Chapter 7
Lindsay
Sunday morning, Josh emerges from my shower wearing yesterday’s dress shirt and looking entirely too comfortable in my penthouse for someone who supposedly prefers wide open spaces.
I watch him from the kitchen, where I’m pretending to read emails while actually obsessing over the presentation folder hidden in my laptop bag.
“Coffee?” I hold up the French press, trying to sound casual.
“Please.” He settles at the table and picks up the financial section, scanning commodity prices with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. “Corn futures are still climbing.”
“Good for some, bad for others.” I pour two cups and sit across from him, nerves making my stomach flutter. “Josh, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
He looks up from the paper, and I have to make myself stop staring into his eyes. Focus, Lindsay. This is business.
“What’s on your mind?”
I retrieve the folder from my bag and set it between us, my palms suddenly damp. “I’ve been thinking about your operation and growth potential. I put together some ideas.”
Josh’s expression shifts from curious to cautious as he opens the folder. Inside are thirty pages of detailed financial projections, market analysis, and strategic recommendations I’ve been working on since my second day at the ranch.
“Lindsay, what is this?”
“A partnership proposal that would allow Caldwell Industries to provide expansion capital, distribution networks, and processing facilities.” The words tumble out faster than I intended. “You could triple your herd size within two years while maintaining complete operational control.”
He flips through the pages with increasing stillness.
Each chart and graph represents hours of work and careful calculations based on everything I learned about his business.
I’ve mapped out supply chain optimizations, identified new market opportunities, and created growth projections that would make any reasonable businessman excited.
“You want to buy into my ranch.” His voice is flat.
“I want to help you grow your ranch by providing access to our processing facilities.” I lean forward, enthusiasm overriding his obvious reluctance.
“Look at page twelve. With our facilities, you could increase value-added products like artisanal cheeses, organic butter, and direct-to-consumer shipping. The profit margins are incredible.”
“I don’t want incredible profit margins.” He closes the folder with deliberate care. “I want to run my operation the way I’ve always run it.”
“Why?” The question bursts out before I can stop it. “This would set you up for life with financial security, expansion opportunities, and market positioning that would make you untouchable. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
He stands and walks to the window, staring out at Manhattan with his hands shoved in his pockets. “Because it’s not my operation anymore once you get involved. It becomes another division of Caldwell Industries with me as the front man.”
“That’s not true.” I follow him to the window, my frustration building. “I specifically structured this to preserve your autonomy. You’d retain full operational control while gaining access to resources that would transform your business.”
“Resources that come with expectations like board meetings, quarterly reports, and pressure to maximize returns instead of sustainable practices.” He turns to face me, and his expression is carefully neutral.
“I’ve seen what corporate agriculture does to family operations, Lindsay. It turns them into factories.”
“My proposal protects against that with explicit provisions maintaining your current practices.” I gesture toward the folder, where I’ve outlined every safeguard I know. “There are provisions for maintaining animal welfare standards and no pressure to increase production beyond sustainable levels.”
He snorts. “On paper, maybe. What happens when market conditions change and those provisions become inconvenient?”
The question stings because it suggests I’m either na?ve or dishonest. “I would never let that happen.”
“You might not have a choice. Corporate entities have their own momentum and requirements.” Josh’s voice is patient but firm. “I don’t want to be part of that machinery.”
“So you’d rather stay small and struggle with cash flow issues than accept help that could solve all your problems?” My donkey nature emerges with full stubborn force.
His tone gets sharper. “I’d rather stay independent and solve my own problems than give up control to accept help I didn’t ask for.”
“You didn’t ask for it because you’re too proud to admit you need it.” The words come out harshly, but I’m tired of his reflexive resistance to obvious solutions. “This isn’t charity, Josh. It’s good business that benefits everyone involved.”
“Everyone except me, apparently, since I’m the only one who doesn’t want it.”
