ELIZA #3
Finally, he loses all pretense. “Look, I have concerns about you being here, but the contract has been signed. So all I’m asking is that you stay out of the way and don’t cause us any problems.”
I actually don’t mind the directness. It’s easier to work with than passive aggression.
“Despite what you might think, my goal here is to help, not hurt. Think of me as icing on the cake.” He squints in confusion. “You’re the cake. Your flavor and consistency aren’t going to change because I’m added to the equation. You’re just going to look more enticing.”
For an on-the-spot metaphor, it’s pretty damn good.
But all he says is, “Not the biggest fan of cake.”
Of course. “You hate puppies, too?”
“Just because I don’t like cake doesn’t mean I’m some unfeeling asshole.” My eyes widen at the golden opportunity he just served up, but he catches it before I can take advantage. “Cake is fine, but I prefer other desserts. It’s not that I hate sugar or something.”
No. You just hate me.
He shakes his head and gestures at the office. “Use this front office space if you want, unless Joy’s in there, which is rare. Do what you need to do to fulfill your contract, but don’t touch anything on the farm.” He glances at Dave, who’s poking a flower pot with his beak. “That includes Dave.”
With that, he brushes right by me and jogs down the stairs.
Wait a second. “Hey!” I call out.
He pauses, momentum carrying him forward before he turns. His brow hikes in question, as if he doesn’t know why on earth I’m interrupting his dramatic exit.
“Are you going to give me a tour?”
He twists his lips and glances around at the empty lot. “Don’t have time, and no one’s available. Anson said you’re real smart, so I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
Frustration bubbles up in my chest. Verbal sparring is one thing. Deliberately interfering with my work is another.
There’s no way in hell I’m begging him for a tour, so I turn to the second problem at hand. “I can’t fulfill my contract without touching things.”
“Why?” He rummages around in his pocket to produce a beat-up phone. “All you need is this thing, right?”
I don’t bother justifying that with a response. Even Dave can tell this conversation is going nowhere. Grayson gives a little nod—like I’ve just agreed to his ridiculous request—replaces his phone, and gives me his broad back as he strides away.
A back set with cocky, self-assured swagger.
Too bad I’m about to burst his big ego-inflated bubble.
After dumping my belongings in the office, I head around the other side of the building. If Grayson doesn’t want to give me a tour, I’ll find someone who will.
A girl comes into view almost immediately, carrying a stack of empty bins out of an open door in the side of the building. She looks about my age, clothed in bright orange bibs and a stained white tee shirt, dirty blonde hair swaying in a messy ponytail.
She doesn’t seem to notice me, so I jog to catch up to her.
“Hey!”
She glances over her shoulder, and her expression shifts from curious to crestfallen. “Shit,” she mutters as I close the distance.
Probably because she thinks I’m a visitor, like Grayson yesterday.
“I’m Eliza, the new Social Media Director. Anson hired me,” I say with a friendly smile.
My introduction only worsens the dread on her makeup-free face, and now some of her dread transfers to me. I haven’t done anything but offer my name and evidence that I work here, but she’s looking at me like I’m a giant raincloud.
“Grayson was a little too busy to give me a tour, and I was hoping to run into someone who could,” I try.
She sighs, takes me in, then answers, “Look, you seem nice, so I’m going to save you the trouble of going up to every person here. We’ve got a lot to do here, and we can’t take any time to do social media stuff. Even if I wanted to, Gray told us no.”
Fucking Grayson.
“And Gray is almost always in a good mood, so on the rare occasion he gets testy like this, you listen.” The buckets in her hands tilt on a shrug. “I don’t know what you did to get on his bad side, because it takes a lot, but just know he’s not your biggest fan.”
I bark out a short laugh. “Yeah. Got that memo.”
Problem is, I did nothing but show up to my job on time, and somehow, that landed me on Grayson’s allegedly elusive shitlist.
She purses her lips. “Good luck.”
She’s already starting to walk away when I say, “Can I at least have your name?”
I’ll admit it sounds a little desperate, but I need at least one ally here, and she was kind enough to throw me a bone.
She throws me another one. “Amanda.”
I commit that to memory before allowing myself to internally crash out.
Grayson’s game is easy to read.
He’s made it startlingly clear he doesn’t want me here, but he can’t fire me, so he wants to make my job impossible.
Well, if he thinks I’m going to throw in the towel and leave, he has another thing coming. I’ve played victim enough recently, and I’m done.
I’m going to kick ass at my job, blow Anson away, and make Grayson Gold drop to his ungrateful knees and thank me by the time August rolls around.
That, and touch every single thing on this farm.