by Nicki Elson
“Then why don’t you want me to tell her?”
He exhaled his irritation. “Why do you think?”
She leaned her head back onto her seat and tilted her face halfway toward him, gliding her eyes half an inch farther to look directly at him. “Because you know deep down it was a scuzzy move.”
“To flirt with a pretty lady?”
“Is that all that happened?” She felt her fingers tense on the magazine, bending its edges, and knew there was too much hope in that question.
“Umm … no.” He shook his plastic cup, rattling the melting ice cubes at the bottom, and looked into it instead of at Lyssa.
She sat up, lowering the magazine. “You guys actually … how? I mean, when, where?”
“She’s got a door on her office.”
“But you talked about the new software … ”
He shrugged. “She considers that sort of thing foreplay. By the time she finished manipulating the stats and graphs, I had her half undressed and was manipulating—”
“That’s enough! I get the picture, and, trust me, that is so not a visual I want to have.”
“I beg to differ. That woman has an ass that won’t quit.”
Lyssa wrinkled her face, again trying to block the visual. “What exactly does that expression even mean? An ass that won’t quit? Think about the primary function of an ass—I’d think that’s the sort of thing you might want to quit.”
His smug countenance faltered for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It was a beautiful experience. Please don’t turn it into something tawdry and cheap.” He tilted his head slightly forward and watched her, his blue eyes softening to something just shy of an apology. It was a valiant attempt to charm her back into their usual camaraderie.
It didn’t work. “Yeah right, cuz it was so expensive.” She snapped her gaze back onto her magazine, more chafed by the tryst than Hayden’s single date with Sabine should warrant.
“That … that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“I know.” Briskly flipping one of the pages, she made a genuine effort to read the article she landed on. A few sentences in, she took a deep, calming inhale. “Actually, Hayden, no worries about any of this. I should really thank you.”
“For what?”
“For confirming the brilliance of my recent resolution to swear off men.”
Chapter Nine
Approximately four thousand bumps in the road later, Lyssa and Hayden’s driver told them it’d be another mile or so to their destination. The two consultants sat alongside an older gentleman named Joe in his pickup truck. He’d been their arranged ride from Indianapolis International Airport and was now taking them to the offices of L.T. Bell, a private funds investor. The asset allocation team had green-lighted Hayden’s idea for a pool of wildcard managers, and L.T. had come to Hayden’s attention as a possibility via contacts in private investing circles. While they’d been given data on L.T.’s investment portfolios, neither Hayden nor Lyssa had been able to dig up much information about the investor or her operation.
The truck turned onto a long, gravel drive and rolled past a spent cornfield and rows of something low and clumpy that appeared to still be in season. Lyssa was surprised at how quickly Indiana’s metropolitan terrain had turned to farm country. When she’d spoken to L.T. Bell a week earlier to set up the meeting, the woman had said she’d arrange for lodging and airport transportation. After being met at the airport by a pickup truck instead of a town car, Lyssa was a little nervous about what kind of hotel awaited them.
The truck came to a stop at the side of a large, white farmhouse. Joe pushed on the horn a couple of times, and soon a middle-aged woman in overalls appeared at the screen door. She stepped onto the square of cement that served as a stoop and waved, prompting Hayden to open the passenger door and Lyssa to slide out behind him.
“Ms. Bell?” Lyssa asked, reaching out to take the approaching woman’s extended hand.
“It’s Lula around here.”
“Nice to meet you, Lula,” Hayden said, taking his turn with her hand while Joe pulled their suitcases from the back of the truck.
Lula’s long, mostly gray hair was tied back loosely in a pink chiffon bow that contrasted with her rustic overalls and long-sleeved T-shirt. She wore no make-up on her lined and freckled face and looked every bit the farm woman … save for the pink bow. She examined the two city slickers’ attire and asked, “You got anything more farm-friendly in those bags?”
Hayden and Lyssa exchanged quick glances before Lyssa answered for them. “Sure, yeah, we’ve got jeans.”
