Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
He had to go home and change before he went down south to see Ducky. What did a person wear to impress their best friend? Something nice. He dragged his fingers through his hair as he went for the front door. He wished he had time for a quick spa run.
CHAPTER 8
Dread flooded Ducky, making his stomach roil. He absently rubbed a hand over his tight muscles, hoping to ease the nausea from the outside in. With the way the sweat trickled down his forehead, it had to be eighty degrees inside the small executive office. Skye’s training classes were intense, but this was something different.
Maybe the mounting stacks of unfinished paperwork on his desk played a part in his anxiety. There was actual paper, like from a tree, on his desk. For an information technology geek, the growing mound of tree pulp sent a shiver down his spine.
The most likely culprit to this minute’s severe frustration had to do with his brother’s complete disregard of his wishes. Dallas had signed off on the advertising campaign that Ducky had wholeheartedly rejected.
While Ducky had smiled for the camera and rode the shit out of a spin bike to Skye’s instruction, Dallas scoured over today’s focus group reports revealing how they saw Ducky as relatable, genuine, and charming. Yeah right!
He’d bark out a laugh right now if his throat wasn’t so dry with worry. Apparently his before and after full body shots made all those likable qualities even more endearing to the public at large.
Dallas hadn’t even given Ducky a chance to digest this new information, and he didn’t like that at all. His leg bounced as he stood directly behind Dallas’s desk where Sara sat, finalizing the last details with their advertising agency.
“Stop pouting,” Dallas murmured, standing close to Ducky as if he hadn’t just stabbed the blade right in Ducky’s back.
“It’s really good, Ducky,” Skye said from her perch on Dallas’s desk, next to the monitor where she angled her body to view the computer screen. “If it was anyone but you in those pictures, you’d’ve made the same decision Dallas did. You’re being hard to deal with for no reason.”
“They think we can get ad space in Times Square.” Sara jumped around in her seat with excitement, turning this way and that to see all three of their expressions. “There’s a billboard opening. Do we want it? We want it, right?”
“Yes!” Skye said, jumping off the desk. Her boundless energy had her clapping her hands, joining in with Sara’s enthusiasm.
“Absolutely,” Dallas agreed, more sedate until Skye launched her body his way. Times Square must be some holy grail in the advertising world to get that sort of reaction from them.
“What’s it gonna cost?” Ducky asked, looking between his two business partners as if they had lost their minds.
They always discussed the expense of everything before making these kinds of decisions. Greer’s bottom dollar approach played like an anthem in Ducky’s mind. What was the return on this investment? Was it truly worth the cost or making an emotional decision because clearly with all the bouncing going on, emotions were at play. Yes, StreamTrainer made money, but expansion wasn’t cheap. They couldn’t just willy-nilly anything right now.
“Ducky, it’s Times Square. StreamTrainer’s gonna hit the big time. Yes, we can afford it,” Skye teased, shooting out a hand to knock Ducky’s shoulder. “How can we not afford it?”
“We can afford it. Right, Sara?” Dallas asked, finally showing some sign that his brother was still inside his body. About damn time he did.
Sara nodded and put a finger to her lips before she took the call off hold and finished with the advertising agency.
“It’s done. We need to celebrate,” Sara said, placing her cell phone on the desk. She pushed back in the office chair, sliding right between where Ducky and Dallas stood. Her hands went up for high fives all the way around. Of course, he didn’t participate. Ducky rolled his eyes, keeping his arms tightly crossed over his chest as he pivoted away from the group.
The deep inner embarrassment of having his face and body up in lights for the world to see was his cross to bear. The field day his buddies were going to have at his expense made the mortification run deeper.
Speaking of his friends, he hadn’t checked in with anyone in days. If he was smart, he’d start preparing them to get ahead of the teasing. His gaze scanned his desk for his cell phone. He had no idea where it was. How had this become his life?
Work for yourself, they said.
It was more fulfilling, they argued.
What a joke.
A yawn slipped free. He was too tired to really absorb the impact of what they had just done. His arms fell to his sides as he pulled his chair out and dropped into the seat in utter defeat. In hindsight, he should’ve told The Game Awards he wasn’t interested in presenting this year. Never started down this path to begin with. He liked his old self well enough.