“Bullshit,” she laughed. “This cabin doesn’t say comfortable. It says I can be as comfortable as I want to be. Who are you, Paul Bunyan who drives a Tesla, who doesn’t take a salary, who makes homemade eggnog? Who took a plot of land in the middle of literally nowhere and built a paradise?”
“I’m Paul McCleer,” I said honestly.
“Yes, but who are you really? McCleer? Wait…McCleer. Why do I know that name?”
Shit. The fun was over. In a few minutes she’d put it together and then I’d go from being the grumpy, sarcastic, somewhat difficult tree farm manager to…
“Holy shit,you’rethePaul McCleer?”
“No. That’s my father. I am, however, his son,” I admitted, stuffing my hands in my jeans and moving to look out the window.
Not everyone would have bumped on the name. But Kay-Kay was no doubt a woman who read all the financial news that was available. She’d need to, to stay in her position. Corporate agriculture was about as far as it got from her industry, but it didn’t surprise me she would have heard of the family name.
Finance, technology, service, and agriculture. Anyone at the top of those industries was simply a known entity.
“What is the heir to the McCleer Agriculture empire doing on a Christmas tree farm in Salt Springs, Colorado?”
“I’m retired.”
“Do you get to do that?” she asked, with some wonderment in her voice.
“Depends who you ask. If it’s my father, he would say no. He would tell you I’m having a bit of a temper tantrum.”
“Are you?”
Was I? I hated to think that. I hated the idea that any of this was temporary.
“It felt that way at first. I was suffocating under the weight of corporate bullshit. Any thoughts I had about the direction of the company were being ignored by my father and the entire management team. I was this utterly useless vice president and I thought, is this it? Is this what my life is going to be? I wanted out. Running away felt like my only option. I saw the advertisement for a manager of a Christmas tree farm and I thought, that’s it. That’s what I want to do. Something that has meaning. Something that brings happiness to people. A place to plant a tree and watch it grow.”
“Uh. Your company is responsible for feeding, like, half the planet.”
If my eyes could have shot laser beams at her, I’d have made that happen.
“I’m just saying!” she said, putting her hands up defensively in a way that suggested she understood invisible laser beams were being fired at her. “That’s pretty meaningful work. Way more meaningful than making insurance profitable.”
“You would think so. If the goal was actually feeding the planet and sustainability, instead of solely profits.”
“Oh no, you’re not one of those guys are you?” she asked, rolling her eyes. “Businesses can’t grow without profits.”
“I don’t know what you mean by one of those guys, but of course I know that. I’m not anti profits. Maybe you weren’t paying attention to my markup on the schnapps. I’m just about doing it right. Nothing I was doing in that life felt right. Unlike you, I suppose.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, and I could hear the defensiveness in her voice.
“Just that, from everything I’ve heard, you’re killing it in New York. Promotion after promotion. You certainly fit the corporate killer type. High-style metropolitan. From the outside looking in, it looks like you have everything you want. I don’t know that I was ever that content.”
“Yeah, well looks can be deceiving.”
“Kay-Kay, you got something you want to get off your chest? I am your brownie buddy.”
She huffed out a laugh. “I’m brownie buddies with the heir to the McCleer fortune. That’s not something I thought would happen on this trip home.”
“Can I say something you’re probably not going to like?”
She dipped her chin once.
“Your dad needs more regular help. Ethan stops by a lot, but it’s not enough. He’s carrying too much weight with the business, and to look at him, you can almost see it breaking his back.”
“I know,” she said softly. “I mean, I didn’t know. Or I pretended not to notice, because it was easier to mentally deal with it. But I’m here now.”
