Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Among other reasons,” Carter said.
“We want to be our own bosses, and not work for soulless corporate overlords,” Drew said with a wink. His statement didn’t seem very wink-worthy, but he looked sexy when he did it.
“And you’ll make environmentally friendly buildings?”
“We’ll source the materials for others to make them,” Carter said. “We’re not architects.”
“Oh.” My confusion must’ve shown on my face because Tristan spoke up.
“More companies would probably spring for sustainable materials if they were easier to come by and offered at a reasonable cost. That’s where we come in. We’ve made connections with people all over the world, and in another six months, we should be able to hit the ground running.”
“Once we hire staff, get more funding, secure our clientele, and do a million other things,” Carter said. Then he shook his head at the collie who was eyeing him hopefully. When the tall man shut him down, Zeus came over to sit next to me.
“But we’ll get it done. Tristan’s on top of this,” Drew said. “Carter, too.”
“We all are,” Carter said.
“It sounds like it.”
Their dedication and assurance made me wonder about my own project. Ever since Ronnie had told me about the chance to meet Miranda on the press tour, I’d gone back and forth about whether I could possibly tell her about my screenplay. In the shower, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. But while poking at my scrambled eggs, it seemed ridiculous for a brand-new writer like me to even dream of it.
After breakfast, Drew insisted that the guys do the dishes, since I’d cooked. Carter didn’t look too happy about it, but Tristan was willing enough, except something seemed a little off about him today. I couldn’t put my finger on what, though. Maybe he’d just overslept, or gotten up on the wrong side of the bed or something.
I needed to write—it seemed more important than ever to finish the draft of my screenplay before the press tour started—but I decided a little fresh air would do me good.
There was more snow on the ground today, which made walking a little less slippery, though still not easy. The boots I’d found were ski boots, so they didn’t have the super thick tread that the men’s boots did. After ten minutes or so picking my way across the flattest ground I could, I headed back, stopping at the little sheltered alcove I’d found before.
I dusted off the fallen log, and this time, I packed some snow up against the branches that provided shelter. When I was done, I had a chair with a back. A cold chair, but it was relatively comfortable. It was pleasant enjoying the fresh air and the lovely scenery until my teeth chattered.
Later that morning, the four of us settled down at the worktable. I asked Carter if he needed his laptop back, but he waved me off as he pored over his phone.
Drew worked for about an hour before he excused himself upstairs to jump on a conference call. The men seemed to have some sort of rule that if you needed to take a phone or video call, you didn’t do it in the main room. That was nice.
Then Carter whistled for Zeus, and they disappeared outside. I tried to get back into the scene I was writing, but I kept peeking at Tristan out of the corner of my eye—and not because he was handsome. He was, but right now, his forehead was wrinkled in concentration and his mouth turned down at the corners.
“What are you working on?” I asked him to get the conversation going even though I saw he wasn’t working. For at least the last twenty minutes, he’d doodled on a notepad, which seemed unlike him.
Tristan didn’t answer for a moment, and then he pushed the pad away from him. “Nothing.”
I hesitated, not wanting to intrude. Finally, I said, “That doesn’t seem like you.”
He sighed. “It’s not—usually.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
He closed the lid of his laptop as he looked over at me. “For anything, really. But in this case, a phone call. Or a text.”
“About?”
“A deal. An important one. We’re trying to contract with a company for a steady supply of recycled steel, which would go a long way towards getting our company off the ground. I found the source. I handled the negotiations. But now it’s all in the hands of the lawyers.”
He looked so tense, I wanted to reach over and pat his hand. “I hope it goes well.”
“Me, too.” He checked his phone even though he’d just checked it a minute ago. “I don’t like it when I’m not in control.”
He looked like a man who was used to being in control, but I couldn’t empathize very well because I didn’t know what that felt like. All my life, I’d been under the control of someone else—a director. My mother. My agent. Until I’d come out here, pretty much every decision in my life was made by someone else. So I switched subjects. “What were you drawing?”