Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Actually, I remind myself, he’s an investor and board member, not the CEO, so at least he won’t be the head of the table. Not sure that helps a lot, but it feels less intimidating to have him be one of some, not the king himself.
The car delivers me to a high-rise on Fifth Avenue, and this is it. I’m here. I’m about to make one of the biggest moves of my life and pitch for what could change my future. I close my eyes and say a little prayer before I walk into the fancy lobby toward security. It’s not long before I’m in the Moore’s Department Store lobby, which is quite dark—a bit like their brand right now, in my opinion.
The ceilings are low, with industrial pipes and dim lights above that send a contrasting message to the fancy multi-toned reception desk and brown velvet chairs. There is nothing here that says “This is Moore’s,” but rather makes you ask, “What is Moore’s?” I check in with the receptionist, a pretty twenty-something brunette who introduces herself as Cindy.
Cindy is quick to call her backup and lead me down a long hallway to a glass-encased room where a table full of what appears to be a dozen people await me.
And just like that, I’m standing at the front of the room, at one end of the exceptionally long rectangular table, and to my shock, Ethan is, in fact, at the opposite end. He is the head of the table, and he’s watching me with keen blue eyes, as Cindy introduces me to the room, but I see no one but Ethan. I see nothing but the implications of his presence in that one seat. At this point, it’s safe to assume he’s the majority stockholder, and he’s downplayed his role in Moore’s. He’s in charge. He must have approved me being here. There was no boss above him who made the decision, only someone who may have suggested my visit, but ultimately, he would have said yes or no. Ultimately, Ethan made the decision to bring me here.
And I’m really not sure what that means.
What game is this? If he knew who I was, and he’s claimed to not know, why not just call me and talk to me? Why put me on display? Why? Why? Why to all of this?
My mind tries to reason that he perhaps thought I knew how involved he is with Moore’s from the beginning, thus his hostility toward me last night. And yet, as I stand here, my stare locked on his, our intimate encounter burns in the air between us, crackling with a spark I know can become a flame.
“Welcome, Sofia,” Ethan greets, rather than “Ms. Cameron,” as one might expect in this environment, and there’s a familiar tone to his voice, an intimate tone that rumbles rough and wild through me, that I do not believe anyone else will notice, but oh, I do. I so do. Just as I notice his sky blue tie that matches his intelligent eyes, that have seen far more of me than anyone in this room ever will. A detail he and I both know all too well. It’s settled between us, even in this room, with a sea of eyes watching us.
It will always be between us.
And I’m not sure where we go from here, but I do believe he has a plan that I’m not sure will go the way I’d hoped.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The silence between myself and the room filled with judges and jurors of sort, specifically Ethan, is a tiny box in my mind that I am trapped inside and desperate to escape. A feeling that drives me to speak, to somehow, someway, take some form of control, which, at present, is all Ethan’s. And while I might have enjoyed his control when we were both naked, I do not now.
“Thank you for having me here today,” I say, glancing around the room, but when my attention lands back on Ethan, as we all know, he’s the one who allowed me to be here today. And now that I know just how in charge he is, I wonder what his role and mindset are in doing so, too.
His eyes narrow on me ever so slightly, a keen intelligence in the way he watches me that I can only call a mix of curiosity and calculation. “We’re looking forward to your presentation,” he assures me, and then rather randomly, it feels, he asks, “Would you like to sit or stand?”
I blink, deer in the headlights, and assume he means I’m awkwardly standing as he motions to the chair opposite him and in front of me. “Feel free to claim the seat if you so wish.”
“I’ll run your slideshow,” Cindy whispers, indicating the materials I was allowed to send in advance. “The display is here,” she indicates a screen that would be behind me if I were to sit, and my brain begins to work again, my good sense returning. I need to see what I’m talking about, not question it.