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)
Hmmm.
Victim or not, Vanessa isn’t so much picking up the pieces as flaunting them like hunting trophies so everyone can take a good look.
Still, it doesn’t erase his assholery.
It’s easy to believe he’s a heartbreaker. He’s handsome enough, in a coldhearted lizard blood kind of way.
I figured out money and good looks were a deadly combination when I was fourteen. You’d need to be a saint not to let great wealth go to your head.
Oh, plus that faint scar on his cheek that makes him look mysterious and dangerous in an annoyingly sexy way.
If this Vanessa did fall hard enough to get bruised, I can kind of see the appeal.
Totally theoretically, of course.
He’s so not my type.
Shepherd Foster is my anti-type.
I only find a guy attractive if his maturity has grown past the moody Neanderthal stage. But I get why she might find him attractive.
How, objectively, the jet-black hair and ocean-blue eyes and that slashing faded scar might entice some girls who let their butterflies do the thinking.
At least this program finally makes sense, though.
I’m here so Shepherd Foster can save face.
Sighing, I scroll through another article bursting with sensational claims.
Vanessa is outing all his dirt, even poking at some organized crime rumors I don’t quite understand. When I try to search deeper, nothing turns up.
Huh.
The way it’s played up, the crazier it seems, and the less confident I feel about believing anything.
Everything that came down with Dad after my mother died spoke volumes about where truth ends and entertainment begins in the media.
Bad rumors spread like wildfire when the right people repeat them like mockingbirds. It’s all too easy for hearsay to become fact in the public eye.
That’s the world of billionaires, though.
A world I swore I never wanted to be involved in, having seen enough of it growing up.
All scandal and image management and security concerns.
No flipping thanks.
Ugh. I should’ve known this opportunity was too good to pass up.
No one’s motives are that pure, especially CEOs of powerful security companies.
But by sticking this out, I’m going to get the funding for my conservation work. That’s the important thing, all that really matters in the big picture.
I stare at my phone thoughtfully. There’s a stark black-and-white portrait of a perfectly scowly Foster staring up at me like the judgmental prick he is.
What kind of man is he for real?
The messy picture Vanessa Dumas painted or something more human?
Before I can dwell on it, the door behind me flies open. In stalks Satan with his usual bold, forceful strides. Miss Cho follows in his wake, wearing what seems like her normal serene expression.
Irritation flicks across Foster’s face as he sees me in the chair, but he thrusts out a no-nonsense hand without waiting for me to stand.
A power play.
“Shepherd Foster, CEO,” he says crisply. “You’ve already met my assistant, Hannah Cho.”
Wow.
I guess she really did 'manage' the tantrum right out of him.
I sneak a quick glance at her, but she doesn’t show a flicker of emotion.
Foster doesn’t move, waiting demandingly.
“So, we’re just going to pretend this is our first meeting?” I say, folding my arms.
His eyes glint like knives. “I’m going to swallow my damned pride and start over, Miss Lancaster. The rest is entirely up to you.”
Lovely.
We’re caught in a breathless staring contest for the next thirty seconds.
He’s not offering an apology for going off on me, and I’m not expecting one.
I’m honestly tempted to leave him hanging for a few more seconds or to neglect his handshake altogether. He was disgustingly rude, after all, when all I wanted was to keep his dumbass from becoming the richest person to drown in the Sound.
But I’m stronger than temptation and smarter than my snark suggests.
“Destiny Lancaster.” I stand and shake his hand lightly, dropping it as soon as I can. His fingers feel oddly warm, strong, too firm to call it diplomatic or comfortable. Another power play, I guess.
Another burst of irritation snaps at his eyes, but he just crosses behind his desk and drops into his chair. “You can go, Miss Cho. I’ve got it from here.”
She pauses for a second, looking at me for half a beat before nodding.
“Of course, sir.” As commanded, she turns and shuts the door gently behind her.
Yawning silence.
Three seconds feels like thirty years.
The large glassy modern clock on the wall ticks obnoxiously loud. I wonder if he wants that thing to intimidate everyone who comes into his citadel.
If he’s hoping it’s going to work on me, he’s SOL.
“Sit so we can talk,” Foster says, waving at the empty seat next to me. “You already made yourself at home once.”
“What was I supposed to do? You stormed off and left me here alone.” I don’t mean to say it, but he’s pissing me off.
Just because he’s filthy rich doesn’t mean he has to be a colossal dick.