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)
Her eyes widen.
She nods politely and sends me a curious glance.
“So were you in the military then? You can guess I read a little about you... But there wasn’t much in your Wiki bio, honestly, not after—” She stops cold.
I feel the way my shoulders stiffen.
My past is no one’s business—especially not hers—even if my money and family make me a prisoner to human interest.
I just wonder which nightmare is hanging on the tip of her tongue.
After your dead wife?
After your meathead mobster fuck of an uncle almost got you killed?
She’s wise to shut it.
The very last thing I need today is this little streak of sunshine prodding me over shit that happened long before I ever founded Home Shepherd.
She waves a hand like she needs to physically clear the air.
“Let me ask you this—have you ever thought about using your tech for wildlife conservation? Like Carol suggested?” she asks.
“How?”
“Well, for starters, so many endangered species need surveillance that won’t disrupt their natural habitats,” she says. “A lot of conservationists can’t even find them. That’s seriously like half the battle, sometimes. I’ve been on those ships. One time in Alaska, they spent eight of the twelve days just looking for the right pod of whales. I know it’s a niche market and probably not big money. But with lots of grants floating around, there is a market, and it’s crazy underserved.”
For the first time, I stare at her without any irritation.
She makes a damned good point and it catches me so off guard I need a second just to process.
“You’ve done some research into this,” I say.
She flushes. “I’ve lived it. It didn’t exactly click that there was a solution until we were talking to Carol. It’s worth looking at, is all I’m saying.”
I nod, stopping just short of admitting this little firecracker might give me something more than grief.
“The technology in the field is good, but it could always be better,” she says, turning and looking up at me.
Baby-blue eyes and flecks of green, different from mine. They’re suddenly lit up and sparkling the way they do in her photos and video shorts.
I want to fucking hate it.
The way she looks, the easy enthusiasm that doesn’t feel like a soundbite, or some kind of clumsy olive branch meant to win me over.
“Just think about it, maybe?” she whispers. Then she gestures with her hands. That animated passion leaks into every word. “Being able to monitor these animals would make it so much easier to really help them.”
I don’t let myself leap at her idea, so I just nod again slowly, clutching my cards to my chest.
“I’ll run it by Rachel when she returns from leave. Perhaps we’ll set up a cross-department conference with Lyndon, my research head.”
“Please do. It could have huge effects, and it would work freaking miracles with marine life. Underwater conditions are so harsh on the equipment, and the investment just hasn’t been made into improving it.”
She’s right about one thing—with niche-level profits there’s niche-level motivation to develop more durable research tools.
As I’ve discovered, most conservation groups aren’t billion-dollar corporate conglomerates, either. They don’t have the money to pile into new inventions when they’re busy in the field or begging for the few scraps they do get from their wealthy benefactors.
It would have to be sustainable, too, but also affordable enough for individuals and organizations.
“Oh, and I was thinking,” she goes on without giving me time to think through the implications. “You recently announced a prototype for the first silent civilian drone, right? The one coming in the next quarter or two?”
“You have been busy, Miss Lancaster,” I say dryly.
My eyes flick down her body.
My blood heats viciously at the thought of her undressed and hunched in bed with her phone, reading my stupid bio and company history.
A young woman wasting precious minutes of her life on me.
“Obviously.” She smiles sheepishly. “I like to know what I’m getting involved in.”
And who, she doesn’t add.
Fuck.
She has me by the balls.
I’m sincerely impressed, no matter how grudgingly.
“What about the drones? You have ideas, don’t you?” I have to ask.
“Well, I was thinking... they could be insanely useful for tracking endangered species without scaring them.”
“They’re not designed for remote surveying, but perhaps.” I look down into her face, trying to ignore her glowing excitement. She really is disturbingly attractive. “What are you suggesting? Be bold and say it, Miss Lancaster.”
“A new line of business,” she says immediately. “Maybe even a new product line? You’d be filling a gap in the market and contributing to conservation.”
It might be a market gap, yes, but it won’t be a highly profitable one.
Most conservation efforts operate off grants, donations, et cetera. I’d have to essentially give the damn equipment away for any of these groups to deploy it.
And judging by the way she’s already framed this whole idea, she’s bitterly aware of that.