He chuckles. “They make the best muffins here. And have you tried their apple pie?” He rolls his eyes appreciatively.
“No,” I admit, “I’ve never eaten here.”
“Oh, you should. Antoine is a Michelin chef. He’s amazing.”
I smile politely. I’ve seen the prices of Midnight’s degustation menu, and a four-course meal would easily cost me a day’s wages. A wine pairing would cost me two days’ work. So yeah, not going to be eating here anytime soon.
He has a swig of coffee. “I’m sorry about your dad. That’s tough. So you’re filling in for him at work?”
“Yeah. Trying to keep up with his schedule and not let things slip.”
“That’s tough on you. How many staff does he have now?”
“There are eight of us. But he’d been building up his client list over the summer, and now we’re suffering a bit trying to make sure we don’t fall behind.” I break off another piece of muffin. “Four of the guys are working on a big landscaping job on the east side of the island, which only leaves four of us to do all the regular gardening work.” I suddenly remember that Midnight is a client. “Of course we’ll always make sure we complete all the projects in a timely fashion.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Yeah, because I was about to complain. You’re such a slacker.”
I poke my tongue out at him. “I just don’t want anyone to think I can’t cope. I’ll get it all done, even if I have to work through the night.”
“That won’t be necessary. The bank terracing can wait if you have other pressing tasks. We won’t just hire another firm if you’re a few weeks late.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“You shouldn’t be working Saturdays,” he scolds. “Everyone needs time off.”
“So what are you doing in the office?”
He blows out a breath. “I was meeting with the board of the Nga Whetu Rangatahi Foundation.”
“Oh, I read about that. You’re going to be the CEO, aren’t you?” It’s an impressive role. The Foundation is relatively new, but there’s been a lot of publicity in the press about it. It looks as if it’s going to make a significant impact on underprivileged Maori youths in the area, giving them access to opportunities they wouldn’t normally have. With Kingi’s Maori background, his connection to outdoor activities, his youth and success in the business world, and the fact that he’s such a nice guy, he’s a natural choice for the role.
“Maybe,” he says, and he pulls a face.
“Oh? Problems?”
He sighs. “Have you seen the front page of this morning’s Korero?”
“No.”
He takes out his phone, brings up the page, and hands me his phone.
Trying to ignore the fact that it’s a huge, brand-new, latest-model iPhone that must have cost him a small fortune, I read the article. Then I look up at him in shock. “Is it true?”
He frowns. “You mean did I jump off the waterfall? Well, yeah. But I hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. I wouldn’t do that. Give me some credit.”
I’ve insulted him. “I’m sorry. Of course you wouldn’t.”
He scratches at a mark on his jeans. “I was showing off. But I wasn’t drunk.”
I look back at the phone. “Oh, was that where you met Sabrina Pearce?” She’s a stunning supermodel, famous throughout the country for having advertised a popular perfume and fashion brand, and she’s also appeared in a couple of New Zealand movies. I’d seen photos of them together on Insta, but I wasn’t sure if they were still dating.
“Yeah. More’s the pity.”
“Oh dear. Is everything not rosy in the garden of lust?”
“If you’re asking if I broke up with her, the answer is yes.”
“You dated the most famous supermodel in the country, and thenyoudumpedher?” I give him a curious look. “Why?”