Page 19 of Living La Vida Mocha
“Ever thought of opening your own marketing business? You know what you’re doing, and this way you can take the clients you want, rather than being dumped with the undesirables.”
I tapped my chin and pondered her idea. “It’s not an awful idea.”
“There you go.”
“It would require a lot of a startup.”
The type of cash I didn’t have available and wasn’t sure I’d be able to secure with my inability to hold onto a job, and there was no way I was touching my inheritance. That was for my retirement. I was going to see the world Dad had always dreamed about it. I just needed another twenty-five to thirty years until I could use it. Until then, it was sitting in an account. Waiting.
“I could fund you.”
My eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not? That’s what friends are for. I can loan you a small start-up to get you going.”
“But…” I had no words. It was a huge offer. Bigger than huge.
“Plus, I could help on the legal side and make sure everything is legit, get a name going, start up the website, and all the fun that goes into that.” Amanda lit up and started spitting out idea after idea.
It could be fun being the boss, but then again, I didn’t have the first idea of how to start a business – what steps to take, although partnering with Amanda seemed like the logical first step – she had all the brightest of ideas, and best of all, it sounded like a logical plan.
All I knew was how pricey it would be to get it off the ground, and although I had access to a fairly healthy nest egg, this wasn’t the way I wanted to crack it open. Maybe being my own boss was something I worked on behind a full-time job, that way I was still making the bucks and yet funding myself and getting the clients so I wouldn’t have such a shift from one job to my own. There was merit in it. Some.
With the fork in her hand, she circled my face. “That’s what I like to see. The ideas swimming in your head.”
“Well, thank you for putting them there.” But I laughed because it was an intriguing thought.
Could it be done? Did I want my own PR and marketing firm? I had ideas, namely for Carter’s coffee shop, but was that what I honestly wanted?
Chapter Five
Having braided my long, brown hair and donned a baseball cap, I hoped I was practically unrecognizable as I strolled into the Coffee Loft later that week. I even ordered something different and skipped the donut, although the smell was intoxicating my waistline would thank me for it.
Trying to look like a university student – I wasn’t so far removed that I couldn’t pull it off – I set up my laptop in the darkened corner and clicked away. An idea sprung to mind, one that had been festering for some time on an old project for a former client. They had rejected it because it wasn’t what they were looking for.
Extenuating data, that’s what I needed, but not in the way a business looked at it. I wanted the emotional pull. What brings a customer back over and over?
The personal interactions.
The atmosphere.
The pricing, although if a person felt appreciated and the place was cosy, the price could skew higher.
That’s what I desperately needed if my idea was going to hatch, and that’s what I watched for over the course of five days, miraculously not drawing attention to myself as I blended into the environment, hoping I looked like a regular in the small mountain town. Every day I visited, always at different times, and I took notes on the type of people who visited and timed their visits. I wasn’t gathering the financial information, Carter would surely have that, but I was curious to see who the customers were, not how many.
There were couples who lingered over coffees, shared desserts, and endless smiles.
Girlfriends who gathered and indulged in laughter and sometimes tears.
There were singles, mostly young men, who took their orders to go.
Families with young children were a rarity, and if they stopped by, it was typically take-out and a paper cup drink for either the mom or dad – rarely both.
I took notes on the customers, adding their perceived moods to my ever-growing spreadsheet, and typed as frantically as I could.
It wasn’t just the customers I watched; it was the staff I studied as well, although two shined above the others. Harry was the main one, working afternoons and early evenings, and although he did his job well, he wasn’t bubbly and was fairly strait-laced and even-keeled.
Another employee, Nina, seemed the same age as Harry but was wildly more engaging with the customers and they fed off that. When she bounced around, customers seemed to buy another pastry or have another cup of coffee. She was also a bit of a wild card, singing as she cleaned the tables or dancing to whatever song was playing overhead.