Your name on it.
Your address. Your admin.
Bisbe wearing your name, at your own web address, run by someone at your firm.
You are not buying a logo slot. You are buying the answer to “whose product is this?” — and the five screens you run it from. Six steps. Five are yours alone; one needs whoever runs your website, and the page says which.
No name in the corner, no badge in the footer, no “runs on” line anywhere inside the app.
Two states. There is no middle rung.
Either our name sits beside yours, or it isn’t there at all. Nothing in between, because “buy the logo, rent the rest” is a menu, and a menu is the opposite of clear.
Co-branded
Your business’s name sits beside ours in the app. Nothing to set up, nothing to decide, nothing to pay attention to on day one.
- Your name in the app, ours alongside it
- You come in at our address
- We look after the settings
Under your own brand
One thing, not a list of add-ons. Your name, your mark, your colour, your web address, your own admin — and ours absent from the app entirely.
- Your name, mark and colour throughout the app
- Your own web address — and a plain one with nothing of ours in it from day one
- You add and remove your own people
- You decide what each person can open
- Counted by the seat — every person who uses it
The four shapes on the main page are how much of the plumbing you keep. This one is whose product it is.
Five things, and one of them is the point.
What you already use carries on unchanged — the written manual that answers with receipts, the rooms your team talks in, the work board, the training built from your own pages, and the counter people knock on. Two parts of the product work differently here, and step five names them. What changes is whose it looks like, where it lives, and who runs it.
No prices here, and that is not coyness. None are set. What is settled is the shape: it is counted by the seat rather than by the firm, which is exactly why handing a seat to a customer of yours is welcome instead of policed.
Six steps. Five are yours alone; one needs whoever runs your website.
This is the whole process, in the order you walk it, on a phone, one-handed. There is no form to fill in, no call to book, and no person from here in the middle of any of it. The step that needs somebody else’s hands is step three, and it says so where you meet it.
You name it. Greg called his Ask Greg.
Whatever your people would naturally say — your firm’s name, or the thing they actually do with it. It lands in the top left of every screen, on the browser tab, and at the head of what the app sends. Not a setting buried three levels down: the first thing you do, and the first thing everybody sees.
If you have no logo yet, your name is set in the app’s own lettering. Never a grey placeholder picture, because a firm whose app looks half-finished on day one never finishes it.
Top left, on the browser tab, and on what the app sends.
Greg’s own logo. A square or a wide one — we never stretch it and never recolour it.
Choose a filePick your colour, and see it on the actual app while you pick.
Not a swatch card — the real top-left, the real button, and the real mark the app uses for waiting on you, side by side. A colour is only ever wrong next to something. The preview moves as you type and nothing saves until you say so.
Six colours are already checked. Pick your own and we check it while you are choosing, not after you save. If it will not work we say what goes wrong in a sentence, show you what it turns into for someone who cannot tell red from green, and hand you two colours that do. You are never left without a colour.
Bronze — chosen. Or pick your own and we will check it before you keep it.
1 · It’s hard to read. White writing on it is too faint for a phone in daylight.
2 · It turns into a colour the app already uses. Roughly one man in twelve can’t tell red from green. To them it becomes the mark that means waiting on you.
A word on your own website. You pick the word.
It lives on the address your customers already know — ask.greg.com, help.greg.com, whatever fits how your people talk about it. That takes two records added wherever your website is registered, and this is the one step nobody here can do for you, because only whoever controls your web address is allowed to add them.
So we make it the easy part instead of pretending it is not there. We show you the exact two lines, with a button that copies them and a button that emails them to whoever runs your website. We check every few minutes and tell you the moment both are there, and each line shows its own state — so “it isn’t working” becomes “line two is missing”.
And you will not be waiting to start. From the moment you set it up it has a plain address of its own, with nothing of ours in it, and that keeps working the whole time — so your people can be in the app on day one while the address sorts itself out behind them. Your name is the only name on it, on both.
Two lines need adding wherever greg.com is registered. We check every few minutes.
Ask Greg has a plain address of its own and it works. Nothing of ours is in it, and nothing is stuck while you wait.
An email address, what they do, and which doors.
Before you commit, the app tells you what is about to happen, in plain sentences: she gets an email from Ask Greg — your name on it, not ours; she picks her own password — you never see it and you never set it; it holds one of your seats, and cancelling gives the seat straight back; and she lands exactly where you said she would.
Every one of those clauses is there because it retires a question you would otherwise have had to ask somebody. And the screen leads with how many seats are free, because an owner who taps Invite someone and then gets refused has been walked into a wall.
If you do run out: we block the next invite, we never take a seat off someone who is working. The refusal names the cause, points at the idle seats, keeps your half-finished invite, and says out loud that nobody is being thrown out.
7 of your 10 seats are in use. 3 free.
Dana gets an email from Ask Greg. She picks her own password. This holds one of your seats — cancel and it comes back.
Doors, not permissions.
The screen is a picture of the bar your staff look at under their thumb all day. You are ticking the same words they see — not reasoning about an abstraction, and not filling in a grid.
