With a shake of my head and a roll of my eyes, I pop another piece of pineapple in my mouth before going to find the closest ladies’ room. I quickly empty my punch-filled bladder and wash my hands, barely recognizing the reflection staring back at me. Between the shimmery eye makeup, the bold red lips, and the floor-length princess dress, it feels like I’m playing make-believe in someone else’s life. And I’m not having any fun.
I want my yoga pants, clean face, and messy bun back. I want to be lying in the bed upstairs, fantasizing about Mr. Sexy Eyes to my heart and vagina’s content, not interviewing a bunch of strange men to determine if I want to date any of them. I don’t care how good their ass looks in jeans, or whether or not they can bench-press me with one hand or not. They’re not him.
Fueled by a wave of resolve surging through me, I march back into the ballroom and over to the table, where Fiona and Farrah — who, judging by the grimace on her face didn’t catch Big Tex before he left — are flipping through the stacks of paper. Papers they may as well just chuck in the trash.
“I’m really sorry, you guys, but I’ve gotta stop with this charade,” I blurt out, praying I don’t break Fiona’s heart by pulling the plug. “I really appreciate the effort and energy you both put into” — I wave my arms around the room at the elaborate decorations — “all of this, but it’s not working. I don’t know what my problem is. You could put the most perfect guy in front of me right now, but unless it’s him, I’m not going to give the guy a chance. I just can’t get him out of my head. I don’t know… maybe I should use some of the money to see a psychiatrist or something. I think the money has made me a little bit crazy.”
Farrah tosses the photo in her hand down on the table and crosses her arms over her chest. “A little bit?” she mocks. “Try a lot bit. Maybe you should spend the money to go to a head doctor not a psychic! Everyone knows those people just make stuff up anyway.”
For the umpteenth time today, I’m rendered speechless. Twisting to face Fiona, I silently plead with her to sympathize and put me out of my misery. Gratefully, she nods and offers me a small smile.
“Don’t worry, Aunt Finley, and I apologise that some of these wankers were so dodgy.” Fiona frowns. “You can bugger off, and I’ll get things sorted down here. Since you didn’t find any of these blokes to your liking, I suggest channel number 46 on the telly. I noticed they had quite the selection of twigs and berries on it earlier.”
Teague
“I’M SORRY TO interrupt, Mr. Goodman, but Mr. Smart is on line one for you,” Mitzi announces through the speakerphone. “Would you like me to put him through, or tell him you’ll call him back after your meeting?”
“Put him through, please. We were just finishing up in here.”
I glance up and tip my chin at Chris, the Chief Financial Officer of Goodman Farms, who’s seated across the desk from me, and he nods his understanding, rising to his feet. We’ve been going over numbers all morning — production rates, crop yields, and projected quarterly earnings — in hopes I can somehow keep the company afloat. But what truly matters is the news the man on the phone has. If Apex hasn’t accepted our latest counteroffer on the settlement, all of this was for nothing. We’ll be forced to liquidate and close our doors in less than a year.
“Thanks, Chris. I’ll get back with you this afternoon. Good work on all this,” I say, as he gathers his reports and makes his way toward the door.
“Of course. You know where to find me,” he replies, before disappearing out into the hallway.
Once the latch clicks behind him, I take a deep breath in through my nose, hold it for several seconds, and then blow it out in a whoosh through pursed lips. My heart’s pounding out a nervous bass line that reverberates throughout my entire body, and when I lean forward to press the Line One button with my trembling finger, I say a quick little prayer for good news. Lord knows I’m due some.
“Good morning, Benjamin. How are things this Friday out on the west coast?” I say with false confidence in my voice, standing up to pace the wood floors of my office while we talk. I count out seven strides in each direction, hoping it will bring me good luck.
“Morning to you too, Teague. All is well if you like fog thicker than molasses and traffic that crawls slower than a snail’s pace,” he chuckles.