“Good. I’ll show you to your rooms, and you can change before we get started.” Lula led them through the side door into a kitchen and past a swinging door into a large living room with a staircase immediately to the right. Nodding to Hayden, she said, “Your room is up those stairs, first door to the left.” She then led Lyssa through the large room and down a short hall to a bedroom at the back of the house.
“Thank you,” Lyssa said, hoisting her suitcase onto the high, full-sized bed. “It’s very nice of you to put us up in your own home.”
Lula’s mouth widened into a smile. “I don’t live here. This is my office.” She shut the door, leaving Lyssa confused. Everything she’d seen so far had been purely domestic. There was definitely nothing office-like about the yellowing lace curtains in this bedroom or the patterned quilt on the overstuffed bed. The hairs on her arm prickled as she thought about what a great premise this would make for a cheesy, horror flick—a girl and a guy lured to a remote farmhouse under false pretenses … a psychotic farm woman … Did a cloud pass, or had the house darkened of its own volition? Changing into jeans, a T-shirt, and a Sherpa-lined hoodie at record speed, Lyssa rushed back to the bottom of the staircase, anxious to see Hayden—without an ax jutting from his bloodied forehead.
He didn’t keep her waiting long and soon came skipping down the stairs. “This place is great, isn’t it?” His eyes danced as he finished buttoning the cuff of his neatly pressed plaid shirt.
Lyssa kept her voice low. “Yeah, great. But … she doesn’t live here. She said it’s her office.”
Hayden nodded, emitting a quick “Hmm” as if this information was merely interesting rather than disturbing.
The screen door in the kitchen creaked, and Lyssa jumped when Lula barked, “You two ready? I’ll show you around while we talk.” They followed the sound of her voice into the kitchen. After scanning them, their hostess grabbed a worn denim jacket off a hook by the side door and handed it to Hayden. “You can wear this.”
He looked at the coat doubtfully, seeming particularly wary of the long smudge of brown along one sleeve. He put it on anyway, and Lyssa bit back a smile at seeing his farmer-chic look smothered by farmer-genuine.
On the way to the red barn near the house, Lula explained that this farm had been in her family for generations. “Nobody’s lived here full time since my grandparents.”
“And it’s your office now?” Hayden asked.
“That’s what I call it. It’s a great place to think.” She opened up the barn doors and nodded toward the building’s single occupant—a black and white cow. “This is Cheryl.” She bent and lifted a handful of hay, holding it up to the cow’s slobbery mouth. “I suppose you’ve got a whole slew of questions for me. Pull up a bale and shoot.”
The consultants sat down on nearby rectangular bundles of straw and asked Lula to explain the inconsistency in style across her portfolios and the wide fluctuation in the number of holdings.
She answered, “I look to buy stocks I think will go up in value. Period. It doesn’t matter if they’re large or small companies, are currently undervalued, or show strong potential for growth. Sometimes I find a lot of companies to invest in; sometimes I don’t.”
“Aren’t you concerned about the risks of putting your eggs into too few baskets?” Hayden asked.
“There aren’t any chickens around here, Mister King.” Lula winke
d. During their follow-up questions, she shied away from giving away the specifics of her investment process, saying there’d be time to get into all of that later, so they moved on to ask about her client list. She didn’t have any corporate clients, and other than one midsized endowment, she managed money exclusively for private investors.
“What makes you interested in diving into the institutional game now?” Lyssa asked.
“I’m not sure I am.” The investor leaned her elbow over Cheryl’s gate.
“What makes you want to consider it?” Lyssa revised, shifting on her bale to reposition a stiff shaft of straw that’d gotten too friendly.
“I suppose the challenge has always appealed to me. It’s the big tent at the circus, but I’m not keen on jumping through all the corporate hoops. This wildcard pool you explained when you called last week could be the perfect segue for me—if Delicious Hawaii will truly let me do my thing and not try to confine me to one ring. Now, would you say it’s fair for me to ask you two a few questions?”
