Must Like Spinach
Copyright
Cover artist: Natasha Snow
Editors: Labyrinth Bound Edits
Must Like Spinach © 2016 Con Riley
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only.
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
WARNING
This book contains material that maybe offensive to some and is intended for a mature, adult audience. It contains graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations.
Must Like Spinach
by Con Riley
Jon’s future in New York seems bright. He’s on the corporate fast track as an executive problem solver, but somehow he can’t help feeling hollow. Yearning for a life spent outdoors makes no sense if he wants to flourish in this city, nor does losing his cool with clients when they make bad decisions. Only leaving the East Coast behind for three months can save his business reputation.
His exile in Seattle has unexpected upsides. Jon’s rented home has a garden where his true passions blossom. It’s overgrown yet idyllic—perfect if he didn’t have to share it with another tenant. Tyler might be as cute as hell, and their landlady adores him, but Jon can’t let himself fall for someone who seems lazy.
Three months could be enough time to see Tyler clearly, but choosing which to nurture long-term—love or a business career—might take Jon longer than one summer.
Table of Contents
Summary
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Con Riley
True Brit
Dedication
I dedicate this book to whooping cough.
Last year I was sick for the entire summer. I spent three months looking through my bedroom window, too tired to weed my garden. It grew wild as I watched. Then it grew even wilder.
My garden took three months to transform. I thought about that for a while, and then I wrote this story.
Chapter 1
JON’S ABOUT to get fired.
It’s not exactly a surprise when, after a long week of waiting, the ax finally falls on Friday. The email he gets from HR doesn’t reveal a whole lot, simply ordering him to a meeting, but he knows what’s coming. He’ll get canned within the next hour, and no amount of hesitating outside his head office will reverse that outcome. It only makes people grumble when they’re forced to step around him, pissed off at the space he takes up on this bustling Manhattan sidewalk.
He can’t say he blames them.
Some people fit easily in this city.
He’ll never be one of them.
Still, he can’t stop looking upward until the building seems to lean in. It houses one of New York City’s top consultant firms, famed for streamlining property development companies that are bloated. Each year they skim the cream of business graduates who study land acquisition, but it turns out a 4.0 GPA counts for nothing if recruits like him lose their cool with clients.
There’s no way they’ll forgive a rookie trainee who refused to keep his mouth shut.
Jon accepts that when he finally enters the building. A frosty PA quickly corrals him until his meeting is scheduled, like him lingering at the front desk might spook high-class clients. Perhaps she sees what he’s known from his very first day—he’s not cut out for this environment. In fact, he’s wilting in this city like the solitary plant in the waiting room where she herds him. All of its leaves are withered, its roots barely covered by dusty compost. It’s starved of sunlight in this windowless place, slowly dying in a corporate climate where only fake things flourish.
Dripping water into the plant pot might be completely pointless; Jon’s only staving off a sad end that’s about as certain as his. Still, he doesn’t fight his instincts. The same will to do the right thing that’s caused so much trouble lately has him doing just that, until he’s finally ordered upstairs.
He takes the elevator up to a floor that’s fancy, all gleaming glass walls and high-end marble floor tile. Whip-thin women blank him as they pass by, and slick-haired men in business suits stare right through him. The way they all adjust trajectory so their paths don’t cross with his, suggests they see the truth too. They’re all sleek guile and charisma, designed for driving business forward. Transfer them to a high school sports field, and they’d be the touchdown-scoring bright stars. He’d be way back playing defense, and that’s not only down to his height and solid, broad frame.
He doesn’t fit in here, but that’s okay.
He’s passing through, not staying.
It’s almost a relief to know he’ll have to start over. Maybe now imposter syndrome will quit nagging so hard each time he wakes up, surprised he made it this far. Getting selected for a program this prestigious was meant to be a shortcut to a great life: the key to a corner office. Now, as long as he doesn’t recall his mom’s delight when he scored it, he’s not even sad to flunk out.
He sees more reactions as he passes cubicles that confirm his suspicions.
It’s right there in the way backs turn as he sees people he knows.
There’s Mitch, who was on the same fast-track program last year, working all the way up here already. Jon would go congratulate him if he didn’t look so damn awkward. And there’s Hiroto, who was super patient during Jon’s orientation in his accounting department. Working late for a mentor like him hadn’t been a hardship, especially when he let Jon kiss him once all the cubicles had emptied. It had been a one-off that Hiroto had warned he should never repeat if he wants to fly high here. There’s no need to wonder today if he regrets their hurried hand job in the bathroom. His expression staying carefully blank is enough of an answer.
