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)
Yeah, fuck.
There’s a disarming sweetness about her that’s too appealing to simply gun down and send her packing like I want to.
It shouldn’t quell my paranoia so easily.
Yet, it’s oddly reassuring to see all this evidence that her energy is, actually, focused on the environment.
“Do you see it now?” Hannah taps the top of the tablet, clearing her throat.
“She’s... not as bad as I initially thought,” I admit grudgingly.
“See? I promised you I’d pick the best person. That’s her. No sign of greed or glad-handing whatsoever. Miss Destiny Lancaster truly is our best candidate for shining you up, sir.”
Fucking sigh.
I know she’s telling me the truth.
She always does.
I’m just trapped in my own stubborn jackass of a brain and I know it.
Still, I can’t just unceremoniously kick this girl away.
Especially when her sterling image is exactly what I need to sideswipe the Dumas scandal and redirect Home Shepherd’s reputation from the personal mud flying around.
If this woman—startlingly pretty and all about philanthropy—can reassure the public that I’m not a bodice-ripping mafia brat intent on fucking and dumping everything I don’t get killed, she’ll shut down the rumors.
She’ll make people forget and I’ll look like Mr. Fucking Clean.
It’s too perfect.
What I need, what Hannah wants, and what Destiny offers, all tied up in one neat package.
There’s a touch of smugness in Hannah’s smile as she reads the capitulation on my face. This is what I get for hiring a PA who’s too capable.
Snarling, I shove the tablet back in her hands, and she tucks it against her chest.
“Fine. We’ll keep Miss Lancaster for now. Go put her to work, keep her busy, whatever. Just don’t let her go anywhere.”
“Yes, sir,” she says as I head back to the elevator. “Oh, and purely my personal recommendation, but a little apology might not hurt.”
Sure.
About as much as a little kick in the nuts.
“Whatever. Just stop gloating, Miss Cho.”
“Gloating? Perish the thought, Mr. Foster.” Her smugness remains.
“I only agreed to this because it’s the right thing to do. Also, I maintain we could have easily replaced her with someone equally suitable.”
Someone less pretty and considerably less intrusive.
Even a little less pretty would do.
A girl with big ears or missing teeth, or a Wyoming farm boy with a nose fatter than a carrot.
“Of all the applications we received with the criteria we set, Miss Lancaster’s brand was the best fit, Mr. Foster. That isn’t just coming from me. I put together an eight-person committee who—”
A raised hand signals that I’ve already heard enough.
The best.
I’m starting to believe it.
I don’t fucking want to.
Just like I don’t dare give Hannah Cho any response that makes her head bigger than a hot air balloon as I turn and stalk back toward the elevator.
4
A Little War (Destiny)
I stand there fuming for several minutes.
Miss Cho asked me to wait, but I don’t know how long she expects me to stay in the office of a man who insulted me and rushed out like I caused an allergic reaction. I’m not even sure I still have a role at Home Shepherd.
What the hell is his deal?
Okay, so he probably didn’t know who was picked for the program. But am I really so toxic, one past screaming match over the world’s dumbest kayaking trip aside?
I made the effort today. I got dressed up.
I nailed the application process and the endless PR sessions.
I did everything a good employee should on her very first day, never mind a glorified intern for a nonprofit program.
This is a freaking charity program. No one pays me to be here beyond the pile of prize money. I’m far more okay with that than anyone who actually needs an income.
Whatever.
I’ll wait twenty minutes, I decide, eyeballing the empty chair in front of his desk.
Do I dare sit? Or would that burn another bridge for touching his property?
He’s probably a total wacko about that too.
Do I even care what impression I’m giving now?
Yes, unfortunately.
Although if he’s behaving this erratically, maybe the tabloid stuff wasn’t the pointless gossip I figured. Maybe I should have paid more attention.
But screw it.
I drop down in the seat in front of his desk—which is almost comically vast. His enormous leather swivel chair behind it makes me think of a throne as I pull up the story.
Mr. Foster and the actress, Vanessa Dumas.
I speed-read the article.
Long, messy story short, he was involved with her before changing his mind and dumping her abruptly.
No, not just involved. Engaged.
Exactly the kind of scumbag behavior I’d associate with guys like him who have way more money than common sense and more clout than character.
He probably thought he would have his fun, and when he got bored of her, she could skip off and pick up the pieces of her broken heart alone.
Which, from what I can see, she’s doing very publicly.