Paige
fourteen
My impractical heels clack along the polished cement floor of the distillery as I follow Brandy, my aptly named guide for all things Underworld Spirits on my first day.
We’ve covered what feels like miles of the multi-floored distillery rooms, operations offices, and the tasting room.
The scale of this business is looming over me with each new floor we cover and every new machine and process we encounter.
I’m feeling the intimidation of taking the helm and not having what it takes to execute my job adequately as the newness of everything surrounds me.
The day started with a meeting that brought in all department heads and the executive team where Hayes officially handed the company over to me.
I had met most of the people at the launch party a few weeks back, but I had no part in the company at that point, so this felt more official.
There was less trepidation in the air than I had anticipated.
I was welcomed heartily, the familiarity they have with me thanks to the launch may have had something to do with that.
Only a few people gave me looks of discomfort, and I don’t blame them.
I’ll still have to work to win over the employees who showed hesitance to accept me as the new company owner, and that’s best done by actions rather than words.
Once the formal meeting was completed, I was shown my office, which belonged to Hayes previously, and given over to Brandy for my tour when Hayes headed over to Olympus to deal with his own business.
We’ve covered so much ground in the last two hours I’m starting to feel the effects in the balls of my feet. I’m wondering if we will ever finish the walking portion and get to the sitting part when Brandy abruptly spins at a door.
“This is the last part of the tour,” she says, and I immediately let out a quiet sigh of relief. “This is where our newest gin stills are located, so be prepared for the pine-like aroma of the juniper berries, it’s really strong right now.”
I nod at her, but I’m not prepared for the wave of juniper that washes over us as she holds the door open and ushers me in.
“It smells like Christmas,” I say, surprised by the evocative reaction the scent garners from me.
I’ve only had gin a few times but typically ignore it out of spite because it’s Mama’s favorite drink.
I don’t think I noticed the intrinsic flavor when I tried it because it was mixed with other ingredients.
I think I have seriously been missing out.
I expected the sort of hot mash and grain smells that we experienced within the vodka and whiskey rooms, or the oaky scent in the barrel room where the bourbon is aging, but this is fresh, albeit, reminiscent of nail polish remover under it all, and I kind of love it.
“That’s what Hayes said when he first toured this space, too,” she says, smiling and bobbing her head so her ponytail swings.
That’s when I notice her candy cane earrings. Christmas is coming up quickly, and I haven’t found a present for Hayes. What could I possibly buy for a billionaire who has no real hobbies because he’s a compulsive workaholic who buys whatever he wants as he sees fit?
“Y’all are so cute. I just love that he gave you a whole business for your wedding present,” she pauses when she sees my look of confusion. “At least that’s what I read on the Atlanta Haute List, is it not true?”
“Something like that.”
Her question has my guard up and I’m once again facing the very real stigma that I haven’t earned my place as the owner of this company in her eyes, and likely many others.
They may believe exactly as she does, that this is the result of a besotted husband trying to impress his wife and shower her with extravagant presents rather than based on my ability.
I’ll have to work twice as hard to prove that I belong here as head of this company.
I also didn’t realize the Atlanta Haute List was still reporting on everything Hayes and I do, including what he’s doing on the business end of things, but I begrudgingly nod.
“Do you actually read that gossip site?” I’m genuinely curious about the reach it could possibly have.
This is a prime example of why I don’t do social media and stay off the internet as much as humanly possible.
I may need to set up an alert for my name now that I am suddenly thrust into the public’s interest, thanks to being married to Hayes.
That way I will know what people are saying and not be blindsided by strangers with way more information than I’m comfortable sharing.
“Oh, yeah, of course I do! Practically everyone in Atlanta does. They’ve really taken a liking to you,” she says, a note of admiration in her tone.
I highly doubt she would enjoy being in the spotlight on that blog if it was the intimate details of her life splashed across their website.
“I call it obsessive and not at all necessary. I’m really boring and there’s nothing special for anyone to speculate about,” I reply, my cheeks heating at her open stare and curiosity.
“Girl, you are living a fairy tale life in my opinion. I swear, it reads like a romance novel sometimes, how quickly you two fell in love—like it was fate. And the presents! They’re so extravagant.
How did you meet, anyway? The Haute List hasn’t been able to crack that one and I am dying of curiosity.
” Brandy’s blue eyes are intense as she leans in conspiratorially, and I take a step back from the scrutiny, masking my discomfort by peering closer at the second distillation process happening near us.
“We met at a party. See, nothing special,” I say, downplaying the enchanting night I ran into Hayes in a dark garden as I fled my mother and my responsibilities at my debutante ball.
I love that only Hayes and I know the details, just a little piece of our story that we can hold dear.
I certainly don’t feel particularly forthcoming with a virtual stranger who is far more interested in my life than she should be.
It still surprises me that anyone would care about me or my relationship in the slightest. There are so many more important and interesting things to worry about.
“I’ve been dying to know what happened to keep you guys apart for over a week right after you were married.
Did Hayes buying the hotel group from your family have something to do with it?
I would have been so mad, so I don’t blame you for walking away from him, but I know a lot of people probably didn’t understand.
But you got back together, so there must have been a reconciliation.
Was that when he gave you Underworld Spirits?
I would die of excitement if someone apologized by giving me a company.
Is it super glamorous being married to an older billionaire?
I know the billionaire part is probably a given, but it seems so sexy to have someone more mature pursue you.
You stayed here in Atlanta with him, right?
What’s his house like?” She finally takes a breath and I take a step back from her barrage of questions and postulation.
“I’m really not comfortable talking about this.” The words come out stilted and awkward, my need to stop the conversation in its tracks outweighing my desire to avoid confrontation of any sort. It’s worth the cringey horror I feel to get her to stop asking intrusive questions.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” she says, finally realizing my discomfort. “I get carried away sometimes and it makes me nosy. I’ll finish giving you the tour.” She appears only partially contrite but it’s better than the prying questions.
I really dislike that gossip site and all of the mess it’s brought to my life just by throwing me into the ring for everyone’s entertainment. How does one go about staying under the radar when they’re married to a billionaire that has already caught the attention of everyone in the city?
I follow Brandy through the copper gin stills, stopping and admiring the top-of-the-line machinery and learning about the cutting-edge technology Underworld is using in their distillery without really knowing what the process is, or the reasons why one is used over the other.
I keep adding words and phrases to a mental list and realize I have a lot of homework to do as we trace our steps back to the operations side of the building, where she deposits me in my corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over a sliver of Lake Clara Meer and Piedmont Park several miles away.
I pull my phone out and send a quick text to Hayes.
Paige: Hey! I hope your day is going well. Underworld is more massive than I thought. There’s so much I don’t know. I hope things are going better for you *hearts around head emoji*
My phone vibrates on the desk a moment later.
Hayes: It’s a mess here. I envy you having to learn about a new company when mine is a shit show. Lean on the team at Underworld. They’re top of their class in chemistry, marketing, and production, so the information and talent are all right there in that building.
I tap out a quick reply, knowing we both have plenty to keep us busy today and I am likely pulling his attention away from more pressing concerns just by texting when he should be focused on the work at hand.
Paige: Sounds like you have your hands full! I will be just fine. I’m sure I’ll be here late trying to make sense of the process and the why of everything, but it’s fascinating. Stay strong, my love. See you at home *heart eye emoji*
I open my laptop and make myself comfortable at the massive desk, probably ordered by Hayes when he was the company owner, and search the web for the history and the processes of distilling. The history is fascinating, and the commercial practices that have developed over the years keep me busy.
A knock at my office door has my head popping up from my overwhelming research. “Come in,” I call.