Freddie shook the thought away again. He needed to focus, especially since it felt like he had been actively avoiding thinking about this lunch all week. Maybe that was because he still wasn’t clear on what the hell they were meeting about. In Mark’s introductory email, he had said he just wanted to pick Freddie’s brain about sustainable farming. Meanwhile, George had sent along a job description for an executive role Mark was looking to fill, just in case Freddie wanted to take a look.
It’s just a meeting, he reminded himself as the car came to a stop outside the Butcher Block on Fifty-First Street and Fifth Avenue.
Still, his suit felt too constrictive, his leather oxfords too tight around his feet. Suddenly, Anne’s voice filled his head again:
So altered I barely recognized him.
Freddie grimaced. It was going to be a long lunch.
The restaurant was worse than Freddie had expected. Walking through the revolving door, he was welcomed by tall, mirrored walls and every piece of décor draped in different shades of gray—gray marble, gray chairs, gray carpet. It looked expensive, and wildly impersonal.
The hostess smiled at him as he entered. She was tall and beautiful, and she escorted him through the dining room to a table by the far window, with a smile that suggested she was more than happy he had walked through the door.
Freddie recognized Mark from his minimal research. A lifelong energy man, Mark Segel had founded AirSoil thanks to a couple of patents by his engineers for soilless farming equipment, and he had been riding that through early seed funding. Freddie knew George was keen on their sustainable farming initiatives—it’s why he had invested in Wentworth Hydroponics, too—and that was enough to drive Freddie forward to the table.
Mark stood as he approached, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly combed away from his face, and his suit impeccably cut to accommodate his slight belly.
“Nice to see you, Wentworth,” he said, extending his hand.
Freddie shook it. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
“I’m impressed you got here when you did. I was stuck in traffic for forty minutes,” Mark said with a superficial laugh.
There were the usual pleasantries that Freddie had learned were a prerequisite for these types of meetings, inquiries that were friendly but ultimately superfluous. Then the waiter appeared with a couple of sparkling waters and took their food order. As soon as he was gone, Freddie opened his mouth to speak, but Mark cut him off.
“So, Wentworth, what do you think about AirSoil?”
Shit.He should have done his homework.
“Well, any company that’s investing in sustainable farming systems is automatically interesting to me,” Freddie replied tactfully.
Mark scoffed. “I can’t imagine anyone not investing in it. It’s one of the fastest growing sectors of green technologies right now.”
And it’s life-changing technology that has the potential to help solve climate change as well as the devastating impact of famine around the world, Freddie wanted to say. But he only smiled.
Lunch progressed slowly. Mark pontificated on his own achievements and AirSoil’s impressive board of directors after they ordered. Freddie worked to stay interested once their lunches were served. The company sounded interesting, though after almost an hour, Freddie realized that Mark hadn’t actually asked him another question over the course of their meal.
As their plates were being cleared, Mark leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. “So, what do you think?”
Freddie blinked, quickly reviewing the last few minutes to see if he’d missed a key piece of information. “About what?”
“Coming on board.” As if he could see Freddie’s reticence, he leaned forward, waving it off before he could say a word. “I know George said you weren’t looking for a full-time role right now, but the sustainable farming sector misses you. I think we could make a real impact together. I’m sure you miss it, too, right?”
Freddie was ready to say no. Thank him for lunch and call it a day. But Mark was right—he did miss it. And suddenly he had an image of his mom in her kitchen, so excited about the potential of her son having a real job that the thought of turning it down almost felt cruel.
“Let me think about it,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Great. We’ll set up a meeting to go over specifics,” Mark said, handing the waiter his credit card before he had time to put the check on the table. “George should come, too, since he might have some leads we can exploit. There’s a lot of opportunity here.”
Freddie nodded, painfully aware of just how superficial the motion was. “Sounds good.”
“And lucrative,” Mark added, and laughed again.
As soon as the waiter returned with Mark’s card, Freddie was on his feet, making his excuses and promising more discussions to come, before thanking him for lunch.
He didn’t let the facade drop until they had said their goodbyes on the sidewalk and Freddie was in his Uber, heading downtown again.
He let out a long breath, one that he felt he had been holding in for an hour. A moment later, his phone began to ring in his jacket pocket. George’s name was waiting on the screen when he pulled it out.
