He dismisses my words with a wave of his hand. “You allow people too many breaks and too much time to slack.”
“There are laws, Dad.” I manage to keep my tone even. “We can’t insist that people work twenty hours a day without bathroom breaks anymore, like in the good old days. That’s just for management. By the way, when are we hiring that new operations manager?”
A fire appears in his blue eyes at my sarcasm. It’s like lightning mustering for a strike and I know the most likely target.
To be honest, I’m starting to wonder why I ever thought working in the family business was a good idea. Had it been insane to assume that Dad’s retirement would mean a promotion and that, as operating manager of the greenhouses, I could make the changes that are past due?
It had been delusional to imagine that Dad would ever surrender an iota of control. He insists that his constant harping is just ensuring ‘his legacy isn’t wasted.’ Instead, it’s going to just wither away and die, like a vine at the end of the season.
And every day, I fantasize a little more about walking out the door, getting in my truck and never ever coming back.
“We’re not,” he says. “Of course, we’re not. I told you that.”
“I can’t do two jobs much longer.”
“You just have to find your stride. If you were pulling your weight, there wouldn’t be an issue. I did both jobs for decades.”
“With a third as much acreage under glass, at first,” I note. “And then with a head grower. Me.”
“Whining is a waste of time and energy,” he snaps, then changes the subject. “You know that Luke is in town.” Disapproval drips from his tone.
“Yes.” I keep it simple, since I’m not sure where he’s going with this. I don’t care about the location of my long-absent half-brother, unless he’s developed a sudden desire to pick tomatoes.
Carlos texts that no one is feeling better. Crap. I shove myphone back into my pocket and give my dad the attention he’s waiting for.
“He’s always making trouble,” Dad mutters, and it’s obvious who he means.
I heard from my half-brother, Luke Jones, last month, right out of the blue, after years of silence. He had this wild scheme to buy several properties from Cavendish Enterprises and ‘redistribute’ them for the good of the world. Dad doesn’t need any of them and neither does his company, but I doubted he’d go for it. The man thrives on managing all the variables.
As a board member of Cavendish Enterprises, I supported Luke’s plan, even though I was skeptical of his chances of success. Luke hooked me with one detail: Dad has an ongoing dispute with Augustine Rhodes, who owns the neighbouring vineyard, over a little piece of property smack between the two empires. I thought it would be worth anything to dismiss that feud, even giving Augustine the property in question. When Luke added it to his redistribution list, I was in.
Dad wasn’t. I know Daphne Bradshaw presented Luke’s proposal to Dad and I know he revised the list of five properties to sell just two of them to Luke. The property Augustine wants didn’t make the cut. Dad agreed to sell the diner on Queen Street that used to be run by Leon and Dotty and has been sitting empty since their retirement, as well as some house. I have no clue what Luke’s plan is and no time to care. If his scheme doesn’t get Augustine off my back or get tomatoes harvested, I don’t have the bandwidth for it.
“That new café on Queen Street was packed Thursday night,” Dad says with indignation.
“Candace has been raving about the meal ever since,” I say, referring to my stepmother. Why Dad would go to the opening night of the restaurant Luke coaxed into existence is beyond me. “Are we done?”
“No, we arenotdone,” Dad snarls. “I’mtalkingto you. I’m asking you to solve a problem.”
“Which particular problem?”
“I want Luke to fail. I want this venture of his, this bistro, to go bankrupt and I want it now.”
“Then you shouldn’t have sold him the diner.” I hesitate, then go for it. “Maybe you shouldn’t have gone there on opening night and bought dinner for four.”
“Don’t you talk back to me! You need to get rid of those tenants, that chef and her partner –” he’s jabbing his finger in the air, pointing toward the diner downtown, as if I don’t know where it is “–and make sure Luke’s plan, whatever it is, fails as soon as possible.”
I sigh. Just another game. This is not my concern. “I actually have work to do, Dad, as you have already noted. Tomatoes ripening. Remember?”
“No,thisis important. You need to shut down that place before it gets popular. Run that chef out of town and do it today.”
I push back my chair and get to my feet. I need the small advantage of height in this moment. My dad, however, glares up as well as he glares down. “You must remember that you don’t own that building anymore, Dad. You don’t own it because you sold it. You sold it to Luke. And whatever Luke does with it, is his business not yours.”
“I want it empty! I want Luke to feel the pain of having no revenue.” Dad leans forward, looking as belligerent as he can be. “I want him tofailand sell those properties back to me before the end of the month.”
“It’s only been open a few days.”
“I didn’t hear your agreement,” Dad says. “I don’t see you heading down there.”
