Undeniable (Cloverleigh Farms #2)(29)

He looked up at me triumphantly. “I made you come in under five minutes.”

My mouth fell open. There were so many things wrong with what he’d said, I could hardly think. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute.” I put out a hand. “You set a timer?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“On my phone?”

“Yeah.”

I shook my head. “How did you even—”

“Your passcode is your birthday.” He gave me an admonishing look. “You should really be more careful.”

“But … I didn’t even notice you playing with it.”

“I know. I’m good, right?”

I brought my legs together. Tight. “You are vile and loathsome. And I never took any bet.”

He burst out laughing. “Doesn’t matter. It was more of a challenge I set for myself. Under five minutes.” He wiped his mouth and sat back. “Damn, I’m good.”

I wanted to punch him. For giving me an orgasm. What the fuck was going on?

“This whole thing was a ruse, wasn’t it?” I demanded. “You were never worried you didn’t know what you were doing with women. Or that they were faking it.”

“Fuck no,” he scoffed. “Maybe I didn’t go to Harvard, but I know my stuff.”

I shook my head. “You were just mad you hadn’t made me come.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I cannot believe I actually had warm, fuzzy feelings toward you tonight.”

“Aww.” He put a hand on his heart. “That’s cute.”

“Fuck you.”

He put his hands on the button of his shorts. “I mean … we can. I’m certainly willing and able.”

“Fuck. You.” I yanked the door open, grabbed my phone from the floor, and took off down the hall, without shoes, without underwear, without dignity.

And I swore—I swore—to myself that I would never let Oliver Ford Pemberton get near me again.

It was a promise I couldn’t keep.

What was wrong with me?





12





Oliver





NOW



I relaxed. That could not have gone better.

Beside me, Chloe was talking a mile a minute about the marketing possibilities of our heritage whiskey—what we might call it, the potential for ad campaigns, the label on the bottle, the price point—and I could hear in her voice how thrilled she was with the idea.

“And you’re positive the farmers are going to sell to you?” she asked, her brows knit together.

“Well, at this point, there are only two full-time commercial farmers left on the island,” I told her. “A father and son by the name of Jergen and Josef Feldmann—Jacob and Rebecca’s grandson and great-grandson. Both widowed, still living in the original house. They grow some Feldmann rye right now, but not a ton of it. ”

“Incredible,” she marveled. “And you’ve spoken to them?”

“Several times. They’re willing to increase production right away and devote several hundred acres exclusively to Feldmann rye. They’ll plant it this fall.”

“Really? They agreed to it just like that?”

“Uh, not exactly.” I readjusted my cap on my head. “See, they’re looking to get out of the farming business in the next few years. Jergen’s getting older, and Josef has a bad leg. They had a buyer all ready to give them top dollar for their land, too. Some automotive tycoon who wants to build a vacation house.”

Chloe recoiled. “Fuck that. He can’t have our land.”

I laughed. “That’s the thing. It’s not ours. Not yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, in order to secure the land for our purposes, I had to offer to purchase it outright.”

Her jaw dropped. “You mean, not just buy the rye from the Feldmanns but the farm itself? Won’t that be expensive?”

“Uh, yeah. I had to promise to come close to what the tycoon was offering, which was almost a million.”

Her jaw fell open. “Sheesh.” Then she grinned and thumped the tops of my legs. “But that’s like a drop in the bucket for you, right? And what better investment for your inheritance than land? It’s not like it will lose its value, right?”

I cleared my throat. “I hope not.”

“So did you agree on a price?”

“I think we’re close.”

“And you need me to seal the deal, eh?” She elbowed me in the ribs. “Not to worry, I can charm anyone into anything. My dad always says I could sell sand to the beach.”

“Good. Because I’ll definitely need your help. Not only do we need them to agree to our price, but we need them to stay on for at least the first few seasons. I’m no farmer.”

“Can we find a tenant farmer?”

“You want to trust our precious Russian rye to a tenant farmer who doesn’t know the land?” I asked her.

“I see your point.” She was quiet a minute. “I’m sure for the right amount of money, they can be persuaded to stay. We’ll just have to make sure it’s worth their while. Good thing you have deep pockets.”