Lyssa smiled. “Sure.”
Sliding her eyes to Hayden, Lula asked, “What kind of women do you date?
The unexpected question caught Lyssa off guard, and she let out a derisive chuckle. Lula’s gaze flicked back to her. “Why do you laugh?”
“I’m sorry. That slipped out. No reason.” Lyssa shook her head
“There’s always a reason,” Lula said. “What’s yours?”
“Go on,” Hayden said, laying his palms flat on the back of his bale and leaning on them. “Please explain to both of us what you find so funny about the women I date.”
Lyssa looked back and forth between her companions. This was a very strange turn in the conversation, but then everything about the visit had been peculiar so far, so why not? “There’s nothing funny about the women—they’re gorgeous, intelligent, career-driven … did I already say gorgeous? I only laughed because I’d been teasing Hayden about the quantity of them.”
“Do you date a lot of women?” Lula asked him.
“I haven’t settled on just one yet. So yes, it’s not incorrect to say I date a lot of women.”
“He could probably fill up all these empty stalls with them,” Lyssa added, gesturing around the barn’s interior.
“What about you?” Lula asked. “What kind of men do you date?”
Hayden sat up straight. “Ah, there’s the real question. You see, she doesn’t date men.”
“Women?” Lula asked.
“No,” Lyssa said, resisting the urge to shoot a murderous glare at her partner. “I’m taking a little break from dating right now.”
“A little break?” Hayden asked. “So you’ve come down from the permanent boycott you expressed on the plane?”
Lyssa looked at him sideways, sneering. “It’s likely to be a very, very long break.”
He held her gaze, and something deep in his blue eyes sparked. She could see he liked getting to her and damn if she didn’t like that he liked it.
It took Lyssa a moment to tear her eyes from his, and when she did, she saw that Lula had shifted to lean her back against Cheryl’s gate while she crossed both arms in front of her. A muted smile played across her unpainted lips as she watched the consultants bicker.
“How does this relate to investing?” Lyssa asked. She assumed the woman intended to work their dating preferences into some sort of analogy.
“It doesn’t.” The investor pushed herself away from the gate, brushing hay from her jeans and walking past them to exit the barn. She gestured for them to follow and led them to an old, rusted pickup truck, which they all piled into.
“So what would you like to know about the client?” Hayden asked after he’d slammed his door.
“We’ll get to that.” Lula drove them into a dry, open field. As they bumped along, Lyssa wanted to resume her own line of questioning but was afraid a sharp jolt might cause her to bite her tongue if she opened her mouth. The truck finally slowed and stopped in front of what looked like a small cemetery surrounded by a low, wrought iron gate.
“This is the family plot,” Lula explained, her pink chiffon bobbing behind her head in the mild wind that kicked up. Crunchy leaves skittered between low headstones as she swung open the entry. Walking up to an oblong stone, Lula kissed her fingertips and touched it.
Lyssa came to stand at her side while Hayden stayed back a few feet, folding his denim-clad arms across his chest and planting his feet shoulder-width apart. He’d had his fun in the barn and was back in business mode.
“This is my granddad,” their hostess continued. “Even as a youngster, I was never much interested in the things girls were supposed to be interested in. Instead of running off to pick flowers or play with Grandma’s dolls during visits to the farm, I’d sit on the porch with him. He talked a lot, but he also listened, and together we solved a lot of the world’s great mysteries.” She chuckled.
It occurred to Lyssa that her earlier horror-film fears should’ve been heightened now that they were sitting in a remote cemetery, but Lula’s weapon of choice didn’t seem to be axes or anything of the sort. No, she apparently planned to string them along to death. A quick glance at Hayden’s tightening jaw told Lyssa her partner was thinking along the same lines.
