigned to talk than wanting to.
“In basic terms, I think the sounds lulled your body and mind to sleep,” she says, smiling a little, that Cupid’s bow now in full effect. I force my lips to stay level and not curve at the ends like they’re wanting to. “That, or maybe you’ve just been tired and stressed lately and needed an hour of me-time.”
There’s been a lot going on. We’re expanding the distillery, so work is busier than ever. Hudson is back in town, so I’m spending more time with him. Dad and Victoria are starting to settle into their new routine, and having a new person, especially a woman, in the family brings a new dynamic. Not to mention, her fucking goats.
“Tired and stressed sounds about right. You didn’t use any oils or products, is that a usual thing?” I ask. From a pure financial point of view, the less products we use, the better for our bottom line. It also means less storage, less waste, and less opportunity for damaged products, so overall a better investment. Her eyes narrow on me, like she’s seeing through me, like she’s deciding how much information to offer.
“There are treatments where products are used, like a little oil during cupping, for example, and obviously needles during acupuncture and things like that, but what I do is work with the body for it to find its own natural rhythm. Mud wraps and body scrubs are all a bit of fun and topically relaxing, but they don’t provide any harmony within the body for overall well-being and alignment. They also require a higher usage of water, more product, towels, heavier cleaning in the rooms between clients. They’re a bigger burden on the environment, the staff, and so they eat into the profit more.”
I raise my eyebrows. She clearly knows a lot about it, and I have the feeling I severely underestimated her. I’m more about the dollars and cents, always looking at the bottom line, so it’s interesting to hear her speak about it all.
“But… we do have after-treatment products, because with only two of us here, that creates an income ceiling, so in order to make money, retail is really where we need to focus.” She walks over to the shelves in the small waiting area that I spotted earlier. “We develop our own teas, which are elixirs for a variety of symptoms, as well as build our own natural oils and blends for burning or massage. We also have crystals, which are not for everyone, but they do help bring a sense of natural energy to your body and your environment.” As she showcases the products on the shelf, I feel like I may have been too flippant when I entered before, because Daisy is passionate and clearly intelligent about all this.
“Do you have an issue with dead stock? Or stock that goes off and needs to be thrown away?” I ask as I pick up a small box of tea. Their branding is cute. Of course, it has a sun on it, the bright yellow making me feel energized just from looking at it. I turn the box, reading the all-natural ingredients, of which there are only a few, all easy-to-pronounce herbs or plants of some kind. I wonder what their shelf life is. She has a lot of them, seemingly something for every ailment you can think of.
“No, not really. The tea is obviously dried and so that lasts a while. We box our tea, because the packaging is recyclable. As far as the oils are concerned, they don’t really go bad. But I think the key with the wellness treatments we do is that it’s less about general retail to make a buck and more about prescription.”
“Can you explain that?” I ask, very interested, but I have no idea what she’s getting at. If we can hold stock that doesn’t spoil, I’m seeing a lot of savings with having wellness as a focus as opposed to having mud wraps and creams everywhere. I see her tone change, her body now more at ease as her face lights up. She enjoys talking about this, the business side.
“I like to think of us as wellness doctors in a way. We treat people for a variety of ailments, or just for general well-being, and as such, they’ll usually be prescribed a tea or an oil that they can take home with them to use and order more regularly or come back for a reassessment. So it’s less about pushing the nice teas or candles, and more about prescribing a healing tonic that’s going to give them at-home care they can do on their own.”
“So let me get this straight. You treat people without the need for a lot of product usage, therefore limiting breakage and spoiling and storage. You then have long-life products available that, from what I can see, are easy to store and that last months, perhaps even years, in some cases. Meaning that your overhead must be…” I say, thinking about it.
“Low. One of the lowest in the health industry,” she says, nodding, and as the CFO of Whiteman’s Whiskey, my radar for financial success is strong. I admire Daisy’s passion. Beautiful and smart, it’s a deadly combination.
“You sure run a pretty tight ship here. Very knowledgeable about it all.”
“Oh sorry, are you talking about me? Here? In this run-down clinic without any technology and incense that makes you cough?” she sasses, and my eyes narrow as my mind runs wild with an idea.
“I want you to come and work for me,” I state, and she stills. The words leave me before I really thought about them, but when I get a gut feeling about something, I usually just go for it. My gut is telling me that Whiteman’s needs someone to consult on the spa to bring it to life and that someone is Daisy.
