Love Was Not The Plan

Chapter 3

Thumping the thick carpet of the Veridian Agritech boardroom as he followed his father inside, Adam Wesley seemed bored with the whole process, already. The CEO, a man sweating slightly in an ill-fitting suit, gestured nervously to plush chairs. Adam’s gaze immediately snagged on the woman directing them. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Clad in a dark grey suit, her hair pulled back severely, carrying an aura of efficiency. She moved with precise grace, placing water glasses before them.

"Mr. Wesley, Mr. Wesley Junior," the CEO began, "welcome. This is Sarah, my executive assistant."

"Charming" Adam murmured, his voice low and smooth. Sarah straightened, meeting his gaze for a fleeting second before looking back to the CEO.

"Adam," Joe Wesley’s voice cut through, sounding sharp. He didn’t look at his son. His focus was fixed on the CEO, but the warning was unmistakable. Adam slid into the chair beside his father, a lazy smirk playing on his lips as he watched Sarah retreat.

The meeting kicked off. Charts were projected, and the projections were discussed. Adam remained impassive, doodling on the corner of his notepad, and stealing glances at Sarah who also took meticulous notes, trying to hide her blush.

"...and so, despite short-term fluctuations," the CEO finished weakly, "our proprietary nutrient delivery system represents a significant long-term value proposition."

Joe Wesley leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Significant value requires significant proof, Mr. Hendricks. Your projections are optimistic bordering on fantastical. Your burn rate is alarming. And your 'proprietary system' seems remarkably similar to three others we've seen this month." He stood, buttoning his suit jacket. "We'll review the data in detail. You'll have our decision by Friday. Sarah, thank you." He nodded curtly and got up. Shaking hands with the CEO, he took his leave, expecting Adam to do the same.

Adam lingered for a second, catching Sarah's eye again. He offered a deliberately charming smile. "Busy schedule, Sarah? Maybe I could buy you a drink later? Discuss… synergies?"

Sarah’s cheeks became red that instant, but she needed to keep it professional. "My schedule is full, Mr. Wesley. Have a safe flight back." She said, stretching her hand for a handshake. Upon accepting it, Sarah snuggled a note into his hands, which he took secretly with a tight smile. He always played his cards right.

Finally meeting up with his Dad, Adam opened the note to see her number, followed by a simple instruction, “call me!” He smiled again. The universe always found a way to bless his nights.

The grocery store beamed with customers as Adam shoved a cart listlessly down the aisle. He scanned the shelves, his eyes running through the items that laid on them. He picked up some artisanal olive oils imported from Tuscany. His cart veered slightly as he checked his buzzing phone. It was another vapid text from a woman whose name escaped him.

And then it happened. His cart collided hard with another coming from the opposite direction. Glass shattered. Golden, viscous olive oil exploded from a broken bottle, splattering across the pristine floor. It soaked the lower legs of his expensive grey trousers, and pooled over the toe of his left Italian loafer.

"Jesus Christ!" Adam roared, fury instantly replacing his boredom. He looked up, ready to unleash his irritation, and found himself staring into wide, startled brown eyes. It was another woman, probably younger than Sarah. She was dressed in simple, dark jeans and a faded blue sweater that looked like it had seen better days. Her face was pale and devoid of makeup. She clutched a small basket holding only a bottle of plain Greek yogurt and a single banana. She looked exhausted and fragile that if possible, even tge wind could knock her down.

"You!" Adam snarled, gesturing angrily at the spreading oil slick and his ruined shoe. "Are you blind? Or just completely incapable of watching where you're going? Look at this mess! These were new!"

The woman flinched at his volume, her initial shock hardening into something else. Her once soft startled eyes, now held a subtle disdain. She looked down at the oil splattering her own worn sneakers, then back up at him. Her voice came out low and surprisingly steady despite its quietness. "You weren't looking either. You were staring at your phone. Your cart hit mine." She spoke gently but firmly.