I shove my hands in my pockets as I begin lap three in front of the windows, not-so-patiently waiting for him to drop the verdict. Enough of the niceties. “Not a fan of either of those, but hopefully you’ve called with some news that will brighten up both our days.”
It’s been three weeks since my trip out to his office in San Francisco, and ever since then, we’ve been negotiating back and forth with the Apex assholes, trying our best to hammer out a deal that will hopefully allow me to keep Goodman Farms up and running. At first, they wouldn’t budge off of their hundred-and-forty-million-dollar figure, but once we brought to light the amount of seed my company purchases from them each year and the effect Goodman Farms going under will have on the corn farming industry as a whole, they’ve loosened the noose around my neck a bit.
“Well, I’m not sure if it’s good enough to break through the haze here, but it’s definitely another step in the right direction,” he states, then pauses to clear his throat. “Linebetter called me first thing this morning and said they’ll consider dropping the figure to an even hundred million, paid out twenty-million a year over the next five years. Your first payment would be due on March thirty-first, which is a little over six months from now.”
I stop walking and peer up at the ceiling, mouthing, Thank you, to the heavens. A hundred million dollars is still a shit-ton of money, but if I can break it out over a handful of years, it might be doable. Especially if they agree to the next part of the deal we pitched.
“That’s definitely a step in the right direction,” I concur, as I resume my pacing. “Now what about the app? Any movement there at all?”
“They’re still considering your offer of a profit-sharing agreement, but they want to see more concrete numbers on downloads, activity, and income off advertisement. And of course, they’ll want their name and logo all over it.”
I nod to myself, realizing it’s less than ideal to sell out to the Devil, to become a pawn in Apex’s rigged game, but it’s not like I have a whole lot of options right now. I gave all those away to a beautiful blonde waitress whose face I still picture every time I close my eyes at night. Which almost always leads to my hand wrapped around my cock, stroking it to release as I whisper the name Finley over and over again. Yes, I realize the level of pathetic I’ve reached is embarrassing, but as much as I want to forget ever meeting her, I simply can’t. And I’m afraid it has nothing to do with the money.
“Teague, are you still there?” Smart asks, pulling my wandering thoughts back to the conversation.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I answer gruffly, irritated with myself for once again fantasizing about a girl I’ll never have a shot with. “I’ll have Chris pull all of that information and get it over to you before the end of the day. I didn’t want to go through the trouble if they weren’t even going to consider it.”
“All right, I’ll review it and then forward it on. I’m sure it’ll take them several days to mull it over before we hear anything back, so just keep doing what you can to stay on Lady Fortune’s good side.”
Snickering, I think about the myriad of good luck charms incorporated in the décor around my condo — white elephant statues made of jade in the entryway, upturned horseshoes mounted on the wall in the kitchen, bamboo plants in the living room, a dreamcatcher hanging over my bed, even a patch of clover I potted out on my patio. If that’s not showing Lady Fortune my dedication, I don’t know what is.
“I’m doing everything I can short of sacrificing a baby lamb for her, Smart. Keep me updated when you hear something.” After disconnecting the call, I dial Chris’s extension to list off everything I need from him, and then glance down at my watch to count off the hou
rs until the workday is over. But every time I look at the damn thing, all I can think about is getting it stuck in Finley’s hair and how she fell face-first into my lap, her mouth hovering inches above my crotch. My dick stirs to life at the memory, and I grunt in frustration as I unclasp the expensive timepiece from around my wrist and drop it into my briefcase. I really need to get a fucking grip.
“SO YOU’RE STILL being stubborn, huh? Not going to reach out to her?” Jessica asks, as she makes herself comfortable on my couch, stretching her legs out in front of her, ankles resting on my coffee table.
I slice my eyes over to her from where I’m sitting at the breakfast bar across the room, about to inhale the steaming plate of chicken marsala she brought over, scrunching my brows together in a deep scowl. “I never should’ve told you anything about her.”
She laughs a husky laugh then takes a long drink from her wine glass. “Yes, you should’ve, and if you would stop being so damn hardheaded, you’d listen to me about what you should do about her now.”
