Page 4 of My Totally Unfair Deal

“There’s a bar down the street,” I say, changing the subject. “It’s one of my favorites. Let me make this misunderstanding up to you.”

“Let me guess…” She taps her chin. “After we have one drink, you’ll suggest another and tell me that you think I’m pretty.”

“I think you’refucking stunning,” I say. “‘Pretty’ doesn’t even come close.”

Her cheeks flush—but her jaw stays tight.

“And after you not-so-subtly pay the check,” she continues her original lines, “you’ll invite me back to your condo?”

Yes.“Unless you’d rather skip the drink and go straight there. I like that option, too.”

She says nothing.

“If you’re not up to drinks, would you like to discuss making amends for what you did to my suit?”

She turns on her heel and storms off down the street. I watch until she disappears through the crowds.

Damn. I should’ve asked for her number.

TWO

ELIZA

The following day

The plane hums as it lands in Tennessee, and I don’t wait for the announcement to unbuckle.

I’m way too excited to be home—and far, far away from the cesspool that is Manhattan.

If I never set foot in that place again, I won’t care.

Every business conversation felt like a foreign exchange. It didn’t matter how confidently I explained how a farm runs from sunup to sundown, or how the soil feels between your fingers. All they cared about were projections, profit margins, and scalable vertical integrations.

Whatever the hell that means.

Every meeting ended with the same cold dismissal—“We’ll be in touch”—which really meant,“We won’t.”

And then, of course, there washim.

The final cherry on top of my New York Shitty Sundae. The man who ruined my twenty-dollar latte and had the audacity to blame me for it.

He was easily the sexiest man I’ve ever seen—hazel eyes, low-cut black hair, dimples that could ruin your whole week.

Until he opened his mouth.

Rolling my eyes at the memory of him, I make my way to baggage claim and mentally replay every meeting that went sideways. The missed opportunities, the forced smiles, the glossed-over condescension.

I grab the last suitcase from the carousel—right as a deep voice growls behind me.

“What the hell happened, Eliza?” my older brother, Jackson, bellows.

Before I can play dumb, he grabs my shoulders and spins me to face him.

“When were you planning to tell me you bombed the meeting with Josiah Investments? So much so that they won’t even answer my emails now…”

“I wasn’t,” I admit.

“Why the hell do you think I sent you up there?” he fumes. “I need someone who can get us some new investments for our damn farm.”

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