“Right.” I held his gaze, but stubbornly didn’t laugh at his dig. “Okay, so what brought you to the oil field?”
His thick shoulders raised and lowered. “Just hard work. There ain’t any secrets. I wasn’t much good at school, except for nap time, and teachers tended to get mad at you for excelling in that subject after kindergarten.” He shifted in his seat, adjusted the collar of his shirt, looking uncomfortable but he continued, “I was kind of a loner. Hung out by myself, but I was good at fixin’ things and rigging up stuff to work. I didn’t want to go to college, so I tried the oil field because something always needs riggin’ up there. It seemed like a good match. Nobody made me eat bird food there—”
“—Okay!” I cut off his joke, but my lips betrayed me and curled up as I rushed to ask another question. “Why drilling, and what makes your company special?”
“I never picked drillin’. I think it picked me. I always liked the rush when we first broke ground, and then again, the feelin’ I get when we find oil. It’s like a treasure hunt.” He tilted his head to the side, like he was weighing another thought, and added, “A really long, expensive treasure hunt where mostly stuff breaks down, and you get really dirty, but sometimes you win.”
Our waiter returned with our food. My salad looked like another rendition of the same plate of lettuce I ate daily, so I was pleased. Beau, on the other hand stared at his food like it was a road sign he couldn’t read.
“What’s wrong?” I asked while I spread out my napkin on my lap.
He pushed his fork into his bed of lettuce, lifting it up to see the bottom. “Where is the meat?”
“There is no meat.”
“Mine was supposed to come with meat,” he insisted. “I ordered the salad under the column that said chicken.”
“Oh.” I nodded my head knowingly. “It’s faux chicken.” I pointed to the brown crumbles on the side of his plate. “Right here.”
“You mean they don’t pluck it?” Beau’s eyes slid to the side suspiciously.
“No,not feather. Fake. It’s fine. Just eat it.” I wagged my fork toward his plate. “It tastes just like chicken.”
He lightly slapped his palm down on the table. “I get it now.” He tossed a look behind his shoulder. “This one of those hidden camera shows?” His lips bent good-naturedly, but the strain in his eyes echoed that he wished it was.
“It’s not a TV show. It’s chicken.”
He raised his brows and exclaimed, “No, it’s not chicken! You’re telling me fake chicken is a real thing?”
I waved my fork back toward his plate, insisting. “Just try it.”
His eyes lowered back to his plate, but the look on his face was still strained. “How come when you fancy people found out hotdogs were mystery meat, you stopped eating them,” his tone of voice teasing an argument. “But when you put mysterious meat on a plate of lettuce, you call it “faux” and you’re suddenly cultured?”
“I—” I tried to answer his question, but I didn’t have an answer. “I don’t know what to think about that, but it seems like a valid point.” I was done talking about the food and went back to my interview. “So, anyway. That’s interesting about the treasure hunt. I would have never described it like that, but you made it sound appealing.” Pursing my lips, I thought about the best way to phrase my next question, before continuing, “I’ve been wondering why since you run a successful company and have a lot going on with running it,” I motioned to him across the table. “Why do you still feel the need to work with the guys in the field?”
His brow dropped, giving him an expression of confusion. “Why would I not? I can’t ask my guys to do the grunt work if I’m not willin’ to do it too.”
“Right.” I nodded, showing I heard, but I needed clarity. “It’s just not typical for a CEO.”
“A business runs the best when the guy in charge shows up.” He wagged his head back and forth, like he couldn’t understand why I would think it was odd. “I find the best way to motivate your boys is to work next to them.” He shrugged his shoulders and stared blankly back at me.
I was about to call it good and stop recording, but he surprised me by picking up our conversation again. “I know you think drilling oil is dirty, and the root cause of all things killing this planet. All you hippies do, but I see it differently. I’m helping people and savin’ lives.”
I slid to the edge of my seat, letting his words ring in my ears for a minute before I responded. “How so?”
“Look at the products oil makes. Try to live a day without oil, and you can’t. There isn’t a substitute on the planet as efficient and versatile as oil. And it’s cost-effective. The fact we can drill it out of our own soil is the biggest benefit of all because it gives high-paying jobs back to our communities.”
“High paying jobs, at what cost?” I wasn’t convinced. In fact, I was insulted. So much so, my heart tick up a notch. “There’re lots of products available from our own soil that can do the same things oil can, but they also don’t pollute the planet. I think your statement is very close-minded of you.”
He squared his jaw while he replied in an even tone. “I’m realistic.”
My tongue felt tacky, and I had to open my mouth wider to articulate my words. “No. You say you can’t live without oil like it’s a blanket statement, but you haven’t even tried.”
His head tilted toward me in a curt nod. “Have you?”
“Not specifically.” My lips tightened, and my eyes hovered over his as the burn of annoyance budded in my chest. I selected my words carefully. “I’m open-minded enough to at least consider it.”
“Consider it?” One brow arched above the other, and his voice lowered into his gruff gravelly one. “I dare you.”
