Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
He pauses, waiting for me to say more, but I’m not sure what else I can say without coming across like a dick.
“What kind of business is it?”
He’s pushing for more and I can’t blame him. I’d want to know more if I was him. “We have investments in various smaller businesses.”
He looks at me like he’s examining me. “So your job is to keep track of your family’s money.” He’s no dummy.
“Pretty much.”
“So you must have a lot of it.”
I nod.
Bray narrows his eyes. “So you’re not wanting a day’s work to take my sister to Pizza Meet Ya tonight?”
I start to laugh. “Irony is, I am taking your sister to Pizza Meet Ya tomorrow night, but no, I don’t need a day’s salary from you to make that happen.”
“You have your own place in New York City?”
“I do.”
“No mortgage I’m guessing.”
I stay silent.
“You have your own plane? Yacht? Baseball team.”
“No plane since my grandfather died. No yacht. And no baseball team.”
“But not because you can’t afford it, right?”
“Right.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes.
“I noticed the Wilde’s Farm brand isn’t on any of the packaging that gets sent to customers.”
“They want to use their brand names.”
“That makes sense. It gives them more power.”
“I guess,” he says. “We just do what the customers want. I think we did offer them Wilde’s Farm fruit at one point, but that’s not what they want.”
“And it puts the risk on you, because if you don’t sell Wilde’s Farm fruit, you can’t easily repackage because the fruit will go bad.” I think to myself. “What about freezing?” I ask.
“The bigger crates go to companies that freeze the food.”
“Oh, I see. So some of it goes to be frozen, but you don’t do that?”
“We don’t have the equipment. We’d need an entirely new setup. Fast freezers. Trucks to carry that stuff. And then all the packaging for it would be different.”
My mind starts whirring at all the possibilities. “Yeah. It would be a complete shift in the way you did business.” I frown, trying to think through the implications for Iris. “And what about organic stuff? You do much of that?”
“We looked into it a while back. I can’t remember what happened about that.” He pushes his tray away from him. “You’re really interested in fruit, huh?” he asks.
“I like hearing about other people’s businesses. New businesses. And what are the margins like in the fruit business?”
“They’re okay. Every year feels a little tighter than the last, but we get by. We had to change the menu in the lunch room,” he says. “We’ve had to change the supplier of our boxes and the haulage company. We’re always making savings.”
“Being on top of your costs is always a good thing.”
“Iris’s really good at that,” he says, clearly a proud brother.
She would be. She’s smart. But cost control can only go so far.
I take a bite out of my burrito, the cogs in my brain turning. Iris’s priority is her family and Wilde’s Farm. The reason she stayed here and didn’t go to New York was because she was worried things couldn’t survive without her. But what if Wilde’s Farm was in such a strong financial position that they didn’t have to rely on Iris anymore? Wouldn’t that give her freedom? Freedom to leave the farm and live anywhere?
Maybe even New York.
SEVENTEEN
Iris
Why did I suggest Pizza Meet Ya?
Jack is used to fine dining. If we find an artichoke on a pizza, it will be as exciting as it gets here. Although the pizza is the best I’ve ever had. But maybe I’m biased.
“What do you recommend?” Jack asks, his eyebrows pulled together like he’s reading important financial statements rather than a pizza menu.
He looks gorgeous tonight. He’s caught a bit of the sun and some freckles have come out across his nose. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, in the way that people with money do when they want to look casual. His forearms are corded with muscle, and I have to stop myself from reaching for him and tracing the lines with my fingers. He looks so boyish. So carefree. So far away from the serious, intense man who sat next to me at the ballet all those weeks ago.
“It’s all good,” I say. “Best pizza in America.”
Jack laughs. “I live in New York.”
“So?”
“So obviously we have the best pizza.”
I shake my head, half horrified by his arrogance, half ready for him to taste the pizza at Pizza Meet Ya. “You’re about to have your mind blown.”
“That’s for after the pizza,” he says, his eyebrows pulsing up, a grin spreading across his face.
I swear I never knew it was possible to blush all over before I met Jack.
“Trust me. It starts with the pizza tonight,” I tell him.
“Challenge accepted,” he says. “You’ve raised my expectations now, so this place better be good.”