“Yeah. We’re nearly done now. Even with the polytunnels. But you didn’t answer my question. How do you know him?”
“I told you, he’s a friend of Byron’s.”
“Yeah, but you’re not. So what gives?”
I shrug. “I just ran into him. We got to talking.”
“So he lives nearby?”
I groan. It’s so typical of Bray to be destroying my buzz. “Leave me alone, Bray. I don’t question you on your love life.”
“Oh, so you’re admitting this guy is starring in your love life at the moment.”
I narrow my eyes at him, sending him death stares.
He doesn’t take the hint. “Well, let me do you a deal. When the woman I’m dating turns up asking you for a job, you can ask me all the questions you want. How about that?”
“You need to get back to work. Focus on the fruit. Not me.” I pause. “What do you mean he’s chatty? What did he say?”
Bray chuckles. “Nothing about you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“You’re annoying,” I say, and I turn and head back into the safety of my office. If I can’t ogle the beautiful New Yorker who’s on Wilde’s Farm for the day, without my brother giving a running commentary, there’s no point in being out here.
SIXTEEN
Jack
Being out in the late September sun in Star Falls is very different to the end of the summer in New York. The sun here is gentler. The air easier to breathe. The people are just as busy, just as focused, but here on Wilde’s Farm we’re all working together—with the same aim. To get the fruit off the trees and shrubs, packed, and on the trucks.
If I wasn’t busy today, I know my mind would be full of Iris. Full of everything that happened last night. I’ve known our connection was strong from that first night, strolling around Central Park. But last night sealed it.
Last night wasn’t sex, it was a goddamn pledge. It felt like we were giving ourselves to each other. Describing it as intense isn’t enough. It was big. I’m just not sure what it means or where it can go, so I need to be busy so I don’t drive myself crazy. Leo, Worth, and Bennett have headed back to New York and I don’t want to be a third wheel with Fisher or Byron, so I’m here to pick fruit.
Wilde’s Farm is a big operation. Bigger than I expected. And more complicated. There’s a ton of staff—most of which mustbe seasonal. And different shipments to different places piled up everywhere. I haven’t even been here a day, so I don’t know the ins and outs, but there are a lot of moving parts.
Being here, working on a business, reminds me of when I first bought my hotel. After business school, Bennett, Leo, Worth, Byron, Fisher, and I decided we’d each buy a hotel with some of the proceeds of the business we’d founded while studying, which delivered prescription medicines. The business had made us all independently rich. But we all knew we’d been successful because we worked so well together. We wanted something that would force us to stay in contact, so we’d devised a competition where the owner of the most successful hotel each year would win.
Little did we know that we wouldn’t need a competition to keep us close. Our bond has strengthened no matter the hotels and the competition, and our focus on them has ebbed and flowed. When I bought my hotel—a small boutique place opposite the Four Seasons on East 57thStreet—the place had been run into the ground. It was about to lose its four-star rating and any good staff had left or were on their way out of the door.
For me, those early days of getting under the skin of the hotel and figuring out what was going to have to change and what needed to be built on—who needed to be fired, who needed to be hired—were some of the happiest days of my life. It was like taking a spoonful of Beluga right from the jar and feeling it pop on your tongue—pure heaven. I reveled in those days. It was like decluttering on a massive scale. I tossed out the things I had no use for and were just getting in the way, put in place new structures and methods of working, hired better people, refurbished, opened a new restaurant that put The Alden Hotel on the map.
I loved it.
Now it’s a five-star hotel and occupancy rates are some of the best in Manhattan. The staff is incredible. Our reviews are outstanding, and I’m happy to say I have the best boutique hotel in Manhattan—although Worth would disagree.
Being at Wilde’s Farm feels like those early days of being at The Alden. Not that Wilde’s is on the brink of closure or anything. It’s just a new business to me. It feels good to be learning how it works. And coming from outside, I always think you can see holes that other people have missed. That’s how consultants make their money, after all.
At the moment, all I can see is how hard everyone is working, but Wilde’s is beholden to the weather, the quality of the transportation, and the buyers of the fruit. There’s a lot of things that can go wrong and no obvious way of de-risking the business. I want to know how long the contracts are for. Do they get buyers rejecting stock? Do they get into legal wrangling? Are they pushed on price? Recognized for their quality?
“Wanna grab some lunch?” a voice from behind me asks.
I turn and it’s Bray. Iris’s brother. I tamp down a smile. He’s a smart guy. I don’t fit the normal type of person who turns up on the farm looking for day work. When I told him that Iris suggested I come down if I was looking for work, I could see his mind working overtime. And rightly so.
“Sure,” I say. “Would love that.”
I didn’t bring any lunch, but Bray leads us into the back room of the largest of the sheds. I wasn’t expecting what I see—a staff cafeteria.
“It’s no fancy New York restaurant. There’s soup, sandwiches, and veggies. And fruit.”