“That’s because there’s nothing that needs to be done,” I insist sternly. “We had one chance meeting — a meeting that turned out to be quite profitable for her — but that’s it. It sucks I gave the damn ticket away, but I’m a firm believer in karma, so I can only trust I’ll be rewarded for my good deed one day in the future. I only hope it’s sooner rather than later.”
I pick up the fork and dig into the food, wishing she’d drop it already, but knowing better than that. Ever since our ‘talk’ a couple weeks ago, Jessica hasn’t stopped bringing up Finley. She seems to think the reason I can’t stop thinking about the California coed is because we were brought together by some love-crossed fate or some shit. I’ve tried explaining that my empty stomach and the proximity of the restaurant she worked at to Smart’s office building is what had our paths intersecting, but she thinks I’m only telling myself that, because I don’t want to acknowledge Finley and I made some kind of soul-deep connection. I think she’s read too many of those damn romance novels that lead women to believe their lives will turn into some fairy tale. She should know better; I’m definitely no one’s Prince Charming.
“Okay, so tell me this,” she prompts, a smug grin securely in place. “Before me bringing her up right now, when’s the last time you thought about her? And tell the truth.”
Chewing the bite in my mouth, I wash it back with a swig of root beer and pretend that I’m thinking back. I know damn good and well that right before Jessica got here tonight, I had Googled Finley’s name to see if there were any new pictures of her online I could use for my spank bank. Unfortunately, there weren’t, but that didn’t stop me from rubbing one out in the shower with her name whispered on my lips and visions of her sapphire blue eyes and curvy little body dancing behind my closed lids.
“I don’t know,” I lie, adding a nonchalant shrug for extra reinforcement, “a couple of days ago, when I saw a story on the news about her?”
Jessica barks out a laugh and dramatically rolls her eyes. “You are so full of shit, Goodman. This girl’s got you wound up tighter than that damn rope you tried to amputate my hands with a couple of weeks ago. Before you met her, you were the most scheduled, organized, put-together man I know. Even after we’d have sex for hours on end, you’d still be composed and unruffled, like you just came from church or a meeting with the President or some shit. But now, look at you over there. Your hair’s a disheveled mop, your shirt’s on inside out, and you aren’t even wearing a watch. I have never, in over three years, seen you once without a watch on, so don’t try to pretend nothing is going on.”
Peeking down at my shirt, I slam my fist down on the bar and flare my nostrils, annoyed at her attention to details and just how right she is. “Enough already! I don’t even know anything about the girl, for crying out loud. She could be some crazy psychopath hooligan who leaves dirty dishes in the sink, doesn’t shower before she gets in bed at night, and likes the number thirteen!” I contend, as I stand up and throw the rest of my food away, my appetite suddenly gone. “Have you ever stopped to think that maybe the reason I’m a complete fucking mess right now is because the company I’ve worked so hard to build over the last eight years is about to go bottoms up, and I’m gonna be left back at square one with my career, starting over at almost thirty years old?”
“Whatever you want to tell yourself to make you feel better.” She waves me off like my argument has no substantial merit and gulps down the rest of her wine, then pushes to her feet and saunters toward where I’m at in the kitchen.
“Whatever I want to tell myself?” I scoff, my annoyance meter with her ramping up to ‘really fucking irritated’. Closing the distance between us, I pin her up against the counter with my large frame and lower my face until our noses are almost touching. “Goodman Farms is my life. You know that. I eat, sleep, and breathe this company. I cannot — I will not — disappoint my grandfather.”
Her brown eyes flicker with defiance as her posture stiffens; she’s not backing down. “What about disappointing yourself? You said it — you’re almost thirty years old. When are you going to start thinking about your future as Teague Goodman the man, and not as Teague Goodman the CEO, or Teague Goodman the grandson? Are you just going to hook up with Mandy on Mondays, Ashley on Wednesdays, and me on Fridays for the rest of your life?”
