The afternoon had been mild, the breeze light and unhurried, with the sun hanging lazily in the sky. It was one of those middle-of-August days where the air felt neither too hot nor too cool, a perfect kind of in-between where the world seems to hold its breath. As Jake stepped out of the office building, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the streets of Pherros. The town, tucked between two larger cities, was quieter than usual. A few locals were out for a stroll, but it was clear that most of the traffic had died down, the lazy hum of the town giving way to the evening calm. A few stray clouds moved across the horizon like forgotten thoughts.
He had his hand on the door handle of his car when his phone rang, the screen lighting up with his father's name. He sighed but answered anyway.
"Jake! I need you to do something for me," his father's voice crackled through the receiver, urgent but not panicked.
"What's up, Dad?" Jake asked, already knowing it was going to be something that would throw off his plans. And, of course, it did.
"I've got a client who's interested in a partnership," Mr. Kirby began, his voice taking on the business tone Jake knew all too well. "I can't meet him; things are... complicated here with your stepmother. So, I need you to go in my place."
Jake let out a long breath, his mind already racing to the bar, his usual escape. "Dad, I'm heading out for a drink. You know how it is. I don't need another thing to think about right now."
"I understand, son, but this is important. We can't miss this opportunity. You're the one there. The manager won't cut it. I need you to seal the deal."
There was a pause, and Jake could almost hear his father's voice softening, knowing his son would try to wriggle out of it.
"I'm not asking you, Jake. I'm telling you. You're there, so you go." His father's tone left no room for argument.
Jake rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smile at how his father always managed to get his way. "Fine. Just... tell me who the client is and I'll do what I can."
After a brief exchange of details, Jake hung up, grumbling to himself. He wasn't sure if he was more annoyed at his father or at the fact that he had been pulled from his regular routine.
He dialed the number his father had sent, only to be met by Mr. Rowland, the client's secretary.
"Mr. Rowland, this is Jake Kirby," he said, trying to keep his irritation out of his voice.
"Ah, Mr. Kirby, good to hear from you," Rowland's smooth voice answered. "My boss has asked you to choose a meeting spot. He doesn't like formal settings... prefers something more relaxed."
Jake thought for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the bar on the corner of the street. "How about Bull Bar? It's quiet enough and close by."
There was a pause on the other end. "That will work. Mr. Sullivan will be expecting you."
Jake hung up the phone and made his way to the Bull Bar, his usual sanctuary, with the anticipation of both business and an evening of drowning his thoughts in whiskey.
When he arrived, the bar was almost exactly as he'd left it the night before, a small rural watering hole, with the faint smell of spilt beer and tobacco hanging in the air. Despite its worn wooden floors and rustic decor, the Bull Bar had earned its place in the town. It wasn't much, but it was enough. A place to sit, drink, and forget.
Jake walked up to the bar and asked the bartender about Mr. Rowland. The bartender nodded toward the back.
"Private room," he said. "Down the hall."
Jake nodded and made his way through the bar, past the wooden tables filled with locals playing cards and laughing, and into a small hallway. There, at the end, was a door slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
At the far end of the room, behind a laptop, sat a middle-aged man, scruffy around the edges but with an air of purpose about him. He looked the part of a businessman—clean-cut, wearing a nondescript gray suit, but his posture as he typed away at his laptop struck Jake as odd for a man sitting in a bar. Most people came to unwind, not work.
Beside him sat another man—much more striking in appearance. Late forties, dressed in a plain button-up shirt and dark jeans, he looked far more relaxed. His features were sharp, almost striking, and his eyes were an intriguing mixture of intensity and calm. He had a glass in front of him, but there was no sign of alcohol. Instead, juice cans sat on the table, a curious detail that made Jake's eyebrow raise.
Jake cleared his throat to announce his arrival, causing both men to look up. The businessman behind the laptop straightened up but didn't offer much in terms of greeting. The other man, however, set his glass down with a soft clink and stood to extend his hand.
"Mr. Kirby, I presume?" The man's voice was warm, smooth.
"Yes, that's me," Jake replied, shaking his hand. "Mr. Sullivan, I believe?"
"Indeed," Mr. Sullivan smiled, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Please, have a seat. Don't mind Mr. Rowland; he's... always busy." He waved vaguely in the direction of his secretary, who didn't even bother to look up.
Jake sat down, feeling slightly out of place but hiding it behind a practiced smile. "My father couldn't make it," Jake said, taking out the presentation his father had prepared for him. "But I'm here to talk about how we can help manage your into the dream farm you want."
Mr. Sullivan nodded, but there was a gleam of curiosity in his eyes. "I'm listening."
Jake launched into the presentation, explaining the services his father's farm management company provided, detailing how they had helped other clients achieve success and growth. Sullivan listened intently, occasionally nodding, and asking questions about logistics, profit margins, and past successes. The conversation, though businesslike, flowed smoothly. Jake's nerves began to settle as he realized he was doing well.
When he finished, Mr. Sullivan leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "This is excellent, Mr. Kirby," he said, looking over the documents Jake had handed him. "I'm impressed. I'll have Mr. Rowland send the signed contract back in a week. This looks promising."
Jake felt a surge of relief. He had done it—he wasn't sure he could pull it off, but he had. "Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. I appreciate your time."
As Jake rose to leave, Mr. Sullivan called after him.
"Jake Kirby," he said, his voice thoughtful.
Jake turned, a little confused. "Yes, sir?"
"I knew who you were the moment you walked in," Mr. Sullivan said, his smile widening. "I've watched your series, you know."
Jake blinked, taken aback. "You've... watched my shows?"
"Indeed," Mr. Sullivan replied. "I'm a fan, actually. My son introduced me to your first series, Becoming a Perfect Man. It was... enlightening. I learned a great deal about life, business, and family from it."
Jake wasn't sure how to respond. He had only written three series, and none of them had garnered this much attention from people like Mr. Sullivan.
"You never mentioned it when we met," Jake said, curious. "Why not?"
"Business is business," Mr. Sullivan said with a wink. "I didn't want to mix personal interests with our meeting. But I'll be honest—I was impressed when I realized who I was dealing with. A writer? In business? You're good."
"Thank you," Jake said, his mouth dry. "That means a lot."
Mr. Sullivan studied him for a moment before speaking again. "You know, I had a friend once—a man who was down on his luck, bankrupt, no hope left. He was about to throw it all away when he saw a movie playing in a shop window. There was a scene of an actor crying, talking about all the struggles of life. My friend said that's when everything changed for him."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Motivated by a movie?"
"Yes, it sounds strange," Mr. Sullivan said, nodding. "But it spoke to him. In the movie, someone told the actor, 'Life isn't made for enjoyment. After sweet comes sour, and after sour comes sweet.' That moment—those words—they saved my friend's life in a way."
Jake frowned. "I don't know... seems like a strange thing to get motivated by."
"You wouldn't understand unless you've been there," Mr. Sullivan said quietly. "I tell you this because I see something in you, Jake. You're going through a rough patch, and maybe you just need to hear that there's more to life than the pain you're feeling right now. Art can motivate. But the real key is... you have to want to change, to take action. Otherwise, it's all just words."
Jake nodded slowly. "I get it. Thanks for the advice, Mr. Sullivan."
"No problem," Mr. Sullivan said with a smile. "I'll see you around."
As Jake left the room, he couldn't help but reflect on what the man had said. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to those words. Maybe the stories