Page 3

CHAPTER THREE

ROZ

“Tell them the merger will only be successful if they’re willing to streamline, consolidate, and restructure, and that means layoffs,” I barked into my phone at a junior partner as I strode across the floor toward my corner office. “If they don’t have the stomach for firing people, they shouldn’t move ahead.” I nodded at Sofia, who sat at the desk outside my office, stabbed my phone with my finger to hang up, and then swung open the door.

I frowned. An enormous vase of flowers sat in front of the window, which showcased expansive views of Bryant Park from the thirty-fifth floor. I walked over, my nose wrinkling at the sickly, cloying scent. I grabbed the card and opened it, stepping away. A note from James. Good luck, Roslyn. I gritted my teeth. What a dick. He knew I hated flowers. And no one called me Roslyn. For some preposterous reason, the idiot clearly thought he had some chance of getting the promotion.

I strode to my desk and pressed the button on my phone.

“Sofia, what are these flowers doing in my office? Get them out of here, now.” I threw the card in the trashcan.

“Sorry, Roz. They must have been delivered while I was on the phone with Jess.”

“Jessica? What did she want?” My pulse spiked. With only weeks until Adam’s official retirement, it was about time he shared the results of the senior partners’ vote. As managing partner of the New York office, with an impressive client base that included some of the world’s largest tech, energy, and pharmaceutical companies, I was the obvious choice to be Adam’s successor.

“Adam wants to speak with you this morning. The only time you were both free was nine-thirty. I’ve put it in your calendar.”

I glanced at my phone. It was 9:05 a.m. Plenty of time for me to finish ripping a report one of my consultants had prepared for another project about clean energy to shreds. I stretched my fingers.

“Yes, that’s fine.” I dropped the phone onto my desk, my gaze falling on the photo of Lottie and Matt next to it, and I paused. I’d give them a call over dinner. Lottie had no clue what I did, but she’d become bizarrely fixated on my promotion after overhearing Matt and me talking about it. I smiled. I’d finally have good news to share with her tonight.

The door opened, and Sofia rushed in to remove the flowers. Her eyes lingered on them as she left.

“Thanks, Sofia,” I said as I straightened the photo. “Feel free to keep them if you’d like.”

That should make up for me snapping at her—not that Sofia took my curt manner personally anymore. But she deserved the flowers.

I sat at the desk, whipped out the clean energy report and my favorite red pen from my briefcase and got to work.

After making quick work of the report, I made my way across the floor to Adam’s office, arriving with three minutes to spare. A few offices down, one of the assistants watered a potted plant. The memory of Olivia and her ridiculous t-shirt came flooding back. I clenched my jaw. It had been six months. I should just throw it in the trash and move on. But the evening had stuck in my mind. Olivia’s dark shiny hair and intelligent eyes, the rapport we’d shared, the way she’d looked at me, desire clear in her eyes, that kiss. And then… nothing.

What had gotten into me that night? It was like I’d been transported back to my pre-Sadie days, when I’d flirted with gorgeous women, dating some and falling into bed with others. It had felt good, being desired and desiring in return, but I knew from experience that it didn’t always end well. Especially with desire that strong.

I pressed my lips together. That night was an anomaly that would not happen again. Anyway, I wouldn’t have time for dating once I was promoted.

“Did you get your flowers, Roslyn?”

Gritting my teeth, I looked up. James was sitting on Jessica’s desk, smirking. Jessica, sitting behind him, rolled her eyes. I fought the urge to do the same. Be civil, Roz.

He must have flown in from London to hear the results of the vote. While he was the only other contender for the role, he was a weak one. The insufferably pompous Brit’s financials were nowhere near as good as mine, and his vision for Saunders building up our sustainability and environmental, social, and governance practices; and overhauling our diversity, equity, and inclusion strategy, to name a few. I was confident that under my leadership, Saunders & Company could become the top management consulting firm in the world.

Adam refocused his attention back on me. “So, as you know, the senior partners met last night to vote on the global managing partner position.”

“Yes.” I straightened in my seat, taking in a deep breath. While inwardly I’d be doing a happy dance, I had to remain composed when Adam broke the news. I had a reputation to maintain.

“You have made an amazing contribution to the firm and are one of our most valued partners.” Adam leaned forward, pressing his lips together.

I smiled. This was it.

He cleared his throat and looked me straight in the eye. “But the senior partners decided that James is the best fit for the global managing partner role.”

