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)
All fine and dandy.
I don’t enjoy that aspect of the job, but it doesn’t matter.
I do it anyway without breaking a sweat.
I know what’s expected.
It’s not like I can’t handle being unable to read some people.
Hannah Cho taught me that no matter how often you see some folks, no matter how well you can predict their behavior, you can’t always read their minds.
Again, fine.
But Destiny Lancaster?
She’s a different scenario altogether.
For starters, I’m used to people sucking up. When you’re this rich and this connected, most people are interested in impressing you.
Not her.
That makes me sound like an arrogant asshole—and it might be a little true—but that’s what I expected. I thought the influencer we hired would be giddy about the opportunity.
Not pissed because I didn’t meet her expectations.
Hannah assured me she was the one, and her platform and attitude seem right, but she’s not the gushing type. That’s such a surprise I don’t know what to do with it.
“The lobby looks nice,” she says before we exit it.
The lobby. The fucking lobby.
“I’m glad you approve,” I clip.
She glances at me but says nothing as I take her through Home Shepherd’s relevant floors. When my people see me coming, they pretend to be hard at work, averting their eyes, and she glances at me again.
I pretend not to notice.
From the incisive way she takes everything in, it’s clear she understands what she’s seeing. A well-oiled kingdom with a religion of efficiency and excellence in everything we do.
Of course, she never compliments me on any of that.
Fair, when I never compliment her elegance, her poise, her figure, her carefully controlled expressions and tone as she greets names I struggle to remember.
Everything she says is thought out.
I think she’s taking reams of mental notes with those light-blue eyes. Whenever she looks at me, her expression frosts over.
But sometimes, when she watches someone else, she reminds me of the sporty girl in the Instagram shots. The one I shouldn’t be so eager to see again.
Stop it, you fuck.
She’s not here to smile and look pretty and certainly not for your amusement.
But when she does?
Goddammit, I’m shredded.
She’s so bright and lovely I can’t look away.
If Destiny Lancaster’s superpower is blinding the world with her sweetness, she’s already given my miserable eyes third-degree burns.
Even if I wonder how much is real and how much is just her being diplomatic.
Every face she wears is for profit. For effect. To sell herself to the company.
From what I’ve seen, she knows what she’s doing. She’s too controlled to let anything slip.
Everything I see is for show.
Everything.
I can’t forget that.
Mark Cantor, the intern, works on the ninth floor. So after the whistle-stop tour, I lead her over to where he’s sitting.
Normally, the Director of Corporate Giving has this office, but in her absence with Mark picking up the slack, he’s temporarily in here like he owns the place.
He grins behind his bushy beard as we approach and practically knocks the chair down as he hurries over to shake my hand.
“Mr. Foster! Always a pleasant surprise,” he says like the talking golden retriever he is.
Seriously, the kid is such an ass-kisser he’s probably got a lip balm subscription.
I nod at Destiny next to me.
“Mark, this is Destiny Lancaster. She’ll be leading our Young Influencers program and you’ll be working with her. Destiny, meet Mark Cantor.”
Mark transfers his hyperactive handshake to her.
“So nice to meet you!” He smiles at her, charming in an irritating, clean-cut way.
It’s hard to pin down what annoys me most about him when it isn’t his impeccable work record.
Probably the fact that he’s always so eager to please, fawning over anyone he thinks might be able to forward his career. He’s known around here as the bagel boy for showering the office with breakfast and pastries a few times per week.
But he’s a working beak with a bright future, and Destiny smiles back at him, clearly pleased.
“Hi, Mark,” she says warmly, shaking his hand. He blinks a little, probably more dazzled by her than he has any business being. “Apparently, I’m going to be working with you?”
“Yeah! I’m filling in for Rachel,” Mark explains. “Otherwise, you’d be working with her. But I have to say, I’m pumped for the help. I’ve seen your Instagram. Awesome work! Cool dog, too.”
Destiny laughs and eats it right up.
I flatten my hand against my thigh to prevent it from becoming a fist.
Little ass-kisser, and this time it’s an ass he has no business being around.
“Thank you. It’s nice knowing I have any kind of reach. Sometimes, you wonder,” she muses.
“You kidding? You’re on fire.” He waves a hand frantically. “Have you decided on a charity yet for the big prize?”
“Not yet.” Her lips thin thoughtfully. “I definitely want to take my time and make the right choice.” She shoots me a sharp glance, and her lips curl into a humorless smile. “After all, it’s not about the money, but how it’s used.”