Chapter 19
Iadjusted my blazer for the third time, smoothing the navy fabric over my belly.
I was past the point where loose clothing could hide anything, but this outfit struck the right balance between professional and accommodating.
The babies had been restless all morning, as if they could sense my nerves.
Deep breath. You got this.
The presentation room was set up with a projector, a screen, and chairs arranged in a semicircle. Douglas sat front and center, flanked by Mariela and Sarah. Maxwell had positioned himself to the left, notepad in hand.
Vienna sat in the back, looking supportive, which was kind of her considering I was about to go head-to-head with her husband. Bronson was scribbling notes, probably cataloging every weakness he planned to exploit.
Aris stood against the far wall with his arms crossed and his face giving nothing away except his eyes. Right now they were saying: You’ve got this.
I needed to believe him.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Douglas said.
My hand trembled as I reached for the remote. What if Bronson was right? What if I’m not ready for something this big?
I clicked to my first slide—not a logo or company name, but a photograph I’d found in the Kentucky Historical Society archives. A weathered black-and-white image of a man standing in front of a small wooden building, tools in his hands, pride written across his face.
“This is Leroy Embers,” I began. “Your great-great-grandfather. He built the first Embers still with his own hands in 1887, not because he had investors or market research telling him there was an opportunity in bourbon, but because he understood something fundamental about legacy.”
I clicked to the next slide—a split screen showing that same building then and the current Black Ember distillery now.
“He understood that the best things—the things that last, the things that matter—they’re not built fast. They’re built right and with intention to honor what came before while creating something worthy of what comes next.”
Douglas rolled forward, while Mariela’s expression had softened at her husband’s ancestor’s image.
I explained how heritage brands demanded a different approach than chasing viral moments. Their story wasn’t just marketing copy. It was what separated them from every corporate distillery faking authenticity.
“My agency understands heritage brands because we are one. We’re not the biggest or the flashiest, but we’re built on the same principles that built Black Ember. We do the work. We honor the stories. And we never, ever compromise on quality for the sake of speed.”
Mariela nodded, and my chest loosened.
Clicking to the next slide, I showed Black Ember’s growth timeline alongside my campaign ideas, explaining this wasn’t about changing them but ensuring the right people knew who they’d always been. I walked them through each strategy element, reading reactions.
Douglas’s posture had shifted from skeptical to engaged. Sarah had set down her phone. Maxwell was taking detailed notes.
“The bourbon market is crowded,” I said, clicking to my next slide.
“But it’s crowded with stories that all sound the same.
Small batch. Artisanal. Handcrafted. Those words have lost their meaning because everyone uses them.
Black Ember’s story is different because it’s true. It’s documented. It’s lived.”
I caught Bronson checking his watch and felt a flicker of satisfaction. He was getting restless, which meant I was taking longer than he’d expected. Good. Let him sweat.
Twenty-five minutes later, I clicked to my final slide. Not a call to action or contact information, but another photograph showing Douglas and Mariela standing together in front of the new barrel warehouse.
“Leroy Embers built something meant to last. You’ve honored that legacy while making it your own.
While growing it into something he’d be proud of.
” I set down the remote. “I want to help you make sure it lasts another four generations. That your grandchildren’s grandchildren stand in a room like this someday and feel the same pride you’re feeling right now. Questions?”
The silence stretched for what felt like forever. Oh God. I lost them. I talked too long, got too emotional, and made it too personal.
Then Douglas’s mouth quirked up at one corner. “Well now, that right there’s exactly what I was hopin’ to hear.”
Relief flooded through me so hard my knees almost buckled. I didn’t need to look around the room for validation or search faces for approval. I already knew I’d nailed it.
After answering questions and gathering my materials, Bronson stood at the front, tablet in hand, and presenter clipped to his lapel.
I slipped back to where Aris stood against the wall. He took my hand and pressed a kiss to my wrist.
“Thank you, Deanna. That was... very heartfelt.” The pause before ‘heartfelt,’ made it sound like a weakness. “Now let me show you what twenty-first century brand strategy looks like.”
His first slide exploded across the screen in animated glory. The Black Ember logo spun in 3D before dissolving into a cascade of data points and demographic breakdowns.
“He’s good,” I whispered as charts and graphs flashed by in perfect succession.
Aris kissed my wrist again. “He is flashy.”
He was right. All those animated graphics and 3D logos, and data visualizations that looked impressive but didn’t actually tell you much if you knew what to look for.
But the family didn’t know what to look for. Sarah seemed fascinated by the social media strategy. Maxwell furiously took notes on the projected revenue figures. Even Mariela looked intrigued as Bronson showed mockups of Black Ember merchandise and experiential marketing events.
“This is just incredible,” Sarah murmured as Bronson demonstrated how AI could optimize their ad spend in real-time.
“Those growth numbers... are those realistic?” Douglas asked, nodding approvingly at the market expansion projections.
“Conservative, actually,” Bronson said smoothly. “Our client Willowbrook Whiskey saw 340% growth in their first year with us.”
“I can’t compete with that,” I breathed, watching the family’s impressed faces.
What was I thinking? That Douglas would choose sentiment over substance? That Mariela’s nostalgia would outweigh Maxwell’s spreadsheets?
I’d built my pitch on connection and heritage. Bronson had just shown them how to double their revenue.
My hand went to my throat. I imagined telling my team I’d lost, then hustling for clients while juggling newborns and trying to prove I could handle it all.
Aris’s palm found my hip. “They are impressed,” he said quietly. “But impressed is not the same as convinced.”
When Bronson’s final slide exploded into digital fireworks before reforming as the EchoHive logo, the applause that followed was enthusiastic.
