Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 737(@200wpm)___ 590(@250wpm)___ 491(@300wpm)
She nods.
That makes a little more sense.
Destiny dresses like someone familiar with high fashion, which becomes second nature when you come from money. The Lancasters have a vast regional coffee shop empire stretching from Montana to Hawaii and they’re well known in these parts.
Wasn’t there even some drama with her old man and his wife years ago? Some sort of headline-grabbing rescue story?
I can’t remember.
“Yes, the coffee people,” Hannah says. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what the hell is?” I rake my hand through my hair.
Goddamn.
She doesn’t seem to notice my irritation intensifying like a grease fire. In the five years she’s worked for me, I haven’t been able to provoke a single negative response from her.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
Not deliberately, but I’m the kind of boss who would try anyone’s patience.
“Don’t worry, I did some digging into her motivations. She’s sincerely renounced her family’s money in favor of doing honest nonprofit work,” she says. “That’s another reason she stood out in a field of well-qualified candidates. For Miss Lancaster, this isn’t just about raising her own profile.”
“So?” I demand.
She sighs patiently as we walk through the lobby.
“So, if you’re seen working with her like a perfect gentleman, while she publicly vouches that you have no ulterior motives as a funder and mentor, then perhaps she’s it. Your golden ticket out of any alleged escapades with Vanessa Dumas.”
Shit.
I hate that it makes too much sense.
I rub the back of my head as we sweep through the lobby, twitchy bystanders parting for us like Moses and the sea.
Unlike my office, this lobby is all white and gold and busy as hell.
Interns with coffee in their hands and harassed expressions on their faces hurry toward the elevators, lanyards around their necks swinging.
Normally, it’s the kind of chaos I enjoy because it’s productive.
Today, I can’t even bask in the joy.
“Look, Mr. Foster, all you really have to do is be decent for a few weeks with her,” Hannah says. “Is that so hard?”
Miss Cho, you have no frigging clue.
“I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I can’t,” I say, though it’s a valid one, considering the way I’ve already handled this Destiny situation.
Like a magnificent asshole.
Hannah side-eyes me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, though she doesn’t mean it. I think she just gets her kicks from calling me ‘sir’ when she’s right and waiting for me to admit it.
Infuriating.
If I had a real leg to stand on, I’d have already argued back, but I don’t.
So I fold my arms and watch the comings and goings of busy people rather than look at her. Everyone looks like they’re already five minutes late, but there’s lots of idle chatter in the air.
Hannah waits calmly, just as she always does.
I drop my arms and she nods in acknowledgment.
“Your shareholders are already feeling jumpy,” she reminds me.
“What else is new? They’re human fleas.”
She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Well, after other events in Seattle and certain CEOs going off the rails with erratic behavior, they’re rather keen to avoid any disasters with Home Shepherd.”
I sigh.
“Even if I did engage in a relationship with Miss Dumas—which you know I didn’t—it was fake. Hardly in the same realm as buying a billion-dollar company for three times its value and then crashing it with no survivors,” I snap.
“Of course it’s different, sir. I’m just saying, it would be a shame if your stocks were to fall any more thanks to this, and people start making noise about your ouster. What’s Home Shepherd without Shepherd Foster? You just need to reassure them that you’re still thinking. You’re not going feral.”
“People are too goddamned focused on billionaires’ lives,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Except when their goofy antics end in a happily ever after, of course. Just look at Brock Winthrope or Miles Cromwell. Shit, if I’d tossed out my brain and married Vanessa damned Dumas, no one would care what I did after that. They’d have our photos posted to a few wedding blogs and call it a day.”
“...the trouble is that you and marriage don’t mix, so it’s a nonstarter. Never mind how Miss Dumas would make an objectively terrible partner.”
Right.
That still doesn’t mean my private life is up for grabs—although no one in the media ever gets the memo.
They’re always on the hunt for new juicy scandals, and Vanessa has thrown them a hunk of red meat.
But without the public fascination with billionaires and what we do with our dicks, this crap would’ve died on the vine already.
As it stands, they’re still talking about it online.
Still poking at my darker past in an effort to exaggerate rumors of the present.
If Legal hadn’t assured me the fake relationship would come to light in any litigation—making me look even worse—I’d have shut Dumas up with crushing damages in a heartbeat.
“I agree it’s unfair,” Hannah says. “But this is the reality of the situation, and it’s very much worth doing damage control. Since we have a perfectly good cause lined up... why don’t you learn to crack a smile and play along?”