“Excuse me?” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, but I ignore her and keep talking.
“As I said, I’m opening a spa at my distillery, one that I thought would consist of mud wraps and massages and facials, but now I see a different vision. A vision that I think could be brought to life with your expertise,” I tell her, wondering if I can get her over the line.
“Oh, wellness and whiskey… they go so well together…” There’s that sarcasm again. I frown but continue.
“Come on as a consultant, for a month or two… maybe three. Come to Whispers, the small town where we’re situated. I’ll fly you in, organize accommodations for you, you can meet the team, work with my colleagues, Victoria and Lacy, to get the spa off the ground.” I give myself a mental pat on the back, because this is a fucking brilliant idea, and I’m not sure why none of us thought of it earlier. A consultant who can bring it all together is perfect. I know a good opportunity when I see it.
When she doesn’t respond, I hand her my card. “Here’s my card. Take the weekend to think about it.” Giving her no other option than to take it, her fingers almost touch my own, and I feel a buzz ripple up my hand. It must be all those vibrations she was talking about.
“Wow, I wonder how many trees died for this beauty to be made.” Looking at my thick, glossy card, she shakes her head, and I cut in again, not a man who takes no for an answer in the business world.
“I expect a call from you on Monday,” I tell her.
“You expect?” There’s fire in her eyes as she looks at me.
“I have a business to run. I don’t like to wait.” I’m really going for the asshole of the year award today.
“Ah, I see, but you know what? Hmm… I can’t. I’m washing my hair on Monday.” She gives me the biggest, most blinding smart-ass grin, and I grit my teeth. She really doesn't like me.
“I’ll pay you much more than you make here, I can assure you that,” I say, sounding more and more arrogant than ever, and I wish I could just rein it in, but it’s too late.
“Yes, that's right, because I’m poor too. Thanks so much for that reminder. Just so you know, money isn’t everything.”
With a sigh, I pocket my hands and look over the space again. “Clearly… but this is a good opportunity.”
“For whom?” she asks, and damn, she’s quick.
“For both of us.” I appreciate her negotiation and tenacity. It wasn’t what I expected from someone who works in a place called Sunshine, which looks like a small breeze could knock it over.
“My answer is still no—” she starts to say, her hand pushing my business card back to me, but I cut her off again.
“Think about it. Call me on Monday, Daisy. Now, what do I owe you?” I ask, grabbing my wallet from my pocket, ignoring my business card in her hand that she still holds in front of my chest.
“It’s fine. We’re all good. But my answer will be the same on Monday as it is now… Mr.… Connor Whiteman.” She takes a longer look at my business card, like she’s reading my name for the first time, before looking back at me without an ounce of recognition or care. Then she throws my business card on the desk behind her like it’s a piece of rubbish, and I have to hold back a groan of exasperation, even though the move makes me want her even more.
“I’ll speak to you on Monday,” I reiterate, my Southern accent seeping out a little more, probably because I’m agitated, and she swallows audibly. I should leave, but my feet feel heavy, like they’re glued to the ground. I don’t feel like I have her over the line yet. In fact, I know that I don’t. I want to go back in time ten minutes to when I felt extremely relaxed after my treatment and hearing her kind voice, rather than the sassy one I’m getting now. She’s different.
“Did you need anything else?” she asks, her hand moving to her hip, and I shake my head, taking that as my cue to move my ass out of this shanty.
“I’ll see you around, Daisy,” I say, liking her name on my lips, and she looks up at me, giving me a smile that’s probably forced, but it still looks sweet as honey. Those vibrations she spoke about earlier are now moving around my body at the motion. Straight down to my dick. When I grab the door, the wind chimes tinkle loudly, and I step outside. The cool air hits me, clearing my mind instantly as I step across the sidewalk to my waiting town car.
“Everything alright, sir?” my driver asks as I stall on the sidewalk at the open car door and look back. Sure, the peeling paint and the rustic signage are still there, but it gives it a more homey edge than the shithole I was expecting earlier.
“Everything’s fine. Straight to the penthouse, please,” I tell him, needing to go to my place to shower and change, as I have a business dinner to get to before my day is officially over.
As the car moves from the curb, I look back at the Sunshine Clinic and feel my excitement bubble. This is going to be a smart business move, and not just because of the voluptuous redheaded beauty I just met.
Now all she needs to do is accept.