"If you want it," he repeats. His expression is firm, and I know he doesn’t take who he hires lightly.
After all, he worked really hard, turning this business into what it is today.
"Did you even call my reference?" I ask jokingly, because I know I didn’t give him Frankie’s number.
"Sure, let’s pretend that I did. He gave you raving reviews."
"She."I smirk and let out a sigh of relief.
The job is mine if I want it.
And I want it.
We spend the next hour talking about what is expected of me as the Events Manager at Wingrove Estates, from arranging weddings, to elaborate baby showers, bridal teas, and corporate events, and we’re now on the topic of the annual Grangewood Creek Carnival.
"It’s in two weeks, and I haven’t had time to arrange anything for it. I’m going to need your help to organize, well… everything. The wine selection, the food samples, the décor, the works. I need you to pull out all the stops. I want the restaurant to be booked out weeks in advance," Harley says.
Yesterday at lunch, I saw the relaxed, cheeky, and flirtatious Harley. But today he’s all about business. I admire how he’s ableto switch it off and on seamlessly. He asks me about any ideas off the top of my head for the carnival, and I described my vision to him, which he was thrilled with.
I also told him all about the quarterly Bridal Expo that happens in California and asked if he would be interested in showcasing Wingrove Estates. He tasked me with finding out as much as I could, like pricing and booth requirements, and told me that if we had no weddings or events booked in the barn that weekend, he would accompany me to California for the duration of the expo.
"What’s good to do around here these days?" I ask, looking around the room, glad to no longer feel the tension in the air that I’d caused myself.
His office is…minimalistic.
A single desk sits directly in the middle, one computer screen perched on it, with his laptop sitting below, a filing cabinet and some shelves, a drinks cart with a few bottles of whisky, a jug of water, and five clean, empty glasses, and a something out of character that piques my interest.
A lone, white, fake orchid.
My favorite flower.
That’s all.
No photos, no certificates. No sign of personality or who Harley is, outside of these four walls.
"The kids still jump off the cliff rocks into the creek," he says, eyeing me suspiciously, knowing I never bit the bullet and jumped off.
Heights are my number one enemy.
"The cinema is still open, though, hanging by a thread. It’s only still open because of the arcade. Katie’s Diner is still as busy as it always has been, but their milkshakes have improved drastically. Bea and I go every week for our fix, and Bridie’s, asyou know, is more popular than ever." He gives a cheeky grin, and the Harley from yesterday is slowly peeking through.
"Does your Mom still work at Katie’s?" I ask, and he shakes his head while pouring us both a glass of water from the jug on his drink cart.
"No, she actually runs this place for me. I’m hardly ever here, if I’m honest. You caught me on one of the few days I’m actually in the office," he replies, taking a sip, and I remember the receptionist mentioning something about that.
"What do you do when you’re not here?" My eyes involuntarily flick to his left hand, noticing no ring in sight. No tan line, either.
"I own a property development business with my good friend, Robbie Crossland. We flip houses, apartment buildings or empty lots we come across, and sell them. It keeps me really busy. When I’m not here, I’m at one of my other job sites or dealing with paperwork. But otherwise, I kind of just do whatever I want. I used to be hands-on, doing the renovations myself, but the company is at the point now where I can hire people to do it for me." His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as he humbly brags about his success.
"My shoulder can’t handle heavy lifting these days, either." He reaches his left hand across to his right shoulder, squeezing it gently before I steer the topic away from his injury and back toward real estate.
"Do you know anyone looking to sell their apartment? I have a job now, so it looks like I’m in Grangewood for a while. Plus, I can’t stay with my parents forever." I sigh.
"I know just the place. Let me contact the owner and get back to you. Leave it with me."
***
"How did it go?" my mom asks as I clear the table after dinner.
