smile. Just as well, because he had a feeling that a lot of his questions were going to start that way.
‘The bees are kind of...fluid. They move under touch. But the beetles are wedged in hard. A bit like pushing your fingers through barley in search of a pinhead.’
There was a truckload of bees swarming over the hive and Laney’s hands, but something about the totally unconcerned way she interacted with them—and her own sketchy safety gear—gave him the confidence to lean in as she pulled a frame out of several racked in the hive. It was thick with bees and honeycomb and—sure enough—the odd tiny black beetle.
Which she cut mercilessly in half with her thumbnail as her fingers found them.
‘Pest?’
‘Plague.’ She shook her head. ‘But we have it better here on the peninsula. And want to keep it that way.’
Her bare fingers forked methodically through the thick clumps of bees.
‘How are you not a mass of stings?’
‘My fingers are my eyes, so I can’t work with gloves. Besides, this hive isn’t aggressive—they’ll only react to immediate threat.’
‘And your hands aren’t a threat?’
‘I guess not.’
Understandable, perhaps. Her long fingers practically caressed them, en masse, each touch a stroke. It was almost seductive.
Or maybe that was just him. He’d always been turned on by competence.
‘Hear that note?’ She made a sound that was perfectly pitched against the one coming from the bees. ‘That’s Happy Bee sound.’
‘As opposed to...?’
‘Angry Bee sound. We’re Losing Patience sound. We’re Excited sound. They’re very expressive.’
‘You really love them.’
‘I’d hope so. They’re my life’s work.’
Realising was his life’s work, but did he love it? Did his face light up like hers when he talked about his latest conquest? Or did he just value it because he had a talent for it, and he liked being good at things. A lot. Getting from his boss the validation he’d never had as a kid.
Laney gave the bees a farewell puff of smoke from the mini bellows sitting off to one side and then slid the frame back into its housing, her fingertips guiding its way. They spidered across to the middle frame and he grew fixated on their elegant length. Their neat, trim, unvarnished nails.
She lifted another frame. ‘This feels heavy. A good yield.’
It was thick with neatly packed honeycomb, waxed over to seal it all in. He mentioned that.
‘The frames closest to the centre are often the fullest,’ she explained. ‘Because they focus their effort around the brood frame, where the Queen and all her young are.’
It occurred to him that he should probably be taking notes—that was what a professional would have been doing. A professional who wasn’t being dazzled by a pretty woman, that was.
‘Seriously? The most valuable members of the community in one spot, together? That seems like bad planning on their part.’
‘It’s not like a corporation, where the members of the board aren’t allowed to take the same flight.’ She laughed. ‘There’s no safer place than the middle of a heavily fortified hive. Surrounded by your family.’
‘In theory...’
In his world, things hadn’t operated quite that way.
‘If something does happen to the Queen or the young they just work double-time making a new queen or repopulating. Colonies bounce back quickly.’
Not all that different from Ashmore Coolidge. As critical as their senior staff were, if someone defected the company recovered very quickly and all sign of that person sank without a trace. A fact all the staff were graphically reminded of from time to time to keep them in line.
‘So the bees work themselves to death, supporting the royal family?’
‘Supporting their family. They’re all of royal descent.’ She clicked the frame back into position. ‘Isn’t that what we all do, ultimately? Even humans?’
‘Not everyone. I support myself.’
She turned and faced him and he felt as pinned as if she could see him. ‘Are you rich?’
She wasn’t asking to be snoopy, so he couldn’t be offended. ‘I’m comfortable.’
‘Do you keep all the money you make for Ashmore Coolidge?’
No. But she knew that, so he didn’t bother answering.
‘Your firm gets the bulk of the money you generate for them and that goes to...who? The partners?’
In simple terms. ‘They work hard, too.’
‘But they already get a salary, right? So they get their own reward for their work, and also most of yours?’
‘We have shareholders, too.’
Why the hell was he so defensive around her? And about this. Ashmore Coolidge’s corporate structure was the same as every other glass and chrome tower in the city.
‘A bunch of strangers who’ve done none of the work?’ She held up a hand and dozens of bees skittled over it. ‘You’re working yourself into the ground supporting other people’s families, Mr Garvey. How is that smarter than what these guys do?’
He stared at the busy colony in the hive. Utterly lost for words at the simple truth of her observation.
‘Everything they do, they do for the betterment of their own family.’ Her murmurs soothed the insects below her fingers. ‘And their lives may be short, but they’re comfortable. And simply focussed. Every bee has a job, and as long as they fulfil their potential then the hive thrives.’ She stopped and turned to him. ‘They’re realisers—just like you.’
Off in the distance Wilbur lurched from side to side on his back in the long grass, enjoying the king of all butt-scratches. Utterly without dignity, but completely happy. As simple as the world she’d just described.
Elliott frowned. He got a lot of validation from being in Ashmore Coolidge’s top five. Success in their business was measured in dollars, yet he’d never stopped to consider exactly how that money flowed. Always away from him, even if he got to keep a pretty generous part of it. Which was just a clue as to how much more went to their shareholders. Nameless, faceless rich people.
‘I send money to my mother—’
The moment the words were out he wanted to drag them back in, bound and gagged. Could he be any more ridiculous? Laney Morgan wasn’t interested in his dysfunctional family.
He was barely interested in it.