“What?”I blinked, my mouth dry. Surely I had misheard.

“I’m sorry Roz. You’ll continue to head up the New York office of course. And you’re still young. Maybe by the time James retires, things will have changed and you’ll get the votes.”

“Things will have changed?” I spluttered.

“You know what I mean, Roz.” His gaze pierced me. He was smart enough not to say anything else or risk a lawsuit.

My chest tightened, and my vision blurred. I knew exactly what he meant. While Saunders & Company had overhauled its hiring practices over the past few years in an effort to employ more diverse employees, senior management in the firm was still dominated by white, cis, hetero, married men with kids. I’d convinced myself that they’d look beyond my age, gender, sexual orientation, and marital status and put the future of the firm first. But clearly they’d decided James, in his fifties with a wife, three kids, and fancy private school background, was what the firm needed.

I took a deep breath, trying to stop my body from shaking. I’d devoted my whole life to this fucking company, only to get bumped out by some mediocre guy?

Well, screw them.

“I’m not hanging around here in the hope that the partners become less bigoted and James kicks the bucket before he runs Saunders & Company into the ground. And I’m sure as hell not going to keep working my ass off, bringing in profits for everyone else to enjoy.” I fixed Adam with a steely gaze. “Take this as my resignation.”

With that, I turned and strode out the door, slamming it behind me.

* * *

I stepped out of the building and took a breath of early spring air. I’d instructed Sofia to have all my personal effects boxed and sent to my Upper East Side apartment and cancel my meetings or send someone else to attend in my place. My direct reports were preparing draft handover notes to be provided to the partners who picked up my work. I’d review them at home before I officially switched off for good. Under the terms of my contract, I was meant to give more notice, but I wasn’t going to hang around at Saunders & Company for a protracted transition period. I’d given them enough. They could sue me if they wanted to, but I knew they wouldn’t. They didn’t like having their dirty laundry aired in public and I wouldn’t bat an eyelash at making a counterclaim for discrimination if they tried.

My blood boiled, but I willed myself to calm down. It’s not worth it, Roz. You need to let it go. They don’t deserve you.

With the cool air in my lungs, I looked around, taking in my surroundings. Across 42nd Street, the London plane trees that lined Bryant Park were still leafless, but the sky was a gorgeous blue, and the sun shone on the mix of early twentieth century buildings and modern soaring glass skyscrapers that surrounded the park. Despite working across from Bryant Park for the past nineteen years, I rarely stepped foot in it. Too busy working. Now I had all the time in the world.

Feeling slightly giddy at my newfound freedom, I crossed the street, picking up my pace at the end to avoid being hit by a yellow taxi. Taking the steps two at a time, I entered the park. Vibrant green grass covered the center where the ice rink had stood only a few months earlier. I wandered down a path lined with plane trees and green shrubs until I reached the small green waffle stand.

“A latte, thanks,” I said to the young man behind the counter, as the sweet buttery scent of waffles flooded over me. If I hadn’t had my usual breakfast of toast and scrambled eggs already, I might have been tempted.

Coffee in hand, I sat on one of Bryant Park’s iconic green chairs in the sun, turning it so my back faced a patch of yellow and white tulips. I’d had more than enough flowers already today. I shut my eyes, soaking in the sun, listening to the birds chirping, the horns of impatient cars and the hum of people chatting at nearby tables.

It was pleasant, but it wasn’t long before restlessness rolled over me. I couldn’t just sit around here all day. I needed to do something.

But what?

The latte swirled in my stomach. I was a quick thinker, but rash was not my style. Yet this morning’s decision—possibly one of the most momentous of my life—had been made on the spur of the moment. I’d spent my entire career at Saunders & Company. Without it, I had no purpose, no goal, nothing to work toward. I didn’t regret it, though. Staying there, reporting to James, was completely untenable.

I sucked in a breath. Strictly speaking, I didn’t need to work again. I’d been a partner since twenty-eight, invested wisely, and lived relatively frugally. But an early retirement was never part of my plan. I liked working too much.

You don’t need to work it all out now. Take some time. Try to relax a little.

I pulled out my phone, my thumb hovering over the icon for my work email. Thirteen new emails. It was tempting to check them, to fire off a few responses and make sure all my matters were still in order.

Do not click on it, Roz.They’re not your matters any longer.

