Page 11 of My Totally Unfair Deal
She yanks the keys from the ignition and bolts out of the car like it’s on fire.
I watch her storm right past Jackson without so much as a glance.
“You’ll have to excuse my sister,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “Hospitality’s not exactly her strong suit.”
“She’s fine.” I decide not to agree with him on that too quickly.
“Why haven’t you sent me any pictures of this place?” I ask as he tosses me a beer.
“Because I’ve barely had a minute to breathe since college,” he says. “If I’m lucky, I get twenty minutes a week.”
“Understandable.”
He leads me past the porch and into a field.
“I googled this place while I was on the plane,” I say. “I couldn’t get any of the pictures to open, but I’m kind of glad about that. It makes one hell of a first impression, and I saw nothing but five-star reviews, praise, and?—”
“We’re six months away from foreclosure and bankruptcy,” he interrupts.
“What?”
“And I owe the IRS four years in back taxes.” He sighs. “If I don’t get straight with them soon, they’ve threatened to take it.”
I stop walking.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I didn’t call you here to help me lay off the staff on short notice or do anything like that. None of them know how bad things are right now anyway.”
A tractor towing a group of tourists rides by us with waving passengers.
Jackson waves back and tips his hat.
“Look,” I say. “I’ve got millions of dollars in great stocks and there are a shit ton of Wall Street guys that owe me, so if you need help in that department?—”
“I would never ask another man for money.” He glares at me. “You know better than that.”
“I’m just saying.”
He crushes his beer can and leans against the fence.
“We need long-term solutions,” he says. “Partnerships. Investors. Contracts that’ll give us stability. And we’ve got one shot to land them all at an upcoming farm and agricultural conference.”
I nod.
I can see where he’s going now—exactly why he needs my help. Negotiating and being the best businessman at meetings is among my top specialties. I’ll nail any deal that’s put on the table, especially for Jackson.
“Since you’re so good at handling this type of thing, I figure you could coach my sister and make her the best person, too.”
“Absolutely. I’ll do my best to—Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I shake my head. “Coach? Who did you say?”
“Eliza,” he says, confirming her real name. “Coach her on how to fit in the elite circles you grew up in, so she can land us some much-needed business.”
“Why can’t you just tell me everything I need to know about this place and I’ll be your representative at the convention instead?”
“Bahahahaha!” He laughs so hard he chokes.
“Come on, I’m serious.”
“You couldn’t bullshit your way through the farmer vetting rounds if your life depended on it,” he says. “That’s when they get into real, technical questions—crop rotation cycles, seasonal irrigation, pH balancing, soil mapping. You’d be done in five minutes.”
