Page 23 of That Conflicted Feeling

“I’vebeen driving on these roads sinceIwas sixteen.”

Shesqueezes the brake, and my armpits go sweaty asIgrip the handle over the door like it might somehow save my life.

Turnsout the corner was deceptive, gentler than it seemed, and we round it without incident.

Ibreathe again and smooth my jacket under the seat belt. “AMiniwould corner way better than this thing, you know.”

“Youmean theMiniIcould buy if you bought me out of the shop for a ludicrous amount of money to make me shut up and go away?”

Iangle myself toward her.Thewaning early evening sunlight glints off the gold bits in the strands of hair that have fallen loose from her ponytail.

Mustkeep my mind on the reasonI’mhere.Whichis business, nothing but business. “You’relooking at it all wrong.Thinkof it as an opportunity.Anopportunity to do something new.”

Shesmooshes her lips together and shakes her head.

Itmight be harder to convince her thanIthought.MaybeI’llhave more luck when she’s not driving. “Howfar to your place?”

“Notfar.”Shetips her head to one side. “Weshould talk aboutyoufor the rest of the way.Youknow plenty about me.Iknow nothing about you.”

She’ssmart enough to want to figure out my vulnerable spots.ExactlywhatI’ddo ifIwere her.Well,I’mnot falling for that. “I’mboring.”

“Oh,I’mcertain there’s zero chance you’re boring.”

“Ispend more time sitting in my office staring at spreadsheets than doing anything else.”Herlife could not be more opposite. “Youthink that’s boring, right?”

IfIwere honest with myself,I’mstarting to think it is too.

Shetakes her left hand off the wheel and rubs her right arm, her fingers disappearing under the edge of herT-shirt sleeve. “So, is this the first time you’ve been out in the real world for a while?”

“Yup.AndI’mstarting to see whatI’vebeen missing.IfIweren’t sitting amid bits of old lettuce in a relic of a vehicle being driven by someone who probably shouldn’t have a license,I’dbe swinging back and forth in my giant leather executive chair, looking out of my enormous fifty-fifth-floor window at the view overManhattanand the river, with my assistant bringing me one of her perfectly made double shot cappuccinos.”Ithrow my hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Imean, who wouldn’t choose the lettuce?”

Noway amIgoing to admit to her that trying to save this project myself, without delegating it to someone else, is actually the most funI’vehad in years.

ThefactIcan’t stop looking at the spot on her arm she just rubbed—and wishIcould touch it myself—is completely irrelevant.

Shedrops her hand to rest it on the shifter. “It’llactually be a few weeks before we get the local lettuce.”

There’sopen road ahead now with fields on either side.Ibrace myself this time.

Sureenough, she steps on the gas again. “Ilooked you up.Yourcompany owns a bunch of big things, not justYellowBarn.Howdid you end up doing all this buying-up-businesses stuff?Whatwas the first one you bought?Howdid you afford it?”

Wasshe researching me just to get to know her enemy better?Orbecause she thinksI’minteresting?Eitherway, if she wants to know what she’s up against,I’llshare. “Ididn’t buy the first one.Iwon it.”

“Wonit?”

“Ina dare.”

Sheflicks her eyes from the road to me. “What?”

“HeardofPrestonCayman?”

“Thebillionaire investor guru guy?Fromthat entrepreneurTVshow?”

“Yup.Well, he came to give a talk to myMBAclass.”

“Wheredid you do yourMBA?”

“Harvard.”