“One thing Granddad continually impressed upon me was that everything comes down to the individual. People want to blame what they call society for humankind’s problems, but society is made up of individuals, and they’re the ones who direct it. Sometimes they don’t realize until too late where they’ve let things get to, and by then they’ve given up too much power to political and corporate forces. But all’s not lost. It’s simply time for the individuals to turn the societal tides bit by bit. Unfortunately, patience isn’t something we humans are known for.”
It certainly wasn’t Hayden’s strong point at the moment. Lula kept her thoughtful gaze on her granddad’s memorial, so she didn’t see Hayden’s twitching eye or the WTF look he leveled at Lyssa. When their host’s silence lingered, he ventured, “Your granddad sounds like a very wise man … Was he the one who got you interested in investments?”
Lula turned and looked at him. “Not really.” Then she got up and returned to the truck without another word.
Back at the house, Lula led them into the kitchen, saying, “Time to start dinner.”
Lyssa noticed Hayden’s clenching and unclenching fists. As much as she enjoyed watching the typically in-control associate’s irritation mount, she didn’t want him to combust, so she spoke up. “Lula, it’s been lovely getting the tour of your family farm, but surely you realize that the purpose of our visit is to get a deeper understanding of your investment process and resources.”
Lula smiled at her frankness. “I do. You know the saying about kindergarten teaching you everything you need to know? It’s bullshit. At least when it comes to investing. Everything I ever needed to know, I learned on the farm. Here, I’ll show you.” She hoisted a full paper bag onto the long country table and pulled out an unshucked ear of corn. “When you look at this, your mind tells you what’s inside—a cob filled with plump, yellow kernels, right? But you won’t actually know what’s in there until you peel off the external layers.”
She nodded toward the benches that ran along either side of the table, indicating that her two visitors should take a seat. They did, and some of the tension in Hayden’s features relaxed now that they were finally talking investments again. Unless, of course, Lula was only speaking literally of corn. It was too soon to tell.
The farm woman/investor handed them each a leafy ear and set Lyssa’s mind at ease when she talked specifically about peeling back the various layers of a public corporation’s external appearance. She encouraged Lyssa and Hayden to play along, and they shucked alongside her as she explained her evaluation methods. Peeling back the last leaf and snapping off the stem, she threw the leaves into an empty bag. “Once you dig through all that, you throw it away. It’s what on the inside that matters. Someti
mes it’s very surprising what you find.” Half the kernels on her cob were pale and shriveled.
She continued her analogy with the corn silk and brought over a large, silver bowl for the healthy ears. Then she left, saying she needed to go pick up dinner, and instructed them to finish husking the rest because they’d be having the sweetcorn as a side dish.
After she’d disappeared into the twilight and they heard her truck start up, Hayden said, “Why do I feel like I’ve been Mister Miyagi’d?”
“Mister who’d?”
“Mister Miyagi, from The Karate Kid.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of him, but what does he have to do with this?”
“Heard of him? Bates, have you never seen The Karate Kid?”
“I’m pretty sure it came out before I was even born.”
“What difference does that make? It’s a classic.”
“Whatever. What does it have to do with shucking corn?”
“It has to do with Lula Bell getting us to do all her work under the pretense of teaching us.”
“You think what she said was all a load of crap?”
“No. I think she was being legit, but it still doesn’t give us enough to recommend her for the wild card pool. It’s getting too late to dig any deeper tonight—man, I’m starving—but we’re going to have to play hardball with her tomorrow morning. She’s obviously got something good going on, and we’ve got to peel off enough of her layers to make sure what’s underneath is healthy.”
“Aha, so I see Mister Miyagi’s lessons are sinking in.”
He grinned for the first time since they’d been in the barn, then he gazed longingly at one of the ears of corn. “If she doesn’t make it back soon, I’m going to start gnawing on these things raw.”
“They only have to boil for ten minutes. I’m sure she won’t mind if we get started without her.” Lyssa jumped up and found a large pot, filled it with salty water, and turned on the heat while Hayden went over all the ears to free them of the last remaining silken threads.
