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 snorts at me. “You’re definitely ex-military, aren’t you? Giving orders like a drill sergeant.”
“I asked a simple question.” I glance up. “Tell me how we plan to find these otters without a lesson in manners.”
Her sneakers dig into the sand as she stands, still chewing her food. The dancing light from the flames licks up her body. Another reminder that her bra is missing.
Fuck.
“What?” I clip, staring up at her.
“Why are you such an asshole?” she demands.
“For asking a question?”
“For how you phrased it.”
I fold my arms.
I’m only two bites in and my food is getting cold, but I don’t care. If she wants a fight, I’m game.
“Why are you such a mouthy damned contradiction?” I ask.
“I asked you first,” she throws back.
“Hardly an appropriate question for your boss and mentor.”
Her face tightens. “Yeah? Is that what you are? I didn’t know the prize money meant putting up with this attitude.”
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so grating in my life.
“Actually,” I tell her, my voice calmer than I feel, “you’re being paid an awful lot for an opportunity to waltz in and change my whole company’s charitable direction. You’re welcome.”
Yeah, it’s a low blow, seeing as the money isn’t designed for her at all and she won it fair and square. I’m also the one who agreed to this field test.
Still, I can’t fucking help it.
Destiny glowers.
Her lips thin and her nostrils flare, adding a redness to her cheeks. But it’s her eyes that hold my attention.
They’re so lit they’re almost green, like the cool, forbidding depths of the forest.
Beautiful.
I don’t care that they’re spitting fire at me.
It makes me want to rise to her challenge.
If this woman has to drive me insane, I won’t go down without a fight.
“You offered the prize, Foster,” she tells me, her chest heaving. Her hands land on her hips. “Why do you resent me for claiming it?”
I give her a tiny, twisted smile. “That’s a whole other question.”
“You never answered my first.”
“No, and you can add it to the list of reasons why you hate my damned guts.”
She huffs loudly. “Here’s another question...”
“Sure. I guess you’re seeing a pattern,” I say.
There’s no way I’m going to answer her now—out of pure stubbornness if nothing else.
Childish? Maybe.
No, I don’t give a fuck.
“You say I’m a contradiction like it’s personal,” she says. “Why does that bother you?”
Only a thousand reasons.
Annoyed, I stride away from the fire and rake my fingers through my hair, pulling my thoughts together.
“When someone is made of contradictions,” I say, enunciating clearly so she can understand, “at least one of those contradictions must be a lie.”
“I—what?”
I turn to face her. She’s still standing by the fire, painted in shadow.
“So which part of you is the lie, Destiny Lancaster? What’s true?”
Her face looks pale. “Why does anything about me have to be a lie?”
“I know who your family are. The Lancasters? You think I don’t know you come from money just like me?”
Her father is a billionaire. That’s not insignificant.
It also has me wondering why the hell she needs this two-million-dollar prize at all.
“What’s your game? I just want to know,” I say. “Why play at being a typical do-gooder with big ideas and no cash to fund them? Why doesn’t Cole Lancaster help you fund an entire sea otter preserve?”
Color floods back into her cheeks and her fists clench at her sides.
“What, you’ve been cyberstalking me now?”
“Fair game. Let’s not pretend you haven’t done some digging on me. And do you really think I’d pay out anything for a publicity role without conducting a thorough background check?”
“Jesus, this isn’t panhandling, Shepherd. It’s conservation work. Charity,” she spits. “Also, I give away practically every penny I don’t need. My trust is mostly a fundraising tool. I lived on my scholarship funds while I did my post-grad work, thank you very much. My father would help in a heartbeat if I asked, sure, but that’s not how he raised me. I was brought up to make it or break it on my own.”
I fold my arms, hating that I admire her fuck-you grit.
If she’s expecting a round of applause, though, she’s sorely mistaken.
“Not that it’s any of your business what I do with my family,” she adds.
She’s right.
It isn’t my business at all.
Yet, I still need to know.
There’s got to be more to this story than high-strung morals and an allergic reaction to daddy’s money.
With a final shrug, I settle back down by the fire.
“Come finish your dinner,” I say gruffly. “The food’s getting cold.”
She lingers another second and then grudgingly sits, eating the fruit with her fingers.
“It’s not half-bad,” she says after clearing most of her plate.
I nod, accepting the compliment.
That creeping silence returns.
Tense, but less suffocating after we’ve said a lot of what we wanted. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have any easy answers.