Shit.
Swallowing a growl, I drag a hand through my hair. “Since when are dogs such connoisseurs?”
“Since they were born to eat the same stuff twice a day.” Grace smiles kindly.
“It’s the protein content, isn’t it? Still too low, and it saps the flavor. Possibly makes it too dry too.” I walk over to the hacking dog, now licking her chops, and gently pat her back. “Sorry, girl. You’ll get some chicken treats for your trouble when they take you back.”
“Yes, well, it might add flavor, but it would add to the cost. I’m sure you know,” Grace says with a sigh. “I’m not sure there’ll ever be an easy way around adding more protein to make it more appetizing, Mr. Pruitt. And that’s bad news for the cost analysis and your pricing targets.”
Dammit, she’s right.
I feel like I’d have an easier time solving the world energy crisis than inventing a dog food formula that’s tasty, cheap, and healthy. When I got into this game, I didn’t think I’d need superintelligence to solve it.
Then again, that’s why there’s the gap in a very crowded market. No one else has figured this out.
“Okay,” I say. “As always, thank you for your time.”
“We’ll keep at it, Mr. Pruitt. I’ll touch base with the nutrition team again, of course. That’s what you pay us for.”
“I know you will. Thank you, Grace.” I give her a quick wave as she leads the dogs out, then Luis and I head back to the parking lot.
“That went well, man. I thought that poor dog was about to barf on your shoes,” Luis says with a laugh.
“Noted. Add an interview for a new assistant to my schedule,” I throw back.
He laughs harder. “What will you tell your folks about how it’s really going? Or do you want me to help cover?”
“They’ll ask, but you can keep yourself out of the fire this time, Luis.”
Dad always demands updates.
I hate that he has good reason, because I’m leaning on his farms.
Still, that’s not why the man is a bulldog, demanding to hear about the latest tests and scowlingI told you so, you damn idiotwithout uttering a word.
Sometimes he erupts, threatening to send me packing as much as he’s threatening his damaged heart. He swears it’s a good business lesson or some shit, but I know it’s all petty outrage.
He also knows he needs me to give up on this gig on my own, without them pushing. Then I can settle into being the full-time, pristine face of Pruitt Ag with two kids for background and a wife I can’t stand in between sunset cruises on the yacht.
Just like he wants.
Just like his boring damn life.
“You can stall them out, you know,” Luis suggests.
“Not for long. Dad owns a huge chunk of the organic farming sector in the Pacific Northwest. Lots of smaller farms answer to him too. If I don’t tell him why I’m changing the formula again, he’ll call up any farm I’m working with and ask. Hell, he might do it anyway for spite.” I kick at a rock and dig my phone out of my pocket, buzzing with notifications.
Instagram DMs.
Not unusual, but the face on one profile hits me right in the gut.
Lena.
You stupid selfish prolapsed asshole,her latest message reads.
Accurate.
But there’s more—a long chain of messages as I skim down, each more vulgar than the last at a glance.
