“Do you ever wish you ended up doing that?”
“Hell no,” he chokes out. His next bite pauses midway to his mouth. “When my mom started declining, Dad wasn’t able to spend as much time at work, so I took the semester off to help him full-time. It was…good for me, being out on the water, doing labor all day. Kept my mind off of her. After she died, Dad started letting everything go, buyers started making offers, and I just…” He shrugs. “I couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t see myself doing something else.”
And what he’s done with it has been incredible.
I always knew Gold’s was his father’s legacy. That’s what my research told me, what he says when guiding farm tours. But those are just nice-sounding words without…allthisbehind it.
For most business owners, their business is their baby. But to Grayson, the farm ismorethan that, and I’m embarrassed to realize the true depth of it never dawned on me until now.
What happened last year, the farm being threatened—it wasn’t just business at stake. It was memory. Love.
I, too, would have morphed into Big Foot if a new girl showed up one day with unlimited access to the business’s public face and a very limited understanding of my craft.
“I didn’t know your parents,” I start cautiously, wanting to get this right, “but I can’t imagine they’d be anything but proud of what you’ve done. What you’re doing now.”
“I appreciate that,” he says, lips curving as he chews. “What about you? Did you always dream of corporate life?”
“If a child ever said they wanted to grow up and sit in a cubicle worrying about spreadsheets, I’d be concerned.”
Humor dances in his golden gaze. “If any kid did say it, I bet it’d be you. Your kind of drive has got to come pre-installed.”
I huff a dry laugh. “Pretty sure my parents had me speaking complete sentences by two months old. Their daughter had to excel, just like them.”
“So why’d you choose to do that in marketing?”
“Plenty of job opportunities. A clear path to leadership positions. You get to occasionally be creative. And I don’t ever want to hold someone’s life in my hands like my parents,” I list. “They hated that I chose something outside of medicine, law, or finance. They didn’t really respect it until they realized how relevant it is in today’s business world.”
This might beonearea where I’ve actually been thankful for Suzanne’s close relationship with my parents. She showed them the possible salaries and career trajectories, and suddenly, their daughter no longer needed a career intervention.
“And do you like it?” Grayson asks.
“I mean, the money’s good, it’s?—”
“No,” he cuts me off, pulling my eyes up from my plate. He leans in on the table, his utensils still. “Do youlikeit? Are you happy doing it?”
Am I happy?
I’m…satisfied with my paychecks. Proud of my progress. Content when a week actually goes smoothly. Buthappy?
That’ll come when I’vemade it. When I’ve earned enough money and power to enjoy time off, write the rules, and take my pick of who I work for.
“I’m busting my ass right now so Icanbe happy. In five, ten years, maybe.”
His forehead wrinkles. “Why do you have to wait to be happy?”
I wait for a punchline that never comes. “You have toearnit. Do your time,” I say, spelling out the obvious. “Success doesn’t come right away.”
His befuddlement doesn’t budge. “You’re implying that happiness hinges on success.”
“It does,” I confirm. “I know that doesn’t sound very romantic or fun, but I think it’s true for a lot of us. We want to hit milestones, achieve goals, see our work pay off.”
“I understand that.”
Nodding, I return to my plate, only for Grayson to stop me in my tracks. “But why does your ‘success’ need to be so far away?”
Is he just…challenging me for the sake of argument? Trying to say I’m behind, or something? Promotions take time. Career trajectories follow a tried-and-true ladder.
Trying to cool my bubbling frustration, I say, “I highly doubt an established company will just promote a twenty-six-year-old to VP.”
