The thing is, if I’m honest with myself, the main reason I’m angry is that I like her. Up until today, I’ve thought of her continually, and I’ve daydreamed many times about what would happen if we were to meet again. But discovering that she lied to me about her identity has cast a shadow over what I thought was a wonderful, enjoyable evening. She took away my agency, which is a hard pill to swallow for a man who copes by always staying in control.
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 naïve 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.
