Chapter 6
Josh
Lindsay’s phone buzzes against the kitchen table during breakfast, and her expression shifts from relaxed to resigned as she reads the message.
“My father.” She sets down her coffee with a sigh.
“There’s an industry conference in Manhattan this weekend, and he expects me to attend so I can network with potential business partners, make the Caldwell Industries presence known, and participate in the usual corporate theater. ”
“Sounds important, and he’s leaving it to your capable hands. That’s encouraging. Right?” I try to keep disappointment out of my voice. We’ve fallen into such an easy rhythm this past week that the thought of her leaving feels like losing something vital.
“It is, though I wish his timing was better.” She pushes eggs around her plate without eating them.
“It’s the Agricultural Innovation Summit, so it’s pretty important.
Dad letting me handle it is a major step forward from him since every major player in sustainable farming will be there, along with investors looking for the next big opportunity. ”
“That actually sounds interesting. Is it real innovation or just people in expensive suits talking about disruption?”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Mostly expensive suits, though some genuine innovators will be mixed in. The challenge is telling them apart from the people who think agriculture means buying farmland as a tax shelter.”
I nod. “How long will you be gone?”
“Three days, probably. Friday through Sunday.” Lindsay meets my gaze across the table. “Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“Would you consider going with me?” The words come out in a rush, like she’s not sure she should be asking. “I know corporate events aren’t your thing, and I wouldn’t blame you for saying no, but having you there would make the whole experience more bearable.”
The request surprises me. Lindsay’s Manhattan world feels as foreign to me as my ranch probably felt to her initially, but the uncertain hope in her expression makes the answer easy. “Of course I’ll go.”
Her smile transforms her entire face. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
I grin, feeling a genuine stir of interest, mostly related to seeing how she functions in her world. “Really, but I should warn you that my experience with industry conferences involves exactly zero networking skills and a strong preference for conversations that don’t require business cards.”
“I can work with that.” Lindsay reaches across to squeeze my hand. “Besides, your agricultural expertise will translate better than you think. These people might wear expensive suits, but they’re still talking about the same soil, weather, and crop yields you deal with every day.”
“Give it to me straight. What exactly am I getting myself into?” I keep humor in my tone so she doesn’t think she’s forcing me into this.
“Three days of presentations, cocktail parties, and conversations where everyone tries to sound smarter than they actually are.” Her grin turns mischievous.
“Plus, you’ll get to watch me pretend to be diplomatic while people who’ve never touched dirt in their lives explain agriculture to me.
Mostly men, but some women too, so I can’t just call it man-splaining. ”
I chuckle. “That might be worth the price of admission.”
Two days later, I’m standing in Lindsay’s penthouse apartment wearing one of my usual suits while she adjusts the neckline of a sparkling silver dress. The apartment still strikes me as more showroom than home but seeing her move through the space with familiar ease makes it feel less foreign.
Lindsay appears beside me and kisses my cheek. “You look amazing, but I do kind of miss the ass-hugging denim.”
I laugh and put an arm around her, catching our reflection in the mirror above her dresser. We look like we belong together.
The cab ride to the conference center passes in a blur of last-minute coaching. Lindsay explains the complex social dynamics I’m about to encounter while I try to absorb information about people I’ve never met but apparently need to impress.
“The key is remembering most of these conversations are about establishing credibility rather than actual communication,” she says as Manhattan traffic crawls around us. “People will ask questions they already know the answers to just to see if you know them too.”
I roll my eyes. “That sounds exhausting and pointless.”
“It absolutely is, but it’s also the game we have to play.” She squeezes my hand. “Just be yourself. Your knowledge is real, and that’s more than most of these people can say.”
The Roosevelt Hotel’s main ballroom has been transformed into a showcase of agricultural innovation with displays ranging from drone technology to hydroponic systems. The crowd is exactly what Lindsay described, full of expensive suits, practiced smiles, and an atmosphere of carefully orchestrated networking.
My horse shifter instincts kick in immediately.
There are too many people in too small a space, limited exits, and a constant conversation buzz that makes it difficult to identify potential threats.
