CEO Stops By A Farmers’ Market, Not Expecting The Woman Running The Flower Stand To Win His Love
The Billionaire and the Flower Stand
Wesley Rener didn’t plan to stop. His driver had already rolled past the first few stalls. But something about the splash of wildflowers tucked between stacks of tomatoes and jars of honey caught his eye.
“Pull over,” he said suddenly, removing his sunglasses.
“Sir,” Malcolm glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
“I said, ‘Pull over.'”
Wesley was already loosening his tie. It was Saturday morning, and he was supposed to be halfway to the Hamptons for a board meeting he didn’t want to attend but couldn’t avoid. Still, something about the flower stall had stopped him cold.
It wasn’t just the flowers; it was her. She stood behind the stand in a faded blue sundress, her auburn hair twisted up in a messy knot. There was a streak of dirt on her cheek as she bent to rearrange a bucket of sunflowers.
She wasn’t trying to sell anything. She wasn’t smiling for customers. She was just there, real and effortless.
He stepped out of the black car, ignoring the curious glances from the older couple buying cucumbers at the next stall and the boy handing out apple samples nearby. His polished shoes clicked against the pavement as he approached her.
She didn’t look up.
“Are these local?” he asked, nodding to the bouquet of wildflowers in a mason jar.
She glanced up then, her green eyes meeting his with a flicker of surprise, maybe even suspicion.
“Nope,” she said, picking a leaf off a stem. “Got them shipped in from Paris this morning.”
His brow lifted. She smirked.
“Of course they’re local. I grow them myself right out behind my house in Oakidge.”
Wesley felt something twist in his chest. He hadn’t expected her to be funny or beautiful or sarcastic.
“You always talk to customers like that?”
“You always show up in a suit and tie to buy flowers at a farmers’ market?”
“Fair point.”
He reached into his jacket pocket. But before he could pull out his wallet, she held up a hand.
“Don’t even think about it. You’re about to pull out some shiny platinum card, aren’t you?”
He hesitated.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“This isn’t one of those overpriced city shops. Cash only. And I don’t charge hedge fund prices.”
He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had talked to him like that. Wesley Rener, CEO of Rener Tech and billionaire by thirty-two, was currently the most sought-after name in Manhattan’s business gossip columns. He was rarely challenged and never dismissed.
But she didn’t care.
“I don’t have cash,” he admitted.
She shrugged.
“Then you’ll have to come back next Saturday.”
He grinned, the first real grin he’d felt in weeks.
“Do you always turn away customers?”
“Only the ones wearing Italian leather shoes and looking like they haven’t touched dirt in 15 years.”
He looked down at his shoes.
“Fair enough. I’m Wesley,” he said, extending a hand.
“Wesley Rainer?”
She didn’t take it. Instead, she wiped her hands on a towel and leaned back against the table.
“Tessa Oakley.”
Tessa. He tried the name out. It suited her. She eyed him.
“Wait. Rainer as in Rainer Tech? Rainer Towers? Rainer everything?”
He nodded. She folded her arms.
“What’s a billionaire doing at a farmers’ market?”
He tilted his head.
“You googled me fast.”
“Didn’t have to. My brother installs solar panels. You bought out his company last year.”
Wesley blinked.
“Oakley Energy?”
“Yep.”
He remembered the deal. It had been clean and profitable, with nothing shady. But still, the way she looked at him made him feel like he needed to apologize.
“I didn’t shut it down,” he said. “We kept the jobs. Your brother still works there, doesn’t he?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and picked up a bouquet of orange tulips, bluebells, and tiny white daisies. She held it out to him.
“Here.”
He reached for his wallet again.
“Put that away,” she said. “Consider it a ‘welcome to real life’ gift.”
He took the flowers, stunned.
“Thank you.”
She gave him a half smile.
“You’ll owe me next week.”
As he walked back to his car, bouquet in hand, he heard her call after him.
“And maybe lose the tie next time!”
Inside the car, Malcolm raised an eyebrow.
“Flowers, sir?”
Wesley didn’t answer. He just stared at the petals in his lap, still smiling.
