She bristled and he must have sensed it because he laughed. ‘You’re hardly Facebook. So, the report includes projections, market research, focus groups ops. Emailing it now.’
Heart beating fast, her mouth dry, she asked, ‘How much are you charging me?’
‘Oh, Christ, loads.’
She hung up and held her breath, until the document landed in her inbox.
There was page after page of figures, percentages and words but she couldn’t focus.
She had to call him back. ‘Give me broad brushstrokes.’
‘It’s easier in person.’
‘I’ll come to your office.’
‘Meet me in Jack Black’s.’
God, he bloody loved that place. It was probably where he was right now. It probably was his office.
To no one in particular, she announced, ‘I’m out for a couple of hours. A meeting.’
In the hellhole that was Jack Black’s, Karl Brennan had a tall glass of dark liquid before him.
She nodded at it. ‘Tell me it’s a Coke.’
‘A Manhattan.’
It was twenty to eleven in the morning.
‘I’m never drunk,’ he said, ‘and seldom sober.’ He hit a key on his laptop and the screen filled with numbers. ‘You might need a drink too.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘Right! Four proposals. One: carry on as you are, with your chefs and your shops.’
‘And?’ Surely it couldn’t be that easy.
‘You’ll be out of business in two years.’
The blood drained from her face. ‘Seriously?’
‘Oh, yeah.’ He seemed pleased. ‘Rising rents, dying retail, all the blah. Next option, seek an equity raise to fund your online arm. Not going to happen. Your moment was twelve years ago. You’re too small and too risky for anyone to invest in. And you personally are too controlling.’
She swallowed hard.
‘Option three: close all of your shops.’ He watched her flinch. ‘Yeah. All. Of. Them. And the cookery school. Release the equity in the property you own. You get to stop paying rent on your leases and you get to stop paying your staff – BTW, your payroll is insane. Then you’d be liquid enough to create a decent online set-up. Only problem, brand recognition. Strong in Ireland, trusted, you’ll be pleased to know. Rest of the world, not so much. You called it yourself, it’s a crowded market place. You’d struggle. You might not make it.’
‘The fourth option? I sell my children?’
‘Or …’ His bloodshot blue eyes gave her a sudden speculative look. His imagination had gone to some place she did not want to think about. ‘Option four: close five of your retail outlets. You get to keep three stores in bigger towns and your cookery school, plus you’ve freed up equity to invest in the online side of things – warehousing, couriering, new staff. What you won’t have is the cash to get yourself up the Google rankings, and reach more international audiences. Here’s the thing, though. Your stuff with the chefs gives you an advantage –’
‘I told you that.’
‘Yeah, hurray for Jessie. But to optimize, you need a YouTube channel, interviews with the chefs, online demos. This could be the thing that makes the difference. And you need to accelerate. Currently you do four chefs a year. Bump it up to one every six weeks and you could be golden.’
That was not going to happen. It already took so much of her time.
‘Get a new hire.’ He’d obviously read her mind. ‘Who elected you the only chef-getter in town? I see it all the time with mom-and-pop outfits like yours. You can’t delegate. Whole thing comes down to ego. Ultimately it implodes.’ He spread his hands on the sticky table. ‘There you are. Broad brushstrokes like you asked for.’
There was so much information to process, but the hardest chunk to digest – like a snake having swallowed a pineapple – was that she’d have to change and quickly, when she was already living through so much upheaval.
‘Which one would you go for?’ she asked.
‘Not my gig, is it? But I like a risk. Option three. Put everything online. Might work, might not, but you’d go out in a blaze of glory.’
‘Blazes of glory don’t pay the mortgage.’
He had a good laugh at that. ‘You’ll grab on to option four. That route, you’ll likely be small-time for ever – no one’s going to swoop in and buy you out for billions. But if you become very adaptable very fast, you might actually survive.’ He took a long swallow of his Manhattan. ‘I need another of these. Are you having a drink? A drink-drink?’