“Outstanding work,” Douglas said. “You’ve given us a lot to think about.”
My heart plummeted.
I slipped out the side door onto the covered porch, gulping air. The crisp afternoon was a shock after the warm tasting room, but I needed space to breathe.
Beyond the loading platform, amber and rust-colored hills rolled toward the horizon. I couldn’t focus on the view. All I saw was Douglas’s face lighting up at those projections, Sarah’s excitement over the AI, and Maxwell scribbling down Bronson’s every word.
The sound of the door opening behind me made me straighten, but I didn’t turn around. I knew those footsteps.
Warmth radiated from beside me as Aris appeared with a glass of lemonade. “I thought you might need this.”
“Thank you.” I took it and sipped it .
“I am proud of you.” His arms came around me, and I leaned back against his chest.
One of the babies delivered an enthusiastic kick right where Aris’s hand rested on my belly. His palm shifted to follow the movement, and he pressed a soft kiss to the side of my neck.
“Theó mou, you are so sexy when you are in command, yes,” he whispered against the shell of my ear. “Watching you in there... I could barely concentrate on what you were saying.”
The way my body responded to him still felt like a betrayal. But with his hands on me and his heartbeat strong against my back, distance seemed less important than this deepening connection I couldn’t stop.
I turned in his arms, searching his face for pity. I’d spent my whole life being underestimated by partners, by clients who thought my business was a hobby, by people who saw a single Black mother and made assumptions. But Aris’s eyes held respect.
“If this was Olympus, would you hire me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Without question, yes.”
“You’re biased.”
“I am honest.” He traced my jawline. “You are extraordinary at what you do, Dede. Bias has nothing to do with it.”
I rose on my toes and kissed him. He framed my face, holding me there as the kiss deepened, over and over, until wanting him was the only thing I could feel.
“‘Scuse me, y’all…”
Sarah’s voice made me step back. She stood in the doorway, grinning. “Hate to cut in, but Daddy’s ready to call it.”
My stomach dropped. “Right.” I smoothed my blazer. “We’re coming.”
The walk back felt like a death march, my heart pounding against my ribs.
Douglas had positioned himself at the front of the room, his wheelchair angled to face all of us. Mariela stood beside him.
Bronson lounged in his chair with the confidence of someone who didn’t doubt the outcome. I tried to match his casual posture but failed miserably.
“Well,” Douglas began. “The family has reached a decision.”
The silence that followed felt thick enough to cut. Even the babies held their breath.
“Both them presentations today were somethin’ else.” His gaze moved between Bronson and me. “EchoHive’s got all the bells and whistles. No denyin’ that.”
My heart sank further with each word of praise for Bronson’s pitch.
“TMW brought somethin’ equally valuable. Deep understanding of our heritage and a vision that honors where we’ve been while pointin’ toward where we need to go.”
He paused, and I swear I could hear my pulse in my ears.
“After careful consideration, we have decided to award the Black Ember contract to TMW Marketing.”
The words didn’t register at first. Literally didn’t compute. My brain kept trying to rewind, replay, and make sure I’d heard right.
TMW. My company. Mine.
I won.
The thought was so big, so impossible, I couldn’t hold on to it. It kept slipping away.
I’d done it. Built a company from nothing, raised my daughter alone, pitched against a major agency with unlimited resources, and won. Actually won.
The relief hit so hard and fast that my knees went weak. My vision blurred with tears. I absolutely could not cry in front of these people, and my hands were shaking so badly I pressed them against my belly to make them stop.
Aris framed my face and kissed me full on the lips. “I told you, yes.” His voice was low and meant only for me. “You are unstoppable.”
The room erupted in congratulations. Sarah was beaming, already talking about the timeline and next steps. Maxwell was shaking my hand, muttering something about looking forward to working together. Even Vienna came over to offer her congratulations.
“Outstanding work, Deanna,” Bronson’s voice cut through the celebration. He approached with his hand extended. “Your presentation was truly heartfelt. Congratulations.”
I shook his hand, still reeling from the win. “Thank you. Your presentation was incredible, too.”
“Kind of you to say.” His demeanor shifted then, becoming thoughtful, almost curious. “I have to ask, though, and I hope you don’t mind the question. Why doesn’t Olympus Motors use TMW for their global automotive campaigns?”
Conversations stopped mid-sentence. I felt every pair of eyes turn toward us.
“I mean,” Bronson continued, “Aristides Christakis, your husband, is the CEO of one of the world’s largest automotive companies. If TMW’s expertise is strong enough for brands like Black Ember, surely it would be perfect for Olympus Motors?”
The silence that followed was deafening. I could see the question forming on faces around the room as they suddenly realized who Aris was and the implication of his positioning. If my husband didn’t trust my company with his business, what did that say about TMW’s capabilities?
Aris’s jaw tightened, gearing up to tear Bronson apart, but I stepped forward before he could speak.
“If you’re asking why my husband hasn’t given me a job, Mr. Wells, the answer’s simple. I don’t take handouts.” My voice carried across the room. “Everything I’ve built, I’ve earned myself.”
I turned to face Douglas and his family.
“If my husband not handing me, his business makes me a liability, you should absolutely go with EchoHive. But if you want integrity, creative focus, and results, you know who to call.
Douglas stared at me for what felt like an eternity before a grin spread across his weathered face. “You got a spark ’bout you. Reminds me of my Mari when we were first startin’ out. Folks underestimated her too, till they figured out she was the brains of this whole operation.”
Mariela chuckled. “They still do, now and again.”
“They’re all fools,” Douglas drawled. “Welcome to the family, Miss Deanna. Somethin’ tells me this here’s gonna be one hell of a ride.”