Jon tries to mirror that mask when he reaches the door where his upward flight will soon end. Maybe it’s ironic that the Statue of Liberty is visible through the window when he enters, holding her torch aloft way across the harbor. He’ll be free soon, like she promises new arrivals by sea. Free, even if it’s only to collect unemployment. He’ll be out of a home too if he has to give up the apartment shared by others on the fast-track training program. It’s a real-life implication. One that means holding on for dear life would be more rational than accepting defeat like it’s a ticket to freedom.
However, like Lady Liberty across the water, it’s impossible to ignore how something unfurls at the prospect of getting cut loose.
Like a seed leaf seeking sunlight, part of him wants to branch out.
A brisk, “We’re no
t letting you go,” nips that wish in the bud. The woman who speaks sounds convinced, but the file box at her elbow suggests the opposite. Jon stands in front of her desk and focuses on it as she makes another statement. “You’re better than what happened last week, Jonathan.” She adds a question as well. “Do you know who I am?”
He takes a close look at her instead of staring at the file box. Her face is smooth and haughty, like every other executive at this level, only hers is capped with hair that’s more silver than blonde. Her cool stare warms when he guesses, “One of the HR managers?”
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
His headshake is small, and she nods in return like that doesn’t surprise her.
“You can’t have been older than ten the last time I saw you. I worked for Bank of America back then. Your mother came to me for a line of credit.”
“You knew my mother?” His step forward is unconscious.
“Not beyond the fact that I turned her down twice. She wasn’t a good risk. But I have to admit she was tenacious. She tracked me down at the restaurant where I was meeting a client, and she brought you with her. Do you know what she said?”
This time Jon doesn’t move a muscle, flooded with a memory so clear he could reach out and grab it. He visualizes his mom standing across from a cool-eyed stranger, telling her what it would mean to her son and to all the families on her payroll if her business collapsed.
“She told me she had no other options.”
“She didn’t.”
“I’ve been in finance for longer than you’ve been alive. Can you guess how many times I’ve had clients say the same thing? I can’t even remember her exact situation, except that for a convenience store, her running costs were top-heavy.”
“That wasn’t her fault. My father… he, uh… he ran the store until he took off and left debts Mom didn’t know existed. She couldn’t sell it, so she had to keep going. I remember—” The words choke him, rough and unexpected. “—I remember Mom begged you.”
He can’t continue for a moment.
As a kid, that entire time was terrifying. As an adult, he wants to drag his mom back and stand in front to shield her. But right now a hoarse, “That was you?” is about all he can get out.
Her nod is a quick confirmation that has him clenching his fists, and her benevolent smile, like she truly did a good thing, doesn’t exactly help him calm down.
He takes a slow breath and says, “The big box stores took so much business when they opened in our town. Mom didn’t know how to make the smart cuts that would make up the difference. She had eleven people on the payroll. If only I’d been old enough to really help out full time, she could’ve laid off half of them.” But he’d been too young to do more than wonder why their lives in upstate New York were turned upside down so quickly. What had been an idyllic childhood, spent largely playing in their backyard while his mom grew amazing produce, turned into years of watching her struggle with books she couldn’t balance.
“Later, she told me that she couldn’t face putting eleven more families in the same situation as us. She was about to give up right before she dragged me along to find you. We gave up our house that morning to buy some more time.” He quits speaking when he remembers driving away from that huge backyard. “Mom begged, and you… you ordered me a sandwich.”
“Don’t ask me why, but I did.” Her next smile is rueful. “And I passed your mother’s problem on to another contact, someone who dealt with—” She considers her words. “—higher-risk prospects. Color me surprised when I get a message on LinkedIn so many years later asking for another favor.”
“Mom hit you up online?”
The woman nods and then extends her hand. “Sharon Weiss.”
Shit.
Shit.
She isn’t a drone from HR.
She’s one of Bettman & Co.’s founding partners.
“It’s good to meet you again, Jonathan,” she says. “I can’t say that you were a natural choice for the fast-track program here, but I figured if you had half the grit your mother showed, you might be worth the investment that she asked me to make in your future.”
“You’re the reason I got the spot?”
