Grayson must find it lacking, because he shakes his head and sighs. “Welcome to Gold’s Oysters.”
I stare at him for a moment, wondering how Joy could know this man and call him a “good boy.” His words are fine, but his unashamed assessment of me and the dislike in his tone are so boldly rude, it’s staggering.
Any efforts at civility I’d planned go right out the window. Anson said to inform him of any issues I face on the farm, but I’m not about to whine to my boss. If Grayson wants this dynamic, so be it. I can play, too.
And as far as I’m concerned, Anson already thinks his brother’s the problem, which gives meplentyof room to play.
“How much did that hurt to say?” I ask.
Grayson blinks twice, maybe because he was expecting sweet gratitude from someone who would swallow his bullshit.
He ignores my question and says, “Apologies for yesterday. I wasn’t expecting you. That’s not how we run things here.” God, it’s like he’s being held at gunpoint, the words are that disingenuous.
“Everyone makes mistakes, Mr. Farm Owner. Don’t worry about it.”
“Gray,” he says flatly. “That’s what everyone calls me.”
I cock my head, squinting up at the overhang. “You’re right. Mr. Farm Owner is kind of a mouthful. But you seemed so intent yesterday on making it known that you run this place.”
I take a little joy in the way his jaw grinds. He’s about to reply when Dave gives a mightyquack.
“He seems to like it,” I comment, and Grayson scrapes his hand across his mouth, as if he’s trying to physically block his next words from coming out.
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 ridiculousrequest—replaces his phone, and gives me his broad back as he strides away.
