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)
Turns out, they let me submit a shortlist I can finalize later.
I haven’t decided on a solid charity yet, but I’ve made a list of my top five. And revised it. And swapped out top place about ten different times.
But it’ll be one of them.
They’re all fine conservation organizations with good track records of preserving habitats for endangered species.
Not an easy list to narrow down. Since announcing I’ve joined Young Influencers, I’ve had so many charities reaching out to ask me to consider them. Not just in Seattle, or even the US, but organizations from all over the world.
As a side perk, since my announcement with all the promotion floating around, I’ve gained five thousand new followers.
So maybe it’s not all a waste of time.
I hope so, anyway.
That’s why I’m here.
To get the word out and make a real difference.
Finally, after the exhausting press junket dies down, my first day of real work in the office arrives.
The Home Shepherd offices are at the top of a high-rise stabbing up into the grey canopy of clouds over the city. When we reach the top floor, I try not to wince.
Despite the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seattle in its busy midmorning glory, something about this place makes me feel like sunlight itself has suddenly ceased to exist.
Not to be dramatic, but it looks like the antithesis of environmentally friendly.
They could have at least dropped a few plants around to break up the clinical vibe. Some accent color. Even just green. We don’t need flowers rioting everywhere, just something to offset the drabness.
“Miss Lancaster?” A slim Asian woman steps out from behind the desk and murmurs something to the other receptionist, who offers me a curious glance. “Hi, I’m Hannah Cho, Mr. Foster’s executive assistant.”
I’m no stranger to high fashion and class, but everything about Miss Cho is pinned so perfectly in place she makes me feel small. She’s dressed in royal navy-blue and cream, her blouse fastened around her neck and her sleek bob flawlessly styled.
When she looks at me, I know she’s making a mental note of every hair that’s out of place, how bright my skin looks, and how hard I’m forcing this smile.
For a billionaire’s daughter with a very important day, I’m sure I look like a mess.
It’s a little scary how accurately she takes it all in without even breathing a snide remark.
Jesus.
Believe it or not, I did make an effort today. But against her militantly professional, picture-perfect attire, I’m convinced I spit toothpaste down my blouse. Or maybe, in the quick walk from the taxi to the front doors, the wind tossed my hair into a bird’s nest.
Dad always taught me to be on time when that’s a basic courtesy everyone deserves, but maybe I should have been more than five minutes early.
Did she expect me to arrive earlier?
“Hi,” I say quickly before I can overthink myself into paralysis. I give a quick wave and tuck my hands behind my back. “I’m Destiny Lancaster. Nice to meet you, Miss Cho.”
“Thank you for being on time. That’s always useful here at Home Shepherd.”
“Of course.”
Of course it is. What kind of tantrum does Foster throw when people show up late?
She gestures down the wide corridor. “This way. Mr. Foster is—he will see you now.”
I stop in shock. “Wait. I’m... I’m meeting Mr. Foster today?”
“Those were the terms of the program, yes. I regret that it’s taken this long with his travel schedule. However, he’s had a few meetings out of town this past week.”
“Yes, but...” I don’t have an adequate answer.
I wasn’t expecting him to ever stop ghosting me doesn’t seem like the right tone.
So I settle for a pained smile.
“That’s fine,” I lie. “Lead the way.”
She says nothing else as she leads me to the executive office.
No surprise, it’s an enormous, intimidating space with a giant, forbidding man at the center like he’s the focal point of the entire universe.
He stands against the window, radiating pure arrogance, looking out across the morning day like he owns it.
The sunlight seeping past the clouds casts him in shadow, true evil villain style.
First impression?
I have a sense of imposing height stuffed inside a black suit, impeccably tailored with subtle grey pinstripes and understated gold cuff links.
Understated.
Classy, yes—but not in the cold, soulless way of his office.
So, there might be a hint of taste in there somewhere, and a man who understands that great wealth doesn’t need to be ostentatious.
Then he goes and ruins my first impression.
He turns, sees me, and scowls.
Second impression?
Holy shit.
This can’t be real.
It can’t be him.
The walking asshat from Alki Beach looks just as big facing me as he did facing away, with a gloriously chiseled face that would be a whole lot more appealing if he wasn’t glowering like I just spat in his coffee.
His jet-black hair and blue eyes are so familiar it stops my heart. So does that glare.