Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43239 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 216(@200wpm)___ 173(@250wpm)___ 144(@300wpm)
She turns her head toward me, her eyes darker in the moonlight. “I look like a woman you’d stop everything for now, right?”
“No.” I pause—because I don’t want to give her a half-truth. I want to give her the whole damn thing.
“You were already that woman,” I say, my voice low, “the day we first met.”
THIRTY-FOUR
ELIZA
Conference, Day One
All my late nights with Harrison have led up to this.
The entrance to the St. Monarch—the most iconic and opulent hotel in Manhattan—is a spectacle all its own. Gold-trimmed revolving doors. Doormen in pressed uniforms. Fresh-cut florals towering from marble urns. And above it all, a sleek white banner flutters in the June breeze:
American Agricultural & Sustainability Summit
Innovating Tomorrow. Investing in Today.
Everything is branded. Polished. Decked out in golds and greens with eco-themed buzzwords printed on every surface. It’s all very... intimidating.
I smooth the hem of my dress and glance at Harrison beside me, who’s notably not walking through the doors.
“You’re not going to come in?” I ask, my voice just a little too tight.
“You know I can’t.” He cups my face in his hands, grounding me instantly. “I’ll show up to the parts that are open to the public when I can.”
“But at the end of every night, you’ll come back and pick me up and—”
“You’ll stay here, have your late dinners, and not rush back. You can’t afford to miss anything.”
“I’m sure Jackson would—”
“The farm is bankrupt, Eliza.”
My world stops spinning. Everything around me goes eerily still.
I blink at him, almost laughing again—because it has to be a mistake. “We pull in hundreds of thousands every month,” I say. “There’s no way.”
But as the silence stretches between us, the disbelief in my voice starts to crack.
Because now… it all makes sense.
Jackson not hiring the new staff he promised—brushing it off with “we need to focus on one thing at a time.”
Him stepping in to cover jobs our team used to do—insisting it was just temporary, that it kept things more “efficient.”
Him gently, but firmly, keeping me away from the books.
Details I shrugged off as stress, or quirks in leadership. But now they settle in my chest like a stone.
“He didn’t want to tell you,” Harrison says quietly. “And I doubt he ever will. Even after you kill it here like you should.”
I look into his eyes, and there’s no doubt. No teasing. No bluff.
“Make him proud,” he adds.
I will… My voice barely works. “What about you?”
“Don’t worry about me.” He kisses me once, soft and sure. “Good luck.”
THIRTY-FIVE
ELIZA
Conference, Day Three
I’ve never been treated like this at any of the industry events I’ve attended in the past.
From the moment I stepped into the marble atrium, I was being summoned to places I didn’t even know I had access to—exclusive panels, off-the-record brunches, private drinks with CEOs who actually lean in when I speak.
And somehow, I’m ready for all of it.
Every etiquette rule, every late-night flashcard Harrison drilled into me—it’s finally paying off. I know which fork to use, when to speak, and how to drop a stat so clean it silences a table.
By noon, I’ve handled three back-to-back meet-and-greets and made an impression at two private luncheons that weren’t even on the schedule.
Then comes this meeting.
A spotlight session hosted by one of the biggest conglomerates in agriculture—a company infamous for buying up farmland and squeezing every cent from other people’s labor.
The man leading the session is polished and poised, but I can smell the bullshit before he even finishes his first sentence.
He barrels through buzzwords like “soil optimization” and “regenerative vertical integration” as if he invented them. Half of it sounds like it was cribbed from the back of a granola bar.
And when he says pine mulch instead of pine straw, that’s it.
“Excuse me,” I say, steady and clear. “That’s not right. You’re giving them the wrong information.”
He blinks, caught off guard. “And you’re interrupting my presentation. I might be off by a man-ounce or two, gentlemen, but I assure you the printed materials are accurate. Now, Miss, if you’ll please—”
“They’re incorrect too,” I say, not backing down. “With all due respect.”
A current runs through the room. Men glance at each other. A few sit up straighter.
His smile tightens into something less friendly. “Is there someone who can remove this woman until I’m finished? I know you’re eager to tell us all about your little farm, but this is an eight-figure discussion.”
“And that’s an eight-figure error,” I reply evenly. “There’s a pending patent that corrects the core flaw in your design. Investing in yours is like lighting money on fire.”
Low murmurs rise. Someone coughs. A chair squeaks.
His cheeks flush. He’s flipping through his notes now, too fast. Too rough. No one’s helping him.
I sit back, calm. My heart’s racing, but I don’t show it.
He tries to keep going. “As I was saying, our product has been tested on industrial farmlands that—”