after this night (camren)

37. Camila

Taxes were a bitch.

......

My jaw dropped at the mention of all the zeroes, "That's the size of the prize?"

Glen Mills nodded and said yes, again and again and again.

"I won a contest I didn't even know I was in AND you want to just give me that much money? No strings attached?"

Glen chuckled, and even his laugh sounded proper, "Well, the string attached is we would very much like to offer you a contract to manufacture the drink in conjunction with Farrell Spirits" he said, mentioning the name of one of the world's largest premium drink makers that was home to many top-flight rums, vodkas, guns, and whiskeys bottled around the world.

"Oh My God, like those cosmo and mojito mixes you see in grocery stores" Ally said with a shriek.

I turned to Ally, and it was like looking in a mirror and seeing a grin as wide as the sea, eyes twinkling, surprise and shock etched across her face. I returned the gaze to the gray-haired gentleman, who'd became something of Santa Claus. Dropping in unexpectedly, bringing only presents and a ho, ho, ho. But Santa wasn't real, and there had to be some loop-whole he'd spring on me. The devil lived in the details and bathed himself in fine print. I rearranged my features, fixing a more serious look on my face, "There has to be some kind of catch? Do I have to give up my bar, or my firstborn, or an arm, maybe?"

Glen laughed and shook his head, "No, Ms. Cabello. We simply want to be in business with you. Farrell Spirits contracted my magazine to embark on a nationwide hunt for the best cocktail and the string attached is that the company would very much like to make it and turn it into a mass-market available product"

Chills raced over my skin, goose bumps of sheer possibility. I didn't know what to do or say. But this must be what it felt like to win the lottery; disbelief of the highest order, "So you want the recipe, of course?"

"We are going to need the recipe if we agree to the terms, but I assure you it will not be printed in the magazine. It would be a trade secret of course, and Cubic Z or any establishment you run can remain the only bar where the drink can be made or ordered fresh"

I grabbed Ally's arm in excitement, "Do you have any idea what that would do for our business? It's go through the roof" I said, now shrieking, "And that'll be so good for you and Troy and the baby"

"I know" Ally said, her face glowing.

"There is one small item though" Glen said, interrupting, and my shoulders fell. This was the moment when the devil revealed himself. There was no such thing as free lunch. My life was not X-Factor with Cocktails. There would be a catch; there always was.

"Yes?" I asked through a strangled gulp.

"Even if you don't accept the Farrell offer, I will still be writing about this drink in out magazine because it is divine" he said, "And there are no strings attached to that recognition. I would simply be shirking my journalistic duties to do anything else"

My smile returned, "Far be it from me to turn you into a shirker of duties" I said, and extended a hand to shake.

Later that night, when I returned home, I couldn't wipe the damn grin off my face if I'd tried. Because for the first time in a long time, I'd won something based on my skills. Sheer talent alone had made this happen. I wasn't saving the world, and I certainly wasn't curing cancer, but I could mix a damn fine drink, and build a damn fin bar, and no man could ever take that away from me.

Funny that I hadn't even known I was a contender, but that made this victory all the sweater. It was my victory, my prize, and my success. Based on something intrinsic to me that no one, no mobster, no douche of an ex-boyfriend, could ever twist or manipulate.