I sighed and moved my thumb to my text messages instead. One new message from Matt. I opened it. It was a selfie of my seven-year-old niece, Lottie, sitting next to my brother on their couch. They were covered in a blanket, both wearing hoodies and broad smiles on their faces. Accompanying the photo was some text.

Sick day today, so I’m introducing Lottie to Back to the Future.

I grinned. Those two didn’t have any trouble relaxing. That must be nice.

Once you’ve finished, I’m available for a call if you’d like. I’m not at work.

Not working?! Are you OK?

My thumb hovered over the screen. The news would travel fast once I told Matt. But I might as well rip the Band-Aid off.

I resigned.

My phone lit up with an incoming video call.

I sighed and accepted it, steeling myself.

Matt’s face appeared, his brow furrowed. “What happened?”

“I didn’t get the promotion, so I decided I’d had enough.” No point in telling Matt that it was almost certainly because Saunders & Company’s leadership were sexist homophobes. He might get riled up and threaten to drive into Manhattan with his construction buddies and give them a talking-to. Not that Matt would hurt a fly, but as a burly six-foot-two builder, he could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

A small blond head popped into view, and my face softened. Lottie’s hoodie was now pulled down, revealing large blue eyes wide with concern.

“You didn’t get the promotion?” she asked.

A pang of guilt stabbed my chest. The last thing I wanted was to cause Lottie any more heartache.

“I’m afraid not,” I said.

She frowned, and then her face brightened. “Can you come see us if you’re not working?”

“You know, maybe I will,” I said. “I haven’t worked out what to do yet.” The thought clamped itself around my chest, but I focused my attention on Lottie. “How are you feeling?”

“Sick,” Lottie said, emitting a not-very-convincing cough. Matt rolled his eyes, and I held back a chuckle.

“Did you hear about Red Tractor Farm?” Lottie asked, her face falling again.

I frowned. “No, what about it?”

“It’s closing down.” The corners of Lottie’s mouth trembled.

What? My chest constricted.

“We don’t know for sure, sweetie,” Matt said, gazing down at Lottie and stroking her head. He looked up and grimaced. “The Wardells are selling the farm. They’re getting older and finding it all to be a bit too much. And none of their children want to take it over.”

“But surely someone would buy it and keep it going? I mean, it’s been a Hudson Valley institution for generations.”

Our visits to Red Tractor Farm over the years flooded into my mind. Lottie as a baby, giggling in her stroller as the rabbits hopped around in the petting zoo. Lottie laughing with delight as a toddler as we bounced on the hayride. Our more recent fall visits to search for the best pumpkin in the pumpkin patch, shoot apples out of cannons, and get lost in the corn maze. And magical Decembers when the farm was transformed into a winter wonderland, decorated in Christmas lights and with rows of Christmas trees for sale. The thought of all of that disappearing, of no more happy memories being made, sent a pang of sadness right to my heart.

Matt shrugged. “Apparently it’s been running at a loss the past few years, so it’s not exactly an appealing purchase. They’ve only had interest from Samadhi Resorts at this stage.”

I frowned. Samadhi Resorts owned a number of exclusive health retreats across America. If they purchased the farm, it would be bulldozed and replaced with shiny state-of-the-art yoga studios, swimming pools, colonic therapy rooms and exclusive accommodations for the New York elite. I’d advised one of my clients against a potential investment in Samadhi a few years ago and knew their business model well. Charging thousands of dollars a night for services that had no basis in science—energy healing, sound baths, and contrast hydrotherapy. I pressed my lips together. It was a load of bullshit.

“Where are we going to get our pumpkins and Christmas trees from now on?” Lottie asked, the corners of her lips dropping down. “And what will happen to all the animals?”

“Lottie’s been taking the news badly.” Matt dropped his voice. “Her symptoms came on yesterday afternoon, just after we heard the news.”

Lottie pushed in front of Matt, so her tragic face took up the entirety of my phone screen. “Can you do something, Aunty Roz? Dad said you fix sick companies.”

My heart clenched. Lottie had been through a lot in the past twelve months. Mel leaving, appendicitis… Losing Red Tractor Farm was just another blow.

An idea popped into my head, sending a rush of adrenaline through my body. It was ridiculous. Absurd. I didn’t know anything about farms. But Lottie was right. I did know a lot about saving businesses from bankruptcy. And wasn’t a farm just another business?