Chapter 3

Isabelle POV "Welcome back," my dad greeted as I entered the farm's storage room, where I was bagging rotten potatoes. "Hey, Dad. Want some?" I offered him my macchiato, but he declined. "How did the interview with Nikolai Ivanov go?" he asked. "Terrible," I sighed. "He stood me up three times." "What a jerk," my dad scowled. "He wasted your time and money. Did he even realize how far you had to travel?" "I doubt he knows geography," I scoffed. "Next time, do your research beforehand so you don't waste a trip," my dad advised. "I already paid for lodging and food," I grumbled, thinking about the wasted expenses. "And I was counting on the advance from the publisher if Nikolai agreed." "What's your plan now?" my dad asked. "I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "I'll figure it out after I talk to my publisher." "I'm sure they'll understand once you explain," Dad reassured me. "I really hope so," I replied, feeling the weight of the situation. The pressure was intense. If only Nikolai had shown up, I'd be on the brink of something incredible. "Enough about me. Mom said you had some good news?" I asked, eager to change the subject. "Yeah," Dad nodded. "Sam Andrews visited yesterday. He offered us a partnership." "Seriously?" I exclaimed, surprised and thrilled by the news. Dad grinned. "That's a game-changer for our farm," I said, sharing in his joy as we hugged. Sam Andrews owned Andrews Food Manufacturing Company, the biggest potato processor in the world. They bought potatoes from various farms, including ours. "Now that we've upgraded our equipment, we can supply more potatoes," Dad explained. "That's incredible, Dad. Your hard work paid off," I praised him. "No, it's thanks to your hard work too. We wouldn't have been able to afford the upgrades without your blogging income," he said, his eyes glistening. Six months ago, Dad was skeptical about my blogging. I remembered our conversation vividly. "You're just wasting your time doing blogs, Isabelle." His forehead furrowed. "It won't get you anywhere. If you go to the city and work for a media company, then your talent in writing would be useful. You'll earn big bucks." "I love working on my blog, Dad. It makes me happy and productive. I find it more fulfilling and important than money." "But we need money to keep us going." His expression suddenly looked tired. "We have too many expenses pouring in every day. It's hard to keep up. The farm needs excellent machines. What we have is obsolete. The house needs repairs, and the twins... they're going to college." I was the only person that Dad talked to about his concerns in the family. He never told Mom because it would only worry her, and that would make her hysterical from sleepless nights. I understood Dad, who carried all the weight on his shoulders. Being the head of the family and the only one earning a living was too much for him now that we were growing and the expenses kept coming in. Dad did not go to college, just like Mom. All his life, he worked on the potato farm that he inherited from his parents. The reason it was important for our parents to get us all into college was that they had never experienced it, and they wanted us to have decent jobs. "I'm putting 110% on it, Dad. I'm very passionate about what I'm doing, and I know success will eventually follow." "When?" His lips twisted, and my heart sank. "Just be patient, please. You promised to give me two years to focus on my dream, and it's only been a year," I reminded him again. "I swear, if nothing works, I'll do what you want me to do. I'll apply to a media company right away." "Okay." He nodded, still frowning. Oh God, I wished he would trust me. Now that I had found success in blogging and paved my own little way, Dad was so happy that I could help him with our daily expenses. I had the plumbing and electricity in our house fixed, and my next project was to do a larger renovation and patch the leaks in the roof. If the book deal fell through, however, I wondered if that would all be a pipe dream. After helping Dad with the potatoes, I found my younger siblings, Elena and Damian, in the kitchen. They were both eighteen, five years younger than me, and had just graduated high school. "Hey, can I have a sip?" Damian asked, eyeing my macchiato as soon as I walked in. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed, with messy hair and tired eyes. He must have been out partying with his friends last night. "Sure, help yourself," I replied, handing him the macchiato. He took it eagerly and buried himself in his phone. I perched on the kitchen counter, watching Elena whip up pancakes for her twin brother. "Just got back?" she asked. When I nodded, she continued, "I heard about the partnership. Dad told me. It's a big win for the farm." "Yeah, it's everything we've wanted," I agreed. "Dad's hard work really paid off." "I'm thrilled good things are happening for our family," Elena said with a wide grin. "Your blogging career, the farm, and Damian and me heading off to college." "Yeah, if only I'd landed that interview. It was the key to my book deal," I lamented. "Don't give up hope. There are plenty of other billionaires in New York who'd love to talk to you," Elena encouraged. She had a point. I needed to broaden my scope. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Elena's suggestion lifted my spirits. I felt hopeful at the idea of interviewing other billionaires in New York. "You're right, Elena. I'll mention it to my publisher when I talk to them later," I decided. "And tell them Ivanov is a jerk," Damian chimed in angrily. "He shouldn't have agreed to an interview if he's too busy hooking up with different girls." "Seriously?" Elena asked, surprised, as she set a plate of pancakes in front of Damian. "Yeah. He's been with actresses, models, celebrities, politicians' daughters—any rich and famous woman he can find," Damian informed us. "Oh, I see," Elena said, sitting across from Damian. "No wonder he's such a sensation." "Exactly. And now he's all over the news with the princess drama," I added. "Yeah, heard about that," Damian said, unimpressed. "He's famous for all the wrong reasons. Can't think of any other billionaire in New York who's as popular." It dawned on me. "You're right. No other billionaire has the same drama as Nikolai. That's why my publisher wants his interview in my book." "Oh," Elena's eyebrows shot up. "So, you have no choice but to interview him then." I sighed heavily. "But after what he did, I don't want to deal with him anymore," I admitted, feeling frustrated by the obstacle Ivanov had thrown in my path. "You're an amazing blogger," Elena reassured me. "You'll be fine. Your writing speaks for itself." "And you can always find other publishers," Damian added with a shrug. "Plenty of them would love to publish your book." "But it's always been my dream to publish with Dreamers Publishing House," I said, shaking my head. "Now that I have the chance, I can't just give it up." "Don't give up on your dream. We've got your back, no matter what," Elena said, squeezing my arm. "Things will work out, Isabelle. Just believe in yourself." Later, I got an email from my publisher asking about my interview with Nikolai Ivanov. I explained how he stood me up three times and showed no interest in being interviewed. I suggested we drop the idea of interviewing him altogether. The next day, I got a response from my publisher. They were reconsidering my manuscript because I couldn't do the exclusive interview with Ivanov. My heart sank. Back to square one, my dreams felt shattered. All my hard work on my first book seemed wasted. I was furious at Ivanov. He had deceived me, making me believe he wanted the interview, only to let me down. He was selfish and disrespectful, not caring about anyone else's time or feelings. I hated him! He needed to be exposed for what he did.

Another email popped up—an invitation to be a guest on Good Morning USA to talk about my blogging success. It was like an answer to my wish. "Of course, why not?" My eyes narrowed as anger overwhelmed me. "Watch out, Nikolai Ivanov. I'm going to expose you to the public."