CHAPTER TWO
RILEY
A few weeks later
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Glancing around the yard, I rub my forearm over my forehead, wiping away the sweat. It’s the middle of summer and hot as fuck. Still, this is Melbourne, Australia, and at any point it could rain or turn cold. Just because it wants to.
I swear I should move to Sydney where the weather is more stable. We have better shopping, though, in my opinion.
Plus, everyone I love is here.
I glance down at my long shorts covered in dust, my knees with little stones indented in them, and my socks and boots.
Yeah, I’m not exactly a fashionista.
Still, my team would probably be surprised to find I’m wearing sexy lingerie underneath.
It’s my little secret.
Everyone thinks I’m a bit of a tomboy because I chose to be a landscaper instead of, I dunno, a PA or marketer or nurse.
It’s only at work that I get that look.
After hours, I’m just a normal twenty-eight-year-old. Although my red curls are long and hard to manage, so I wear them up in a messy bun ninety-nine percent of the time. My toes are always painted pink, and when I’m not with my friends and family, I’m probably buying more lingerie online.
But yeah, at work, I have boots on and mud on my shins. You see, I’m the owner of Garden of Riley, a landscaping business.
It’s not some multinational...yet.. and we only service a few of the inner suburbs in Melbourne, but I’m very proud of myself.
And I love what I do.
I employ seven guys, and I’ve purchased my own home—no mean feat for a single person in this part of the world where house prices are enormously out of proportion and interest rates insane.
I’ll be honest, it keeps me up at night worrying about the economy, how I’ll keep the business afloat, pay my team, get more customers, pay my mortgage...just like all of us.
“Looks good.” Jeb sidles up, pulling off his gloves.
“Yeah, it does.”
We both take in the planting we did today. It’s a mix of native and tropical plants the customer wanted dotted along the fence line and on the bank which leads down to a river.
She also wanted a water feature and a small path which leads to a cute wooden garden sofa. We were able to get it all done this week.
I whip out my camera and start taking photos for the website and client. Not that she and her husband won’t see it when they get home, but adding a before or after to invoices speeds up the payment process.
It’s a little trick I tried, and it worked.
“Boys and I are taking off.” Jeb thumbs over his shoulder.
“Make sure you take all the rubbish. Do a second look over. I want it perfect.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He grins.
I lift a brow, emphasizing that I’m serious. I learned in the beginning to keep a fine line between employee and employer. It’s difficult to have those tough conversations when someone doesn’t respect you as their boss.
That’s who I am. I’m the one who transfers their pay from my bank account to theirs each week.
I am the boss.
Plus, the buck stops with me. Customers will ask for discounts on the smallest of things. Rubbish being left included. So it’s me who has to go back and remedy it...or pay one of my team to do it, which cuts into profits.
Profits pay their salaries.
It’s the circle of life.
And I’m not exactly plush. That profit has to keep the website going to attract customers, pay for the equipment, materials up front, holiday pay, and so on.
Money doesn’t grow on trees.
Ensuring I’m successful is important to me. My father is the CEO of one of Australia’s biggest telecommunications organizations, and he thinks my career choice is lacking long-term vision.
“Listen, I think it’s admirable that you took your love of working in the garden with grandma and turned it into a little company, but unless you either get an investor—and it’s not your mom or I—so you can expand, you’re going to be working hard all your life.
” Dad said to me a few years ago when he realized I wasn’t going to give up on the idea.
It wasn’t the first time he’d told me the business was a bad idea. That day his comments hit me hard, and I pushed back.
“I don’t need an investor.”
“Okay, Riley, then what are you going to do when you have kids?”
“I’ll work that out when it happens.”
The glance between my parents grated at my nerves.
“And when you’re in your forties and fifties, ready to slow down? There’s no scale plan in what you’re doing. It’s physical hard work,” Dad continued.
As if I didn’t know. Some days we worked six days a week. The demand was there, but Dad was right in some ways. I was scared to scale. That involved buying more equipment, hiring more people... It was scary.
Especially when I needed to pay my mortgage.
“So, you think I should just get a job? Work for someone else?” I huffed.
“It’s not a prison sentence, Riley. There are great perks to working for someone else. Four weeks holiday. You don’t work on weekends. Retirement.”
“Dad is right,” Mom had chimed in. “You’re constantly stressed and have less time to enjoy in your private life than your friends.”
“I love what I do! How many people can say that?”
Dad rolled his eyes while Mom said. “You’re young. You should be out dating, shopping, partying.”
“I hate shopping.”
That wasn’t true. I shopped online mostly, like most people my age, but I felt like being argumentative.
