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)
But Foster turns away from me abruptly, shaking his mouse to wake his screen.
“Whether you’re with me or the intern, you’ll get your two million. Isn’t that what it’s all about? The zeroes on the check?”
In some ways, yes.
But admitting that would be like exposing my throat to a vampire, so I just watch him coolly. I can practically see his blood pressure climbing.
“Just so you know, I’m not impressed by big money, Mr. Foster,” I say. Though he doesn’t look at me, the corner of his mouth twitches. “I grew up rich.”
“Cole Lancaster? Yes, he’s done quite well for himself selling everyone their morning high,” he clips.
Now he’s making it personal?
My eyes snap to the half-empty mug on his desk and I glare.
“Emphasis on ʻeveryone,’” he growls. “I’m not immune to your father’s brand. Half of Seattle grew up on Wired Cup, and this office runs on their Pioneer Campfire blend.”
Nice save, damn him.
“Whatever. Money isn’t worth much unless you make it useful,” I say.
“And how do you define useful, Miss Lancaster?” he challenges.
I actually don’t mind.
I want to meet him head-on.
I want to push his buttons and find his weaknesses, the things he truly hates. I want to flay him open and see what’s really under all the jagged antisocial rock.
His dormant volcano temper is weirdly compelling. Like walking into a lion’s den with a big, juicy burger and wondering how long it’ll be until you wind up lunch.
“Useful?” I let the question linger, then I smile. “How about saving creatures who can’t save themselves without it?”
“Animal conservation?” Foster’s eyes narrow. For a second, I see the way my words press into him. The weight of them sit uncomfortably against his skin. “We might have one thing in common then, Miss Lancaster. Shocking, I know.”
Oof.
I’m speechless.
And he closes off, shutting his flicker of emotion behind an icy wall I imagine he throws up a lot like a shield.
The air in the room thickens.
Adversarial, charged, yet somehow, questioning.
Can we set our own crap aside? For the greater good?
I don’t know.
He’s taken up arms, and so have I.
I’m not sure who even decided to declare war, but it doesn’t matter now. There’s no earthly way I’m backing down and giving him the satisfaction of thinking I’m a quitter.
Especially not when there’s so much good on the line.
I hate how his eyes are so gorgeous, though. Blue and sharp and compelling.
I can’t imagine them ever being soft, but now with our gazes fused, I notice flecks of brighter color. Grey and yellow and brown. All the fragments that make up that ice-blue.
It reminds me of the sea a little, reflecting the world around it while it looks on with its own unyielding strength.
This man has an ocean soul.
Vast and immovable and stubborn.
Kind of beautiful in a scary way.
The difference, of course, is that the ocean is more forgiving than Shepherd Foster. It brings life and only shows its terrible wrath every once in a while.
Generally, the ocean is good.
The same can’t be said for him, no matter how many precious maybe-extinct birds he’s gone searching for.
Mr. Foster is one of those hardass, brass tacks billionaires my father always tried to avoid.
I bet he probably fires people for breathing too loud and sends his executive team home in hives.
I can practically feel a few rising on my arms as I look at him.
I’m allergic to prolonged exposure to jackasses.
But he’s still watching me, searching my face like he wants to read every thought.
If he can, then he must know how much I despise him—but he probably knew that anyway.
Chin raised, I stare right back.
The charged air skitters across my skin, reminding me how long it’s been since anything has made me feel this on edge.
“So, are we done making eyes at each other or is this part of Young Influencers too? I mean, I guess I can do this all day if you really want. First one to blink is a sucker.”
When he turns away, I swear I see a hint of a smile he immediately squelches.
He looks back with pure scorn and raises his hand.
“I’ll spare you the eye drops, Miss Lancaster. Now, if you’ll retract your claws for twenty minutes, I’ll give you the tour.”
5
A Little Truce (Shepherd)
This woman is baffling as hell.
I’ve never met anyone quite like her, and it’s pissing me off.
So much I’m hard-pressed not to show how much it irritates me.
Usually, I regulate my emotions well. It’s a necessity when you’re CEO overseeing billions and a Foster, considering how many idiots I’ve interacted with who will judge you based on rumors.
Honest business doesn’t let you show your cards, let alone your innermost demons and desires.
My poker face is normally impeccable.
I smile when appropriate, rattle off the right script, and shake hands with the greediest corporate dunces America ever coughed up without batting an eyelid.