“Madison? Cool. And what are you doing in town, because I’m sure I would’ve noticed if you lived around here.”
I keep my composure and buy some time by taking a long sip of merlot. “I’m visiting some friends. And what do you do, Kip?”
I bat my eyelashes for extra measure. This seems to pump him up, his muscular arms literally flexing with boastfulness.
“I’m the head foreman at Jamison Farm. Have you ever heard of it?”
Gosh, it’s so easy to get him to talk.
“Of course. Isn’t that the farm where they grow all the beautiful lavender and flowers?”
He harrumphs with pleasure and tips back a half-shot of his whiskey. “The one and only.” His lips glisten with the alcohol. “I’m the one who landed the Home Foods account. Quadrupled our bottom line within a year. The Jamison family owes me big time.”
I keep my composure, even though my blood boils. I know good and well Ralph and George don’t owe Kip a darn thing.
“Is that so? I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
He postures like a peacock, his angular jawline sharp in the pub lighting. “It’s because of me their farm didn’t go under like so many others around here. It’s becauseof me they’re finally making some good money. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to them.”
I drain my wine glass and motion to Janie for another.
“You know anything about farming?” he asks.
“I know it’s probably grueling work. You must tell me, Kip. How do you grow such gorgeous lavender and flowers? What’s your secret?”
His brow furrows and a lock of his blond hair comes loose from his slicked-back look. “Well, I’ll have you know we grow more than flowers. I don’t grow them myself. I oversee the operation.”
“So you don’t have any idea what the growing process entails? The PH level of the soil? The amount of water each variety needs?”
He easily brushes off my comments with boastfulness. “I’m on thebusinessside of things, darlin’. Somebody has to run the operation and oversee the day laborers.”
“Day laborers? Oh my.”
Janie comes back with a second glass, the growing bar crowd erupting in a resounding cheer as the Braves score a run. With Kip’s attention diverted, I hand Janie my credit card and ask her to box up my burger to go. I fib and tell her I have a business call I’d forgotten about.
“Whoo-hoo,” he hollers, lifting his beer mug into the air. “Way to go, Bravos!”
I clink my glass against his as he settles down. “So, Kip? Why don’t you start your own farm? I’m sure you’d be good at it.”
“Darn straight. But to tell you the truth, as far as I’m concerned, Jamison Farmismy farm.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He chugs the remnants of his beer and slams the mug on the bar top. “Mr. Jamison gave me full control of things. He trusts me. He knows I can handle the business and can turn a profit. All I need is for that nitwit grandson of his to sign over the deed once the old man passes, and it’s mine.”
I’m frozen on the stool, afraid to say anything incriminating. How dare this jerk assume the farm is his?
“Wow. You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“Sure.” He grins again and moves closer to me, whispering, “That idiot will sign anything I put in front of him if I tell him it’s for the business. Last year, he cosigned the loan on my truck!” He falls back against his stool, slaps his thigh, and howls with laughter.
I fist my hands in my lap, tempted to punch Kip smack-dab in the middle of his pretty face.
“Yo, Janie! Another round…please!” He circles his index finger in front of him.
Janie appears with a brown sack and my tab. “Patience, young man,” she scolds.
“Wait? You’re leaving?” Kip whines. “The night is young, pretty lady.”