“You don’t want it because you’re letting emotion cloud your judgment.” I cross my arms as my temper flares. “I’ve given you a roadmap to financial success, and you’re rejecting it because of some misguided attachment to doing everything the hard way.”
His jaw tightens. “Misguided attachment to independence, you mean.”
I let out a sound of frustration that’s uncomfortably close to a bray. “Independence is fine when it doesn’t interfere with smart business decisions.”
“Smart according to whom? You?” Josh’s voice edges toward anger. “You’ve been on my ranch for a week, Lindsay. That doesn’t make you an expert on what’s best for my operation.”
I toss my hands into the air dramatically. “I’m an expert on business growth and market optimization. That’s literally what I do for a living.”
He shakes his head. “What you do for a living is manage other people’s money and push corporate synergies. That’s not the same as understanding what it takes to build something real.”
The word “real” feels like a slap. “My business isn’t real because it involves financial planning and strategic partnerships?”
“Your business involves acquiring assets and maximizing returns. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not the same as building something from the ground up with your own hands.”
I take a deep breath, trying to regain control of my anger and quell my stubbornness, both with limited success. “I’m not trying to acquire your assets. I’m trying to help you succeed.”
“By turning my ranch into a subsidiary of your family’s empire.” Josh shakes his head. “That’s not success but absorption.”
“That’s ridiculous.” My voice rises despite my efforts to stay calm. “I’ve spent time learning your business, understanding your values, and designing a partnership that respects everything you’ve built. How is that absorption?”
His expression is rigid, and his jaw clenches. “It just is because it changes the fundamental nature of what I do. I stop being a rancher and become a manager in a corporate structure, even if the structure has my name on it.”
I genuinely don’t understand his resistance. “So what if it does? If the end result is better financial security and broader market reach, why does the structure matter?”
He stares at me for a long moment, and something in his expression makes my stomach sink. “You don’t understand the difference between owning something and being owned by it.”
The accusation stings. “I understand business—growth strategies, market positioning, and competitive advantages. What I don’t understand is why you’re so determined to make everything harder than it needs to be.”
“I’m not making things harder. I’m keeping them real.”
“Real?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “What’s real about struggling financially when you don’t have to? What’s real about limiting your potential because you’re afraid of change?”
“It’s real when I’m maintaining control over my own life instead of becoming dependent on corporate goodwill.”
We’re standing three feet apart, but it feels like miles.
Every word is pushing us farther from each other, and I can’t seem to stop myself from making it worse.
“Fine.” I grab the folder and shove it back into my bag with more force than necessary.
“Stay small, stay struggling, and stay stubbornly independent while opportunities pass you by.”
He nods once. “Fine. I will.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
We glare at each other across my pristine kitchen, both breathing hard.
The silence stretches until it becomes unbearable, and I turn away first. “I should catch up on my chores, like cleaning and laundry. I’ve been neglecting them.
” It’s the first excuse that comes to me, though Stella does all that.
I just need some space. His next words make me flinch slightly because they sound like goodbye.
“I should head back to the ranch.” Josh disappears into the guest bedroom to collect his things while I stand frozen by the window, watching Manhattan traffic crawl through the streets below. Twenty minutes ago, I thought I was offering him the world. Now, I’m not sure I understand him at all.
He emerges with his overnight bag and hesitates by the door. “Lindsay...”
“What?” I don’t turn around because I’m afraid of what my face might reveal.
“Never mind.”
The door closes with a soft click, and I’m alone with the city sprawling beneath me and the bitter taste of failure in my mouth. There was no destroyed artwork or apartment havoc, but this feels like the worst goodbye among my dating disasters yet.
I make it through exactly four hours of work that could wait until tomorrow before giving up and deciding to take a personal day.
The presentation I’d prepared for tomorrow feels pointless now.
How can I talk about strategic partnerships and market expansion when I can’t even convince the man I’m falling for to accept help that would benefit him?
My apartment feels too quiet and empty, so I change into jeans and walk to the corner market. The owner, Mr. Lee, greets me with surprise.