Chapter Eight #2
She’s taken the one night in months, maybe years, where I didn’t feel like a transaction, and turned it into something I can’t trust. It makes me both sad and furious in equal measure.
“Until Saturday, then,” she says, keeping her gaze down.
“Yep.”
She nods and leaves the room.
I watch her go, unable, despite myself, to ignore the swing of her hips as she disappears down the corridor.
I stand there for a moment, fighting with the feeling that I somehow ended up as the bad guy. She’s the one who lied. I had every right to say it.
And yet she had a migraine, which must have been intense if she threw up. That makes me feel like a heel.
Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now.
I need to forget about the clumsy, funny, adorable Cupcake and her soft curves and silky skin.
Madeleine Rutherford is not the same woman.
She’s clearly smart and savvy, and I have to keep my wits about me while I’m with her.
I intend to fight this partnership with every watt of energy burning inside me, and it’s going to begin with visiting Blackridge Station and finding all the holes in her system.
Maybe I should rephrase that. Not a good idea to think about Maddie and holes in the same sentence.
I drop into a chair and slump down, brushing a hand over my face.
Jesus. This really is a fucking nightmare.
*
I do my best not to think about Maddie over the following week, but it proves to be impossible. All everyone’s talking about is what happened at the meeting.
Marcus is almost as wary as I am about letting Mr. Mistletoe—aka Tom Rutherford—latch onto Ashford AgriTech in any way. Aurelia, on the other hand, is all for it.
“The Rutherford Group is old and well-established,” she insists when we have an informal catchup. “And we’re not talking about a takeover. Two board seats isn’t much to ask for the injection of capital they’re offering.”
“It shifts the balance,” I snap. “And if you think it’s going to stop there, you’re more na?ve than I thought.”
Her eyes flare. She hates me calling her innocent, but it’s hard when she’s only twenty-six and still wears rose-tinted glasses.
I still haven’t forgiven her, either, for telling Caroline Bennett, one of the board members, that Marcus’s wife asked me for a baby first. True, it was Caroline, not Aurelia, who violated her non-disclosure clause and told someone outside the board, which led to the story breaking and her resignation. But Aurelia started the ball rolling.
She has apologized profusely for it, and she’s my sister, and I love her, so I haven’t mentioned it again. But the hurt I feel has only deepened as she’s made it clear she supports the idea of the partnership.
And the worst thing is that my father is leaning toward supporting it, too.
Although he has a head for business—you can’t run a billion-dollar company and not be incredibly smart—the technology has always been his driving force.
The thought of using the Rutherford technology to improve his pasture management system appeals to him.
I don’t get it. Brielle’s AI model doesn’t excite me.
It sounds like a pavlova dessert—great to look at, but when you get the spoon in there, you find out it’s ninety percent air.
I understand the theory behind it, that it’s giving farmers the ability to act before conditions deteriorate, rather than after, but I’m not sold.
I know my agricultural science, and I’ll be able to tell whether it’s all smoke and mirrors when we get to the site.
The photos of Maddie in the field were cute, but people set up these kinds of shots for social media.
If she dons a pristine lab coat and directs her staff out in the field while keeping her hands clean, I’ll know she’s all talk.
But the board is interested, and if we voted now, it would be five to two, I think, with the new board member—the CEO of a dairy company—supporting the partnership, and Marcus and I being the only ones against it, although even he’s on the fence.
I need to find a solid reason I can present that will convince the others it’s not worth the risk.
I keep myself busy throughout the week, and Saturday approaches fast. I wake early and can’t get back to sleep, filled with a pack of bees in my stomach that won’t stop buzzing.
I put it down to being closer to purging the Rutherfords from my company.
I’m tired of thinking about them, and of them having a direct influence on my life. I want to move on.
I shower, then go into my apartment’s walk-in wardrobe and stand looking at my clothes as I decide what I need to wear and take with me.
It has nothing to do with who I’m going with.
I scowl at my reflection and start pulling clothes from the shelves.
No point in taking a suit, but I’ll pack a smarter pair of trousers and a jacket, just in case we go to dinner in Queenstown.
But mainly, I’ll stick to jeans and polo shirts.