Adam blinked, momentarily thrown by the lack of cowering or immediate apology. "That doesn't excuse—"

But she was already turning away. "Excuse me," she murmured, not even looking back, stepping carefully around the expanding pool of oil and shattered glass, walking towards the diary section.

Adam stood rooted, stunned. He looked down at his ruined shoe, the expensive leather darkening with oil, then back at her retreating figure. Who was she? That level of quiet defiance was unusual. And very compelling. Taking his eyes off her to look down at the mess created, he groaned again and left the scene, to find a solution to the mess.

The underground parking garage was cold. Done with shopping, Adam strode towards his gleaming Rolls-royce, still fuming slightly but now more curious than angry. But as he was about unlocking the car, he spotted her immediately. She was unlocking a sensible, mid-range sedan parked several rows away.

"Hey! Wait up!" Adam called out, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. He quickened his pace.

She paused, hand on the car door handle, and turned. Upon sighting who it was, she rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. Up close, Adam saw the dark smudges under her eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks. Her expression was blank but reeked of exhaustion.

"Look, back there… the oil. I overreacted. I was frustrated about… other things." He gestured vaguely. "I shouldn't have shouted. My temper… it gets the better of me sometimes. I'm Adam." He offered a tentative smile. "Truce?"

She regarded him silently for a moment, still wearing her vague expression. "Okay," she said simply. Her voice was husky.

"Apology accepted. Have a good day." She turned back to her car door.

"Wait!" Adam took half a step forward.

"That's it? Just 'okay'?" He asked, trying to ease the tension.

"So rushing off? Hot date?" The attempt at charm felt hollow even to him.

Her hand froze on the door handle. She didn't turn around, but her posture stiffened. "Please move away from my car." Her voice remained gentle, but held a new edge.

Adam didn't move. "Or what? You'll call security? Tell them the big bad rich guy bothered you?" He tried a grin, still aiming for some humor. "Come on. I apologized. Least you could do is tell me your name. Let me buy you a coffee to make up for the…" He gestured towards the supermarket entrance. "...olive oil incident?"

She finally turned fully, her eyes locking onto his. The weariness was still there, but now overlaid with a cold, unmistakable disgust. With her voice, low but piercing,

"You are exhausting. And exactly what I expected from someone who crashes into people and blames them for their own carelessness." Her gaze swept over him, lingering for a split second on the oil stain on his trousers with undisguised contempt. "Move now! And for your sake, do not make me repeat myself!”

Adam’s jaw dropped. Was he just insulted for trying to be playful? Before he could formulate a retort, she yanked the car door open, slid inside, and slammed it shut. And just as he watched her still looking stunned and speechless, the engine started with a quiet hum.

He stood frozen, momentarily speechless, as the sedan reversed smoothly. He had to step back sharply to avoid the bumper. She didn't look at him again. The car pulled forward, its headlights sweeping over him as it turned towards the exit ramp, and then it was gone.

Adam Wesley stood alone in the cold, oily-smelling silence. His initial intrigue evolved into a potent mix of outrage and a burning, obsessive curiosity. Who was that woman? That level of quiet fury, that absolute dismissal, wasn't just insulting. It was a challenge. His knuckles were white where he gripped his car keys.

He pulled out his phone, his earlier boredom replaced by a sharp, focused intensity. He scrolled past meaningless names and hit dial on his investigator's number.

"Vincent," he snapped the second the call connected, his eyes fixed on the empty space where her car had been. "It's Adam. I need you to find someone. Woman. Mid-twenties. Dark hair, brown eyes. Pale, looked tired. Drove a grey Honda Civic, late model. Illinois plates, I think. Was just at the Green Market downtown... Yeah, that one... Within the last hour. I don't have a name. Just find her. Whatever it takes. Drop everything else." He paused, the image of her disgusted face clear in his mind. "I don't care how long it takes or what it costs. Find her."

He ended the call, sliding the phone back into his pocket. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by a hard, determined line. A new hunt had begun, and he was ready to go any miles to get this hunt.