I note the exits while Lindsay introduces me to a steady stream of executives, investors, and agricultural consultants.
“Josh, I’d like you to meet Hillary Volt from Midwest Agri-Partners.” Lindsay’s voice carries professional warmth that’s distinctly different from her ranch persona. “Hillary, this is Josh Brennan. He runs one of the most successful sustainable operations in the Northeast.”
Hillary’s handshake is firm, and her questions about our operation are surprisingly informed. We spend twenty minutes discussing crop rotation strategies and soil health, and I’m surprised to end up enjoying the conversation despite the artificial setting.
“Your approach to integrated pest management is fascinating,” says Hillary as our discussion winds down. “I’d love to visit your operation sometime and see it in action.”
“You’re welcome anytime.” I hand her one of the business cards Lindsay insisted I bring. “Fair warning, though. It involves actual mud.”
Her laugh is genuine. “The best operations usually do.”
The pattern repeats throughout the afternoon.
Lindsay introduces me to people who initially seem skeptical of my presence but warm up once we start discussing practical applications of sustainable farming.
My knowledge translates better than expected, though I struggle with the performative nature of every interaction.
“How are you holding up?” Lindsay appears at my elbow during a brief lull between conversations.
“Better than I thought I would, actually. These people know more than I expected.” I accept a glass of water from a passing server, grateful for the brief respite. “I keep wanting to ask why they’re discussing soil composition in a room that hasn’t seen sunlight in decades.”
“Welcome to corporate agriculture.” Lindsay’s smile is sympathetic. “Wait until the evening reception. That’s where the real networking happens.”
I frown, already dreading more of this. “Real networking meaning what, exactly?”
“Cocktails, strategic conversations, and people trying to determine whether you’re worth their time based on how expensive your watch is.”
I glance down at my decidedly non-expensive watch, chosen for utilitarian reasons over razzle-dazzle. “Should I be worried?”
“Not even a little. Your value isn’t measured in luxury accessories.” Her expression grows serious. “I should warn you, some of my former colleagues might make an appearance tonight. They can be...challenging.”
Before I can ask what she means by challenging, a voice behind us interrupts.
“Lindsay Caldwell, as I live and breathe.”
We turn to find a man in his thirties approaching with the kind of confident smile that immediately sets my teeth on edge. Everything about him screams expensive—from his tailored suit to his perfectly styled hair—and his bearing says he’s never doubted his own importance.
“Richard.” Lindsay’s voice goes carefully neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Agricultural innovation is the future, after all.” Richard’s attention shifts to me with barely concealed assessment. “You must be Lindsay’s...friend I’ve heard whispers about.”
The pause before “friend” carries enough condescension to make my jaw clench, but I extend my hand with practiced politeness. “Josh Brennan.”
“Richard Ashworth of Ashworth Capital.” His handshake is unnecessarily firm in a power play I remember from college. “So, what brings you to our little gathering? Are you in the industry?”
“I run a livestock and dairy operation upstate.” I keep my voice level despite the obvious dismissal in his tone.
“How charming.” Richard’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Playing cowgirl must be such a refreshing change from corporate responsibility.”
The casual insult hangs in the air between us, and Lindsay stiffens beside me. Before I can respond, she steps forward with a smile that’s all teeth and no warmth.
“Josh’s operation supplies organic dairy products to half the Northeast, Richard.
His annual revenue probably exceeds your personal portfolio, and his expertise in sustainable agriculture is exactly why I brought him tonight.
” Her voice carries steel wrapped in silk.
“Please tell us more about your latest tax shelter investments. I’m sure everyone here would find them fascinating. ”
His confident expression falters slightly. “I was just making conversation, Lindsay. No need to get defensive.”
“I’m not defensive. I’m protective.” She moves closer to my side. “There’s a difference.”
The exchange lasts less than a minute. She’s not just defending me. She’s genuinely angry on my behalf, and that anger seems to surprise her as much as it does me.
Richard makes his excuses and disappears into the crowd, leaving Lindsay and me standing in uncomfortable silence.