I pack a couple of thicker sweaters, because even though it’s February and thus the height of summer, Maddie mentioned that Blackridge was high and remote.
The wind’s going to be cold, especially if we’re going to be up at sunrise, as she threatened.
I also pack my wax jacket, grumbling all the while.
I’d much rather spend time on our family farm outside Cambridge, where it’ll be warm, sunny, and quiet.
The bleak hills of the South Island are not my natural habitat.
After lunch, I meet Dan, my chauffeur, in the lobby, and he drives me to the private terminal on the perimeter of Auckland airport. We arrive just before two p.m., and I retrieve my case and hand luggage that contains my laptop, and head inside.
I see Maddie immediately, standing by the front desk, talking to a flight attendant.
I haven’t heard from her since the day of the board meeting.
I’ve spent nearly every hour trying not to think about her, which means of course that I’ve been thinking about her at least every hour.
But it’s only now that I remember why she had such an effect on me.
She’s gorgeous.
Today, she’s wearing frayed skinny jeans, Converses, and a gray tee. As she turns, I can see it bears a faded cartoon cow with the words Talk Dirt to Me beneath it.
“Is that an order?” I ask, approaching her.
She looks down at it. “It was either this one or one that said Ask Me About My Soil Microbes.”
I huff a short laugh. She’s wearing a black baseball cap, and her white hair is only visible as a ponytail protruding through the hole at the back above the Velcro strip. She’s also darkened her eyebrows and applied mascara. She’s trying to hide her unusual coloring. That’s a shame.
Her gaze brushes up me from my shoes to my face, bringing me out in goose bumps. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you wearing something other than a suit,” she says.
I pass my case to the flight attendant. “Do I pass muster?”
Her lips curve up. “Did you take that polo shirt straight out of the packet?”
I did, as it happens. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing at all. Do you actually ask your housekeeper to put creases in the front of your jeans?”
I scowl as the flight attendant tries not to laugh. “Unlike some people, I don’t feel the need to fake being a man of the people.”
“I don’t fake anything, darlin’,” Maddie says, “least of all being a man.”
“Jesus, is this what I can expect for the next few days?”
She gives me a wry look. “All ready to go?” she asks. “The plane’s waiting.”
“Yep… he says with a feeling of impending doom.” I pass my hand luggage to be checked and meet Maddie on the other side of the scanner, and she leads the way out onto the tarmac and across to the waiting plane.
When we get to the steps, I say, “After you.”
“Guests first,” she corrects, and waits for me to move.
I hesitate, then move forward at the same time she does, and we bump into one another, her shoulder brushing my chest. We both step back at the same time and exchange an exasperated look.
“Oh this is going great,” she says sarcastically.
I don’t reply. I’m too busy recalibrating.
She looks younger in her casual clothing, and her T-shirt is a reminder of her sassy sense of humor.
I thought I’d armored up for this journey, but it reveals to me that she knows exactly where the chinks in my chainmail are. I’m not prepared for this at all.
It’s flashier than the Ashford jet, which annoys me. Ours is an eight-seater, but this is more luxurious and can seat twelve. The flight attendant introduces himself as Joe and directs us to the seats, which are in pairs facing each other across polished wooden tables.
I take a window seat. To my surprise, Maddie slides into the aisle seat beside me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, startled.
“Is that a trick question?” She plugs her seat belt in.
“You’re supposed to sit opposite,” I state. It’s like peeing in a public bathroom—it’s an accepted fact that you never take the urinal next to someone else.
“I don’t like flying with my back to the plane,” she says.
“There are twelve seats on this plane.”
“And you don’t think it would be rude for me to sit in a different section so I have to shout at you across the aisle?”
I don’t want to sit this close to her for the whole flight. “Let me out and I’ll sit opposite.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh stop making a fuss. It’s only ninety minutes, right?” She tightens her belt irritably.
Joe comes up and starts giving us a safety talk, and I give in. I’m now trapped in close proximity with a member of our rival family for two whole days. And not just any member, but one who is quite clearly going to do her best to drive me insane.
I can smell Maddie’s perfume, and when her arm brushes mine as she leans on the armrest, I have to stifle a groan. This trip is going to be slow torture, and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.