Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112701 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“No, thank you, Mr. Cavendish.”
His head jerks back, and his eyes widen at what I’d just said.
“No?”
“No,” I repeat. “Not like this.”
This might be the first time ever that I’m willing to walk away from the thing I want most to prove a point, but here we are. I’ll take a lot of crap—have in the past—but I won’t be called a whore. He might not have actually said the words, but they were insinuated.
He sighs. “Please, Raven, let me—”
“I’m not interested in taking a position because you are atoning for your actions, sir. When I get this account, even if it’s just a temporary gig, it will be because I’ve earned it.” I sit back further in the chair, pursing my lips. “Contrary to what you believe, I’ve earned everything I’ve ever received. I’m damn good at my job.”
My voice holds strong until the last part, when it cracks. I’m exhausted and angry.
“I was wrong, and I’m sorry,” he says, leaning forward at his desk. “Your pitch was excellent. The best I’ve seen. You understand the Diosa brand and potential talent in a way that I don’t think anyone else in this office could ever manage. I doubt the applicants I was set to meet today could do it.” He takes a deep breath. “Diosa needs you. I . . . need you. On this account,” he adds quickly.
I bite my cheek, considering his words. I want to give in and celebrate my winnings, but I won’t allow him off the hook that easily.
“I’m not sure I can work with you, Mr. Cavendish. Not after last night.”
He nods several times, looking remorseful. “I can’t say I blame you, but I need you to know that yesterday was a grave exception. I’ll never act like that again. I can assure you of that.”
I blink, eyes narrowing in on him. He looks sincere, but still . . . I’m pissed. And rightfully so. He owes me some answers, and right now, I feel justified in demanding them.
“What happened to you yesterday? Why were you so drunk?”
He blows out a harsh breath, head falling back onto his shoulders.
“That’s a long story.”
I shrug. “I have time, and if you want me on this account, I suggest you start talking.” I offer a forced bright smile. “Sir.”
He huffs a laugh. “A ray of sunshine even on a cloudy day.”
I snort. “Song lyrics are supposed to charm me?”
“It’s just the truth. Even angry, you manage to smile.”
“It’s forced,” I say, grinning.
He chuckles, but all humor quickly dissolves as his features darken.
“I was in London, meeting with my father,” he begins, and I nod because I’d heard as much. “He’s decided to retire at the end of the year and wishes for me to take my place as the head of the company.”
I scrunch my nose, eyes roaming over his still posture.
“You don’t want it.” It isn’t a question. I could tell by his body language that it wasn’t good news.
“I don’t,” he admits.
“Why?”
From what I know of Cavendish Corporation, it was always the goal for him to take over one day. It’s in the company’s manifesto on their website. So why would Charles not want to step into his legacy?
He grunts. “For starters, my father and I don’t get along these days.”
These days.
As in they did at one time. What could’ve happened to change that?
I don’t get the chance to ask because he continues.
“New York is my home now. I have no intentions of returning to London for any period of time.” He folds his hands on the desk in front of him. “Now, let’s discuss the new campaign position you will be working on.”
“No,” I say, and his one eyebrow lifts. “I want to know why you said what you said about me.”
His lips purse, and he looks genuinely confused. “About?” he drawls, and I wonder for a moment if maybe he truly doesn’t remember that part.
Not that it makes it any less horrific.
“You implied that I’ve risen in this industry by . . .” My eyes land on the wall of windows behind him as I try to gather courage before I say the next part. Looking back at him, I let a big breath out and quickly utter, “Sleeping my way through the offices.”
His eyes widen, his jaw clenches, and then his hands fist together on the table.
“I can assure you, Raven, that had nothing to do with you. In my lousy state of drunkenness, I clearly confused you with someone from my past,” he says, rushing on. “Not that it makes my actions any less heinous. But I give you my word. What was said did not and would never pertain to anyone in this office.” His head lowers. “I’m bloody embarrassed by my actions.”
I snort. “You should be.”
His head lifts, and all I see is sadness.