Not Fake for Long by Weston Parker
3
HARRISON
Aweek after Hilton’s dismissal, we were finally at a point where we were realizing the extent of his shady business practices. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like he’d been at it for very long before we’d caught wind of it, but it had still been a long few days of damage control and repairing the relationships we could.
While I’d managed to get out to my farm upstate last weekend, I hadn’t been able to stay for very long. Now it was Thursday. We had clients checking in there for the weekend in little over twenty-four hours, and I didn’t know if we were ready to receive them.
It was a completely different kind of potential disaster, but it was still something that could be bad for business, and as such, I needed to get out ahead of it. As I packed my things for the day, my receptionist came into my office.
An older woman, she had a motherly vibe about her and never failed to give me a warm smile even if we didn’t know very much about each other. Agatha had been working for me for a couple of years. She was sharp as a tack and efficient as a bee, but she also liked keeping her personal life private and didn’t pry much into mine.
Just the way I like it.
“Leaving early?” she asked, her green eyes soft on mine as she came to stand behind the chair across from my desk.
I nodded. “I won’t be back until Monday morning.”
“You know, you never tell me where you’re going when you disappear for these weekends away,” she said lightly, joking now that she knew my workday—at this job anyway—was officially over.
Granted, she didn’t know about my other life as a farmer. Even so, I returned her smile and snapped my briefcase closed. “That’s because if you don’t know, you can’t reach out to me in an emergency.”
“Phones work regardless of whether a person knows where another is,” she replied with a soft chuckle. “Wherever you’re going, I hope you get some rest. You’ve had a lot of late nights this week. See you on Monday, boss.”
I didn’t know how she did it, but the maternal clucking was always perfectly balanced with absolute professionalism. “Thank you, Agatha. Since I won’t be coming into the office tomorrow, you’re welcome to work from home.”
She inclined her head, her smile widening. “Thank you, Mr. Hynes. You’re a good man, you know that?”
“Very few people have ever accused me of that before, but thank you,” I said as I passed her on my way to the door. “Have a good weekend.”
Dottie, my black Labrador who acted more like a cat than a dog, was lounging in the sun when I got to the brownstone that served as our home here in the city. She lifted her head when I walked in but laid it back down when she saw it was just me.
“You ready to go, girl?” I asked, setting my briefcase down and pulling off my tie all in one motion. When she didn’t respond, not even to wag her tail, I shook my head at her as I shrugged out of my suit jacket. “I’ll take that as a yes, but you could be more excited about the prospect of spending the next few days on the farm. Think of all the rabbits you can chase.”
She stood up lazily, stretching out her legs before trotting to my side. I wound my hand into her thick, warm fur as I rubbed her neck. “You’re not like any other lab I’ve ever heard of girl, but I don’t have the personality people expect me to have either. Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
Craning her neck into my touch, she gave my hand a quick lick. It was as affectionate as she ever got, but that was okay with me. I couldn’t have asked for a better dog than her.
Since we didn’t need to pack anything before we headed out, all I needed to do was clip on her leash for the short walk to my truck. It was parked just down the block, but I didn’t want to take any chances with Dottie running off into traffic if something caught her attention.
The brownstone was our townhouse in the truest sense of the word. Our actual home was the smaller of two farmhouses out on the ranch. The only reason we didn’t live there permanently was because it would add an extra two hours each way to my commute every day, and four extra hours on the road per day took up too much time I could spend being productive.
The closer we got to the village of Red Hook, the more I felt myself relaxing. Living this far upstate might not be a practical possibility while I was still running the Hynes Group, but every time I made the drive, I fantasized about the day I could move out here for good.
When I’d purchased the farm, it had been an already established business producing fruits and vegetables. I’d kept that going by taking over all the employees who had worked for the previous owner. They knew the ropes, had remained in their jobs and housing, and practically ran that side of things with only oversight provided by me.
