The Perfect Blend by Allie Pleiter Read Free Book Online Page A

are not limited, they’re just under heavy medication right now.”
    â€œThree words,” Will declares, pointing to the heading on the top of the page. “Your assignment is to identify the three words your ideal customer uses if asked to describe you in ten seconds or less.”
    There’s a tidy little homework sheet, with bullet points and examples and all, complete with three blanks at the bottom of the page for me to fill in my three words.
    Three words. I had to fill out twelve forms and now I’m learning about business by coming up with three words?
    â€œThat seems a bit simplistic, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
    Will looks like he was expecting that. “Often, the simplest concepts are the hardest to grasp. This exercise gets to the very heart of your brand and the loyalty you want to build in your customers. ‘Nail this,’ as you would say, and it drives everything else that comes after it.”
    â€œThree words. Well, with the surprising bonus of free time I have this weekend, I ought to be able to drum up three words by Wednesday.”
    Will smiles. He does have a very nice smile. Dignified, but still genuine. Top drawer all the way. “I thought it would suit the circumstances. We’ll see you Wednesday, then?” He plants his hands on his knees as if to get up.
    â€œGoing so soon?” I blurt out before I can even think. Now where did that come from? Granted, he’s far nicer company than a gaggle of hovering siblings, but it’s not as though I’m itching to spend time with the guy. I don’t even know if he goes to church. I don’t know if he takes cream or sugar. I don’t know a lot of things about this guy.
    So there’s no reason for me to be craving conversation with my friendly neighborhood banker. I’ve gotten more apology than I’ll ever need from both him and his gigantic orb-lobbing friend. I need my rest, right?
    After a pause that could mean a host of things—from “I’ve got better things to do on a Saturday than chat with wounded clients” to “actually, I’d reallyrather not go,”—Will says, “Well, I should be going.”
    I’m not going to discuss what that pause does to my imagination. I’m not going to discuss anything in my present medicated state. I mean, really, I harbor warm feelings toward anyone who brings me coffee.

Chapter Eight
    This is America
    â€œD elicious. Satisfying. Friendly. Quality. Intriguing. Addictive. Energizing. Regal. Attentive. Crud! ”
    I’m pacing around my living room, a cup of my best dark roast displayed smack in the center of my coffee table, cataloguing my three words.
    Or trying to.
    The exercise isn’t working. I stop, I sip, I inhale the potent aroma that is a Maggie-brewed cup of java and I picture my ideal customers’ response. I see them, hands cradled around the mug, lifting the brew expectantly to their lips in that spectacular moment that is any coffee-lover’s first sip of the day. That’s the moment I live for. That’s the moment my three words should describe. I totally get the purpose of this task.
    It’s the customer in my imagination that keepsmessing things up. Every time I picture that customer relishing that sip, within minutes that customer becomes Will Grey. How annoying is it that he keeps invading my retail daydreams? I shake myself like an athlete, take another long sip and try again.
    â€œDynamic. Must-have. Blissful. Surprising. Crisp. Multilayered. Guarded…”
    Guarded? Who’d ever drink guarded coffee? Nobody wants crisp, multilayered, guarded coffee. It sounds like you’re drinking a well-behaved salad, for crying out loud. Will knew how hard this would be. I bet everyone else did this exercise in twelve minutes, but he knew I couldn’t just crank something like this out. It’s torture, I tell you.
    You know, he may even think