Set the default once and every future invite is right without you thinking about it. Change one person when you need to; that is the exception, not the routine. Leave a door off and it simply isn’t there for them — no locked icon, no nagging, nothing to explain.
And there is a ceiling you cannot accidentally cross: nothing here can give someone more than your firm has. Doors you haven’t taken aren’t choices.
Two things you will meet in the demo are not on this grid. The Customers area — accounts and orders — is not part of this offering yet. And the answering queue, which the demo shows as a screen of its own, sits inside Ask for whoever owns the account rather than being a door you hand out.
Five sections, behind your own name in the top right.
They are the five questions an owner actually has, and nothing else: Team — who is here. Doors — what each person can open. Seats — what your seats are using. Brand — your name, mark and colour. Status — whether it is working, and what you can fix yourself.
They are not an eighth door on the bar. They live behind your own name, wearing the same frame as the rest of the app, so you never leave the product to administer it and you are always one tap from the work you were doing.
Status is the one that means you almost never need us. Every change you make is written into a trail as a sentence — “You gave Dana the Rooms door” — with an undo on the ones that can be undone, and refusals recorded too, which is the part that answers “I tried that on Tuesday and nothing happened”.
Six people opened it this week; one invite is still unopened.
You gave Dana the Rooms door · you resent Marco’s invite · you changed your colour.
See every changeThe seven things you’d otherwise ring about.
Each one has a home on the Status screen and a fix that does not involve a single person from here. This is what “run it yourself” actually means when you write it down.
I can’t get in
Pick the person. The screen states the four things that are actually true about them — was the invite delivered, did they ever open it, is the address right, which doors do they hold — and puts a fix on each one.
She can’t see something
From her row: step into her exact app, read-only, with a bar across the top that never goes away. You stop describing the problem and start looking at it — then fix the door from inside that view.
Is it down, or is it us?
A real check at the top of Status, with the time it ran, how long it has been fine, and a Check again button. Not a green light somebody drew once.
Who changed this?
The trail, written as sentences about things people did rather than records that changed — with an undo on the ones that can be undone, and the refusals in there too.
Our web address isn’t working
Which record is missing, both lines ready to copy, a button that sends them to whoever runs your website, and a check-again.
We’ve run out of seats
The idle seats, named, with the date each was last opened — and what your plan covers. Your half-finished invite is kept; free a seat and it sends.
I want everything we’ve put in
Take a copy of the lot, any time, without asking anybody. A firm that knows it can leave is a firm that doesn’t spend its first month wondering whether it can.
And the one per cent. When something genuinely needs us, the counter inside your app is called Help with this app — not our product’s name, because the instance is yours — and the question arrives already carrying the screen you were on, what failed, and the last few rows of your trail. You write one sentence; the explaining is already done.
What isn’t yours yet, said here rather than found later.
Inside the app, it is yours. These five edges are not, today — and you should know that before you decide, not the first time somebody notices.
There is no version of this where somebody here does it for you, and we would rather say so than dress it up. Only whoever controls your web address can add those two lines. What we can do is make it two minutes: the exact records, a copy button, an email written for your web person, a check every few minutes, and a plain working address with nothing of ours in it the whole time you wait.
What the app sends does not come from your address yet. It is on the list and it is not done, and that is the whole of the truth — the Status screen says the same thing in the same words rather than letting you discover it from a customer.
Save the app to a phone’s home screen, or share a link somewhere, and the icon and the picture that shows are still the standard ones rather than your mark. Your name, mark and colour are everywhere inside the app.
Giving a customer or a supplier their own way in is the shape of this offering and it is ruled. It is not switched on, and the reason is not a schedule: their side and your side have to be kept apart by the database itself before anyone from outside gets a login — not by the app remembering to.
The accounts-and-orders side is not in this offering today, for the separation reason above. That is a fence, not the end of the answer: the system you already run does not have to move anywhere. There are three ways to connect one — bring the records across as a bundle, hand the published specifications to your own developer, or have our team write the adapter for your system, which is a piece of work we take on deliberately for makers who want to be on that list. The connecting piece is not built yet and the page that lays all three out says so on every row. Read the three options in full.
And the honest tense on the whole page. None of this is open to sign up for today. The seats and the memberships underneath are real and running; the five screens above are a design that has been approved and not yet built; the address, the brand and the outside-your-firm seats are marked on their own rows. What you can do right now is use the whole product — free, with no sign-in and without telling us who you are — and decide whether you would want it wearing your name.
See the app first. Then decide whose it looks like.
The fastest way to judge any of this is to use it. The whole product is walkable right now, read-only, seeded with an invented business — no sign-in, no form, no sales call.
ABOUT THIS PAGE · This is the offering where the product carries your name instead of ours, and the process a firm’s owner walks to set it up and run it. Every claim here is written to be true at the moment it renders, and anything not built says so on its own row rather than in a footnote. The screens are drawings from an approved design document, not screenshots of a running product. The firm, the people and the figures are invented; no real business, brand or person appears. No prices appear, because none are set. Three links here open something and all three are free and read-only.