It hurt that they weren’t being supportive.
Still, I had enough commercial nous to understand what my father was saying, but it was his mother, my grandma, who I’d spent hours in the garden. Who told me to follow my passion. That I could do anything I dreamed.
I had.
And I was proud.
My parents weren’t my only critics. Being a woman in a man’s world took courage to face the questions and judgement. Not just in the beginning, but every day.
Maybe that was why I had two drawers full of pretty, sexy lingerie. While I had dirt under my nails, I could feel the lace against my skin.
It was the balance I needed to still feel feminine.
Landscaping was a hands-on and creative job, even if Dad referred to it as ‘digging around in the dirt.’
Sometimes I wonder if he was adopted. My grandma had been so much more open-minded.
I think, like all of us, I was going to marry Simon. We’d met when I was doing my landscaping degree, and I don’t think anyone thought I’d start my own company.
Simon had helped me to buy my truck and loved my dress style, which consisted of Roxy cut-off jeans, canvas sneakers, boyfriend jeans, and bikinis in the summer.
He told me I was sexy.
I just wore what I wore.
I knew I wasn’t exactly cut out for one of those polished office jobs. I can’t imagine being glued to a desk eight hours a day and having to wear suits and fancy dresses.
Then, when I donned my first pair of work boots, which were a health and safety requirement, his tone changed. “Babe, you’re not one of the guys. It looks like you’re going to work on a building site.”
“I am. But outside in the garden. I have to wear them.”
“Well, at least I don’t have to worry about anyone hitting on you.”
Ouch.
I guess coming home covered in dirt and plants, tired and grumpy as I was learning to manage customers and employees, Simon lost interest.
Which explains why he cheated.
Apparently. He told me it was my fault, that sexy panties didn’t make up for a woman dressing like a guy much of the time. He wanted a feminine woman.
“Then why didn’t you tell me how you felt? Or end our relationship? Instead, you sneak around with your friend's sister. That’s disgusting, Simon.”
“Disgusting is you not sucking my cock for two months, Riley.”
My mouth had fallen open.
Not in offer to remedy but because I couldn’t believe what a jerk he was being.
“Are you serious?”
“Two. Months.” He gripped his dick over his jeans. “I’m a red-blooded man. I have needs.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to need you to pack your things and leave.” I’d turned from him, angry tears threatening to slide down my face.
Fuck him.
It had been years since I’d dated after watching Simon drive away. Well, that’s not entirely true. I thought dating someone in the industry would remedy Simon’s sexist comments.
James, a concrete layer, asked me out. I said yes. Mostly because he had these muscular shoulders I was eager to get my hands on.
Wasn’t worth it in the end.
James literally licked his lips when he saw me in my white lacy teddy and whipped out his phone. He took a couple of photos and said he wanted them to enjoy privately.
I should have been smarter.
I took it as a compliment after Simon, the jerk.
Well, a few days later, I found out James had shared the photos around. I was horrified. It was one of my employees who told me.
I had no one to blame but myself.
And I didn’t feel like I could trust any man.
So I stopped dating.
I grab my gloves, water bottle, and the wheelbarrow, then head out to the truck, which has Garden of Riley sign written along the side. Tossing everything in, I climb into the cab and start the engine, preparing myself for the late afternoon Melbourne traffic.
I select a podcast on my phone, groaning when an advert immediately pops up. “Bloody ads.” I wait the long five seconds, but something catches my eye.
Wow.
I stare at the gorgeous man winking at the camera and wonder who he is.
“Christ, you’re hot.”
The ad is promoting a US TV show I watch, The Venture Vault. The judges are angel investors who help small businesses. I love it but haven’t seen this man before.
The camera shoots back to him as he rubs a hand over his mouth, covering a grin. On his hand is a black ring, and I swear I spot a tattoo.
Sexy.
Then I see it. The leather on his wrist. If the camera hadn’t zeroed in, I would never have spotted it. There’s something rebellious about the piece of jewelry that says he’s far more than a rich guy in a suit.
I can’t look away.
I let the ad play and wonder again who the dark-haired man in the suit, which likely costs the same as my monthly mortgage payments, is. The sparkle in his eyes tells me he’s a bad boy.
God, what I wouldn’t do have his clearly ripped body on top of mine. It’s been a couple of years, and I swear I have cobwebs down there.
“Who are you, hottie?” I ask out loud as I turn on the air.
As if on cue, the voice-over says, “With guest judge Colt Winters.”
Colt Winters.
A shiver rushes through me, which is strange because he lives on the opposite side of the globe and will never know I exist.