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)
I sigh. “Don’t you have things to do? Places to go? Important people to pester?”
“Not particularly,” Hannah says dryly. “But fine. I’ll make up something so you can dismiss me and dodge the question.”
Goddammit.
“I could have you fired for that, you know,” I say.
“I know. But you won’t.”
She’s right.
Because for all the myriad ways her attitude gnaws at me, I can’t afford to lose her.
“I’m cutting your pay,” I snarl.
“What was that? A performance bonus, Mr. Foster? For all the good work I do? Thank you so much!”
“Find some work to do that doesn’t involve my personal life, Hannah. I want that background check by tomorrow morning.”
I can almost hear her smile as she ends the call, leaving me alone with a grinning Instagram pic of Destiny on my screen.
Fuck.
If she weren’t posing with the dog and its big, goofy husky grin, I’d swear she posted this pic purely to torment me.
I drop my head into my hands and groan, wondering what I did in a past life to deserve this fate—fuck, this Destiny—certain to drive me mad.
6
A Little Pressure (Destiny)
Sharing an office with Mark Cantor isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy. A bearded marshmallow wrapped in human skin.
A little too eager to please, a little too perma-smiley, but I figured that was just because his boss was hovering over him when we met—and let’s face it, most people would be scared into compliance by Foster’s glower any day.
I’m not sure that man’s face knows how to do anything else.
Does he ever smile in a nice way?
Does he laugh?
I can’t imagine.
Except for those brief moments a couple days ago when he looked at me like he thought what I had to say was marginally interesting.
That’s why he gave me this assignment, isn’t it?
All I have to do is present my proposal to him, convince him it’s a good idea, and if I pass, he’ll let me present it to the board so they can rake me over the coals again.
Ha.
Still, there’s no denying it’s a fantabulous opportunity. I don’t want to blow it.
So I stare at my work laptop and the PowerPoint slides, willing myself to find the right combination of words that sells them on this high-tech wildlife tracking experiment.
It’s been two days since then.
Two brutal days of wondering how the hell I can convince Foster, assuming this isn’t all some weird power game just so he can take my idea out back and shoot it between the eyes.
Part of me thinks there’s no way this isn’t an elaborate trap.
A trick so he can take me down a peg or two for daring to get in the way of his suicidal kayaking.
I bet he wants to.
I’ve persisted in pissing him off since the minute I got here, and there’s nothing power-hungry guys hate more than being shown up. Or having someone around who doesn’t fear them.
Especially if everyone else around here is like Mark the human puppy.
Or Carol, who seems to view him like the brilliant son she never had. Which is a weird vibe, honestly.
Before I even look up, I know Mark is over my shoulder again, hovering like an overgrown fly. I toy with the idea of asking him to buzz off and leave me alone.
If only a little honesty didn’t make easy enemies.
Though he must not notice I’m visibly annoyed.
He’s relentlessly positive. Almost to the point of denial, like he wants to paint over all of life’s imperfections so he doesn’t have to deal with them.
“How’s it coming, Destiny?” he asks like he didn’t just ask the same question half an hour ago before his coffee run.
Like I’ve written a single thing in that time.
I resist the urge to dig my hands through my hair.
I’m not a single sentence closer to winning over Mr. Crankyface, and I know it.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m sucking so bad at this that he’s actively avoiding me. Maybe he has a sixth sense for failure.
I’ve sent him emails, tried to schedule a meeting, and even waited outside his office, hoping he’ll emerge like a hibernating bear so I can prod him with more questions.
If I could just find out what his top concerns are with an initiative like this, I could nail them.
But he always has a full calendar or he’s just stepped out.
And no matter how pleasant Hannah Cho seems on the outside, she’s quick to politely remind me that Mr. Foster keeps a godlike schedule.
I get it.
He’s a busy man.
But he’s also the guy who gave me this assignment.
He decided to take a chance on me after I triggered him into a tantrum.
Mark shifts his weight, waiting for my answer. I realize I totally tuned out of the conversation before it started.
“Sorry, what?”
“I was just asking about this slide...” He swipes a finger at the screen, which displays a quote from an interview I arranged with prominent marine conservationist, Debra Hollens.