As much as I wanted to be a full-time farmer, I wasn’t one and never had been. I knew there was a chance the whole enterprise could fall apart on me, but in all the time I’d owned the place, I’d kept a close eye on the books. My people worked hard, got paid well, and there hadn’t been a single problem so far.
They were the experts, and I left them to do what they did best while I focused on the business end of things—which was what I did best. We also had a stable filled with horses, and offered a “ranch” experience for city-dwellers looking for riding lessons or a working weekend away.
It was crazy how many people were willing to pay to stay on a working guest-farm. On some level, I understood it, though. I still wouldn’t have paid to go to work on someone else’s farm, but it was outdoors, physical work that a person simply couldn’t get in the city.
With that end in mind, I’d turned the main farmhouse into upscale tourist accommodations and marketed the place as a renovated, nineteenth-century farmhouse with gorgeous picturesque views of the mountains and two lakes on the property. We were also conveniently located close to the charming local community.
People ate it up. I’d never have become a billionaire running only it, but as an investment, it was doing pretty darn well.
When Dottie and I arrived, we found an ornery old man with a shotgun in his hand poking around underneath the porch. After hopping out of the truck and letting Dottie out, I chuckled at my friend and farm manager’s muttered curses.
“What’re you doing there, Ashton?” I asked as I walked up with my hands in my pockets. He was going to give me shit for still being in my suit, but we did this dance every week. “Need any help?”
“I’m looking for a chicken snake hiding from its fate,” he said, his voice as gruff and scratchy as always. “When’d you get here?”
“Just now,” I replied. “Didn’t you hear the truck rolling up?”
He shrugged in his plaid shirt before finally turning to face me. Ashton was in his sixties, with silver hair and a beard that was more salt than pepper. His face bore the lines of a man who’d been working outside all his life but couldn’t be bothered with sunscreen. His ice-blue eyes were almost swallowed up by all the crow’s feet around them.
Wiping his forehead with a rag that came out of his back pocket, he glanced toward the truck. “That’s one of them fancy new things. They don’t roar like a real truck should. No one hears them coming.”
I chuckled again. Ashton was a hard man and he hadn’t grown soft or friendly with age, but he was the only person I’d met since I’d founded the Hynes Group who didn’t give a flying fuck about my money or my success. Which made him pretty much the closest thing I had to an actual friend.
“Regardless of what you think of my truck, which, might I remind you, I bought after you recommended this make and model, we’ve got some clients coming in tomorrow. They’re coming to learn how to ride, from what I could make out from the information on the booking form.”
“How nice for them.” He cocked his head like he’d heard something and narrowed his eyes before whirling around again, sticking his head back under the porch. “I’m sure you can handle teaching some of your fellow city kids how to ride. I’ve got myself a snake to find.”
“I’m going to need your help actually,” I said. “You can just stand there and manage, if that’s what you’d like, but they’re both complete beginners. Two women. I’m going to need your help getting them mounted and settled at least, but it would be nice if you could come out with us.”
“Don’t come crying to me when the damn chicken snake finds you in your sleep,” he muttered. “But fine. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you,” I said, watching as he sighed and wiped his brow again. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s getting late. You should get some rest. I’m sure the snake will still be here in the morning.”
After muttering a few more curses into the space beneath the porch, he nodded and stomped away without another word. Once he was gone, I headed inside and started flipping on the lights. Then I opened the fridge to check what groceries had been delivered.
An angel by the name of Mariana, who was as old as the mountains, stocked my fridge whenever I let her know I was coming. She was the wife of one of the farm workers and had appointed herself as the head of housekeeping for the guest farm in addition to ensuring I was fed. She’d left a roast chicken for dinner, along with a freshly made salad and ingredients for meals for the rest of the weekend.
I fucking loved life out here. Wide open spaces, good people, and a view that couldn’t be beaten right from my very own backyard. After shedding the suit in favor of a comfortable pair of washed-out jeans, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went to watch the sunset over the mountains from the deck I’d built with my bare hands.
It doesn’t get much better than this.
