Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“Hang tight. I’m on my way. I’ll see if I can tweak it with Angie,” I say.
Hugo grumbles into the phone. “I realize you’ve witnessed some misses with my work since we met, but I’m no puppy. You’re welcome to try, but I trust you’ll come to the same conclusion.”
“Pixelation is a resolution issue, not color scheme,” I tell him.
“Yes, and I’ve gone through six damn ink cartridges using higher resolutions. The color bleeds off the page with the high res image.”
I’m shocked, wrinkling my nose. Heron insists on the best of everything, and we don’t have a decent printer?
“We need a better printer,” I tell him.
“Custom orders for hardware like that can take weeks. So few people use print ads anymore. The boss felt we could get by with a medium line. Trouble is, the airline’s a flying dinosaur, and they still want non-digital marketing from the year 2000.”
I can’t disagree there.
“I’ll be there soon to make a decision.” I end the call and look at Paige. “Sorry, I’m going to have to cut this short.”
“Mag?”
“Nope. The company.”
“Same difference.” She looks hurt. “You need a ride?”
“Sure!”
We don’t talk much on the drive to HeronComm. Mostly because I’m on the phone with every stupid print shop in the city. I find one with super high quality printers and send Hugo to print the test piece there. If it passes quality assurance, we’ll do up everything there. It costs more, but the airline contract is so lucrative it hardly matters.
If that doesn’t work out, though...I’ll be contacting the airline CEO and eating crow.
When I end the call, we’re at the office. I thank her and reach for the door.
“No problem.” Her eyes connect with mine, her blond hair hanging loosely as she looks at me. There’s something on the tip of her tongue.
“Paige? What’s up?”
She grimaces, then gives me a strained smile. “I hope you come home tonight, Brina. Don’t let that rich boy use you or demand your whole life.”
“I’ll think about it.” I give her a quick hug, shut the door, and step on the sidewalk.
Then it happens.
A black cat darts between me and the door, no doubt a stray searching for warmth in the February cold. The little beast stops and stares me down with its back arched.
I stay stock-still. I’m in no mood to be clawed, let alone poisoned by bad luck, even if my rational side says I should call a shelter and get the animal picked up.
After a standoffish minute, he relaxes and trots off around the corner, into an alleyway before I can do anything.
Ugh.
Such bad luck.
Not what I need more of today.
I head into the lobby, thinking of Paige’s words. I could just ask Armstrong for a ride to my parents’ place later.
Magnus is expecting me, but I need to think about what Paige said.
I get that he wants to avoid conflicting interests and do things by the book.
But he’s Magnus freaking Heron.
If our relationship could close a deal—and it has with the airline—it wouldn’t be a secret.
My phone pings.
Mag: I haven’t heard from you the whole day. Is everything okay?
I ignore him and step into the elevator. I haven’t responded ten minutes later when my desk phone rings. Probably Hugo letting me know how the test turned out.
“Is it good?” I say as soon as I’ve picked up.
“Why are you at the office?” Mag snaps off.
“Oh. There was an issue with the airline brochures, but I think we’ve worked it out. How did you know I was here?”
He’s quiet for a minute.
“I checked the security cameras when I didn’t hear from you all day.”
“What? It hasn’t even been a whole day.” My phone buzzes. “That’s Hugo on the other line. I have to find out if the test piece worked.”
“For the brochure?” he asks, this growly doubt in his voice.
“Yes. If it didn’t, I have to go back to Arrowpoint with more options.”
“Armstrong’s on his way to pick you up. Why don’t you come over and fill me in on what went wrong? If the test piece isn’t up to snuff, I’ll call the CEO myself,” he says, trying so hard to brighten the mood.
Sigh.
My heart sinks. He knows something’s wrong, but I can’t even get a handle on what it is myself.
“Because you don’t think I can handle it?” I whisper, trying to sound bantery.
“Because I don’t think you should have to handle it, woman. You help creative, not fix their messes.”
He chuckles, a sound I love so much, and it makes me wonder if I’m being ridiculous.
“You gave me this project. If the CEO needs a call, it’s mine to make, isn’t it?” I bite my lip.
“Fair enough, but make it from here?” I can hear him smiling, genuinely wanting me back at his place.
Sweet Lord, what was I thinking?
This doesn’t sound like a man playing games, eager to smash up my heart. And good luck ignoring his magnetism.