Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He grinned at me. “What is funny now?”
I wet my lips, catching my breath as I glanced down at the computer behind us. “I bet emails will be more exciting now,” I teased, and he laughed.
Asher gripped my hips, hauling me up and off the desk, walking us toward his couch across the office. He settled us down on it, smiling at me. “I’ll never be able to sit at my desk again without seeing you perched and moaning on it.”
Warm shivers danced along my skin. “Should we go?” I asked, and he cocked a brow at me. “Don’t you have meetings or things to do? A schedule?”
He shook his head, leaning to kiss me again. “The only thing I’m interested in is right here, and we’re just getting started.”
11
ASHER
“It would just make me feel so much better if she had one of those helmets you’ve been working on,” Mom said through the speakers of my car as I headed toward the little burger joint Harper and I had made our own since moving to Charleston. “She’s your only niece, Asher. I would think you’d want her to be safe on her ski trip.”
“Of course I want Ally to be safe on her ski trip,” I replied, downshifting as I took the tight curve off the highway exit. My phone beeped and Alan Parker’s name flashed on my screen. I tapped the decline button. He was on my team of assistants, but he’d have to wait. I never hung up on my mom, not even for Dad. “I can have someone send one of the helmets from our professional lines. I’ll just need her measurements. I’m sure Harper won’t mind asking one of the lab techs to fit one for Ally.”
Harper was going to be annoyed as hell, but she loved our niece just as much as I did, and since the helmets were her baby, I had no doubt she’d get it done.
“Harper shouldn’t have to ask to fit a professional one, Asher.” Disapproval dripped from Mom’s voice. “The kind of technology you’re making millions from that department should be put to good use and made accessible for people who aren’t professional athletes.”
My stomach sank as I turned at the green light. “Yeah, I know, Mom. That’s what we’ve been pushing for all year. The cost of the professional helmets is way too high for this market—”
“Then find a way to get them lowered,” she urged. “Honestly, you have all that money, all that brainpower, and it’s just…” She sighed, and I felt it in my damned bones. I could picture her now, rubbing the bridge of her nose, struggling to find the words that would adequately express her disappointment without raising her voice that I was wasting my gifts. “It’s just frustrating to know that your niece can’t just walk into a sporting goods store and pick up the best helmet to keep her safe on her trip.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” I said, falling back on my conflict de-escalation training.
“Do not handle me, Asher Silas Thompson!” Mom snapped.
“Not trying to, Mom.” I didn’t remind her that I’d dropped the Thompson from my name a decade ago so I’d stand on my own in the business world. “Just trying to get to a place where we can have a guilt-free conversation.”
She sighed again.
“Look. I’ve already told you that Ally will be covered. She’ll be safe. I’m not sleeping on this tech. I’m in round-the-clock discussions with the lab, the production line, marketing, all of it trying to get the price tag down to an accessible level that doesn’t leave us with a zero profit margin.” I pulled into the burger place and searched for a parking spot.
“You shouldn’t have to make a profit on safety equipment!”
“Yes, I do.” I barely kept my tone in check. “Because I answer to a board of directors. Silas Tech is a publicly traded company, Mom. You know that. And the numbers are looking pretty promising for us to begin production on the recreational line in January once we have the retailers on board.” I located a spot and pulled my R-8 into it.
“You certainly don’t answer to your board about that little hockey team you spend your time playing with,” she said sweetly. “And look, I love that you found another focus for your passions.”
“Apparently,” I said dryly. “And no, I own the Reapers. I started the team before I ever took Silas Tech public, and I will always solely own the Reapers.” No one was going to tell me what to do with my team. Sure, we had a general manager, but I made the big calls. I was where the buck stopped.
“But that’s not your only distraction right now, is it, honey?” Mom asked, and it was only the concern in her voice that kept me from snapping at her.