“Well, your grades were good enough to make the first cut. But your responses during testing were a tad concerning. I decided to take another risk by overriding the selection process.” Her voice sharpens. “Then I heard what happened last week.” She inclines her head toward the file box that sits by her elbow. “If anyone else spoke to a client like you did, they wouldn’t even get to clear their desk and fill that box before security escorted them out.” Her tone softens slightly again. “But then I also discovered that your mother passed away shortly after you joined us.”
Jon drops into the seat opposite.
“I was very sorry to hear that. She proved me wrong once.” She taps a sheaf of papers with the tip of a polished fingernail. “I did some research. Looks like she turned that failing store around.”
That’s somewhat of an exaggeration. Jon can’t help being honest. “It never made her a fortune.” Not a chance when the interest rates on those high-risk loans made a mountain of debt a whole lot steeper. “But it made enough in the end to get me all the way through college and grad school. It’s all she said she wanted.” His voice is gruff. “But she never gave up, and she never had to make a single layoff.” He wets his lips like he can still taste the mustard on that sandwich.
“But your father left that same business without looking back.” Ms. Weiss steeples her fingers and says, “He disappeared as soon as things got tough, didn’t he? You’re in a tough spot right now, Jonathan. You sure you don’t want to follow the same path as him? Take the easy option and walk away right now.”
“I never want to be like him.” He sucks in a breath at how tempting walking away seemed, right until this moment.
She slowly nods, but any warmth in her expression cools as she reverts to the reason he’s there. “So, here we are, Jonathan. Your actions have put me in a tough spot.” She flips pages covered in close-typed ink. “This report details your progress. All but one of the managers of the departments you already rotated through queried your readiness to work alone. This business is about finding strategic solutions and about building long-term relationships with property development clients across the US and beyond. That’s why we keep a close eye on all fast-track candidates when they first work one-on-one with a client. But you went off plan. Then you went off grid.” She closes the file. “You want to tell me your version of what happened?”
Jon stands and paces to the window rather than answering right away. Outside the wind whips at the tips of the waves in the harbor below and rain spatters the glass like it isn’t almost summer. He’d still much rather be out there than inside right now. “I presented my report to the client. I’d worked on it for weeks.” He waits when she crosses the room too and continues once she stands next to him, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “It wasn’t an unusual brief, I guess. The company owner reported a second quarter of reduced profits. I analyzed the potential causes and scrutinized the business from top to bottom. There was no need to panic.”
On paper it had all seemed so straightforward.
Maybe that’s why he’d been blindsided.
“I took him through my findings and designed a computer model so he could run through cost-cutting options. He asked me to cut even deeper.” Pruning hard promotes vigorous growth if it’s done at the right time—anyone who gardens knows that—but if enough isn’t left for a plant to flourish…. Jon’s headshake is reflected in the glass, as are his eyes, which narrow darkly as he adds, “There were plenty of alternatives, but he ignored my findings and insisted on making major layoffs.”
“As was his right.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts, Jonathan.” The glass reflects a grim gaze that brooks zero argument. “We’re very clear about our remit here. Very. We go in. We investigate. W
e report. Then we leave the final decision to the client. And if they choose to eliminate their entire workforce, we go ahead and do that for them. That’s what they pay us for. Anything else is none of our business.”
“But it was the worst possible decision, and so unnecessary,” Jon blurts. “That’s why I lost my cool. He was going to fire his best people. The ones who’d been with him from the start. How the hell can his business recover if there’s no one left to work it?”
“That really isn’t our concern.” She turns to face him, waiting until he shifts enough to make eye contact. “That’s never our business, Jonathan. Business owners might pay for our advice, but they never ever have to take it.” The silver in her hair catches the light. It’s a subtle reminder of the decades that divide them. “In my experience, I often think they want a way out. A report that mentions downsizing or efficiencies does the dirty work for them. Maybe your client wanted an excuse to quit outright. This business isn’t for everyone. Investing in land takes knowing when to purchase as well as knowing the right time to sell. You can’t argue with that. And if you still want a future with us, you can’t ever disagree with a client again.” She returns to her desk and reaches into the box he assumed would hold his possessions. The paperwork she sets down is an unexpected reprieve.
“Flight tickets?”
Her nod is slight. She waits until he sits again before speaking. “You understand the next stage of the fast-track program?”
He does. “It lasts longer. I’d work for a larger client with more complex problems for several months at least.”
She pushes the tickets his way.
“Seattle?”
“You think I could get anyone in New York to hire you right now?”