Page 29 of Tough Luck

For the first two days, we strategized. We tore apart the first ideas we had. We did stick with the latest idea of recycled cans, which, according to the reports we’d gotten from Marcus, Leonard hadn’t suggested.

By Sunday night, the long oak dining table was a beautiful disaster of crumpled sketches, empty food containers, and empty soda cans and coffee mugs.

Each evening, we shared the task of cleaning up and doing dishes, a very domestic task that I appreciated having a partner by my side for.

The chaos on the table was nothing compared to the slow-burning tension that had been building between Sofia and me inside the cabin since we’d arrived.

“Okay, let’s look at these options again,” Sofia murmured, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she leaned low over the new drawings she’d done.

She was sitting cross-legged on one of the heavy timber chairs, having dressed in a pair of fleece leggings and a soft, oversized gray flannel shirt that looked big enough to swallow her. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the heat of the fireplace, and without a drop of makeup on, she looked so captivating that it was getting harder and harder to focus on the job at hand.

“The closed-loop recycling program is our silver bullet to put that monster Leonard in his grave,” I joked, my voice dropping a little lower as I leaned over the back of her chair to look at the page. I was close enough to smell the faint scent of vanilla and mountain air on her skin, and it was doing wild things to my self-control.

I continued. “Leonard pitched the trail maps on the cans, but he forgot the local wildlife. We’ll hint about that, along with the recycled cans, since Marcus prides himself on sustainable sourcing. We can tie the map and animal designs directly to an initiative where hikers can return their empty aluminum to the brewery or at participating stores in exchange for discounts on products, like trail gear, discount tickets or coupons, or even store credits. This way, we have more community support.”

“Do you think we could make that happen?” she asked, looking up at me.

“There are some strings I can pull at a few big hiking and snow gear stores. I mean, it’s worth trying.”

“Then we make Leonard’s pitch look completely superficial,” Sofia added.

She didn’t realize how close we actually were. Her lips were inches from mine, her hazel eyes wide and sparkling in the amber glow of the firelight. The air between us instantly turned heavy and electric. The marketing metrics faded into background noise as my gaze dropped to her mouth, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Sofia’s breath hitched, her throat moving as she swallowed softly. She didn’t pull away. Instead, a dangerous, thrilling challenge sparked in her eyes.

“You’re standing very close, Mr. Mylonas,” she whispered, a tiny, playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Am I?” I murmured, tilting my head slightly, entirely past the point of pretending I wasn’t affected by her. I reached out, my fingers lightly brushing against the soft cuff of her sleeve. “Maybe I’m just checking the accuracy of my lead strategist’s data.”

“Right. Corporate due diligence,” she teased, her voice dropping into a breathless, teasing register that vibrated straight down to my toes. “Is that what they teach you in San Diego?”

“No,” I said, a slow smirk spreading across my face as I held her gaze. The flirting was finally breaking completely through our professional boundaries. “In San Diego, we call this recognizing the most brilliant, beautiful asset in the room.”

She laughed, really laughed, and somehow, it broke the trance I’d been in. The suffocatingly heavy tension in the air fractured, turning into something light and warm. Taking a step back, I pulled out the heavy timber chair next to her and sat down, running a hand over my face.

“What are we missing?” I asked with a sigh, staring at the chaotic web of arrows on the legal pad.

Sofia thought for a moment, then closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the spindle of the chair. The firelight played across the soft lines of her face. “What do people who drink craft beers want?”

The room was silent for a moment. The only sound was the crackle of the cedar logs in the hearth and the distant whisper of the wind against the massive glass windows.

“Something fun and cold,” I supplied.

Her eyes snapped open, bright and alive with a sudden, brilliant spark. She grabbed her felt-tip pen. “They want fun. They want an experience that feels uniquely theirs. What if we don’t just ask people to buy Clear Creek beer? What if we gamify the entire experience of being an outdoor enthusiast in Golden or even, for that matter, all of Colorado? We create a dedicated Clear Creek Brewery app. A digital ecosystem built around a Geocached ‘Tap-and-Trail’ scavenger hunt.”

I blinked, the marketing and gaming gears in my head rapidly shifting as I looked at her. “Go on.”

“Think about it,” Sofia said, her excitement building, her fingers flying as she sketched a rough mobile interface layout on the pad. “Colorado is full of hiking and bike trails, ski areas, and rivers and waterways ready to be explored. We place custom, eco-friendly geocache boxes or signs with digital QR codes as checkpoints at popular outdoor landmarks—like the top of Mount Lookout or along Clear Creek. When hikers, bikers, kayakers, paddle boarders, or”—she shrugged—“whatever, use the app to check in at these locations, they unlock digital trail tokens. When they turn in cans for recycling at designated locations, they earn more tokens. And those tokens translate to real-world rewards at each participating location.”

She stood up and started pacing as she continued.

“Which ties it directly back to that closed-loop recycling program we wanted to pitch. What if the app tracks their recycling metrics? They can even scan the QR code on the box when they drop their empty aluminum cans into custom collection bins at participating trailheads. We can talk to the Parks and Rec people I reached out to for another job we worked on a few months back.” Sofia turned toward me so quickly her shoulder brushed mine. “Every can recycled gives them extra points. And when they bring those digital rewards back to their favorite participating bar, or the brewery store itself, they don’t just get a cheap coupon.” Her smile spread as she thought. “We offer them tiered ‘Trail Rewards.’ A custom, limited-edition mountain pint glass for so many points. Say, a hundred, or a thousand.” She shrugged. “Details to come later.” She waved her hand. “Or they get a discount on a beer flight after a long hike.”

“And for the ultimate tier?” I asked, leaning in closer again, entirely hooked on her genius idea.

Sofia looked over at me, a beautifully wicked, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “For the people who max out the app—the ones who truly live the outdoor lifestyle and help keep our trails clean by drinking CCB beer—we give them access to something really exclusive.” She held up her hands and waited a beat as her eyes shined. “When they’ve hit the magic limit, they head on down to the brewery, and the app unlocks a hidden door in their storefront or taproom.”

I frowned thinking about it. “At the brewery itself?” There was a small storefront where they sold beer and specialty items, like beer mugs, T-shirts, and koozies. Marcus had joked about needing to expand the area since it was a big hit. They were even thinking of doing tastings, like some of the bourbon places in Kentucky.