She pauses momentarily to give me the ‘yeah, you thought I didn’t know’ look, and then continues. “I know you’re a badass businessman, Teague, and I’m not trying to make light of what’s going on with this lawsuit. I may just be a lowly waitress, but I’m not an idiot. I get that it’s a big fucking deal that will really shake things up in your life. But I also know that whatever happens when this is all said and done, you’re both smart enough and savvy enough to land on both feet. And it won’t take you long before you’re moving forward at full speed again.”
“You don’t know that. You have no idea what’s going to happen,” I argue, even though she has a damn good point. I’m not a quitter, and I’m damn sure not going to let anyone bully me like I used to. Apex may knock me down to my knees, but I’ll fight to stand again until my last breath.
“Maybe not,” she sighs, with a shake of her head and something that looks like disappointment curling her mouth down in a frown. “But I do know if you don’t reach out to this girl and at least see if the connection you guys had that night was a fluke or something more, then you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Her words hit a nerve I didn’t even know existed. Backpedaling a few steps, freeing her from the body cage I’ve trapped her in, I scrub my hands feverishly over my face and blow out an exasperated breath. She couldn’t be right about this… could she?
“I liked you a lot better when I could tie you up, put a gag in your mouth, and spank your ass,” I grumble, before taking a long swig from my root beer.
Throwing her head back in a husky laugh, Jessica grabs the bottle of wine and pours a second glass. “I liked you a lot better when you did that too, but I’m not taking any chances with you right now. I want to keep all of my appendages for the time being.” She tips her chin toward the living room, silently requesting I join her, then pads off to where she’d been sitting on the sofa. “Now bring your ass over here. You promised me a movie tonight for bringing you dinner. If you’re nice and don’t bitch too much, we can role play later, and I’ll let you call me Finley while I blow you.”
I snap my chin in her direction, eyebrows shooting up into my forehead. “Really?”
She opens her mouth, and by the feisty expression on her face, it’s to say something else snarky, but my phone rings first, cutting her off. I stride over to where it’s lying on the bar and pick it up, recognizing the Dyersville area code but not the number.
“Hello, this is Teague,” I answer apprehensively. I hope nothing has happened at one of the farms.
“Hi, Teague, it’s Nancy,” the familiar female voice says through the line. “I’m sorry to ca
ll this late, but your grandpa started having chest pains. We’re on our way to the hospital in Dyersville.”
Instantly, every thought and worry I have about Apex, the farm, and Finley is pushed to the far back of mind as the bottle slips through my fingers from my hands and shatters on the floor. “I’m on my way.”
Fiona
I WAIT UNTIL I hear the lock on the loo latch behind my mum and the spray of the shower to start before pulling my iPad out of my backpack and turning it on. Hurriedly, I move to the living room area of the suite we’re staying in and plop down on the couch — which is also currently my bed at night — next to the phone. I’ve been waiting for a couple of days to get some time alone to make this phone call, but it seems like every time I turn around someone is always right there, keeping me from this very important quest for information I’m on. Finally, I’ve got a few minutes by myself with Aunt Finley gone to run a bunch of errands and Mummy taking a shower.
After the speed-dating idea turned out to be a big flop, I was sad that I couldn’t help Aunt Finley find her Prince Charming, but I realized that the only thing that’s going to make her happy is to find her Mr. Sexy Eyes. So I’m now on a secret mission to figure out who he is and discover everything there is to know about our mysterious guardian angel. I don’t want to tell anyone else yet, in case I can’t track him down or he ends up being married or something else equally as terrible, but I’ve had to let Travis, my assigned bodyguard, in on my plan, because he helped get me this iPad so I can do my research.
Of course, I did warn him that if he didn’t cooperate, I’d tell Aunt Finley I saw him and Dax sneaking into my mum’s room the other night when they thought I was sleeping. I’m not sure what they were doing, but it sounded like a whole bunch of praying was going on for whatever it was. Mummy and Dax have been doing a lot of that praying lately. I guess they thought Travis needed to find Jesus too.