Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151864 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
“It pretty much was.” He joins me, pouring some water.
“Was?”
“Taylorson Greeves is sniffing around.”
My face twists. “You’re kidding me?”
“Wish I was.”
“I thought we were the only ones in the frame? The guys Adidas wanted?”
“We were. But then the marketing executive got involved, and she joined Adidas from Nike a month ago. Taylorson Greeves took care of Nike, and she wants them to take care of Adidas now, too.”
“She?” I hitch a brow.
“She,” Sal confirms. “I have to re-pitch to her. Convince her we’re the right men for the job.” He looks at me seriously. “Got me?”
Sal is a man’s man. They like him. Whereas I am a woman’s man. Pyra Lingerie case in point. So I have to sit here, look pretty, and switch on my charm. “Got you. Pull a Ty Christianson.” I laugh as he nods, taking a bite of my pastry. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” I won’t point out that it’s hardly fair my partner utilizes my gift when it suits him. “Where’s the rest of our people?” I ask, just as the door swings open and an army trails in.
“Perfect timing.” Sal jumps up and claps his hands together. “Take a seat. We have a few minutes to recap and make sure we nail this.”
I watch as the staff files around the table, ten of them in total, and take their seats. It’s probably one of the biggest teams we’ve had working on a contract in the history of Christianson Walker. It’s a big deal, with the ad running at prime time on the UK’s biggest sports channel. We never lose out to Taylorson Greeves, and I’m not about to now. I’m good sitting here looking pretty. So I recline in my chair and get comfortable, coffee in one hand, food in the other.
Sal swings into action, rolling through the pitch and everyone’s role throughout the meeting. I listen tentatively, raising a few key points along the way that are well received.
I’m helping myself to another croissant when the door to the conference room opens. And the pastry falls straight from my hand, my hunger plummeting with it. My mouth is suddenly dry as a bone.
Lainey’s eyes catch mine, and I quickly look away before they capture me. My shaky hand takes the coffee pot and lifts, my mind willing some stability into the muscles of my arm as it carries the pot to my cup. This is fucking stupid. Get her words back into your head, Christianson. She wants nothing more to do with you. I have to look past how gorgeous she is and remember how cold she was. Remember the sick game she can’t help playing. I have to conquer this shit.
“Mr. Walker,” she says, low and soft. “The Adidas team.”
“Thanks, Lainey,” Sal grunts. “Please, come in. Take a seat. Coffee?”
“I’ll see to that, Mr. Walker,” Lainey offers, the click of her heels getting closer. My teeth scrape together when I see her out the corner of my eye come to a stop beside me. Why here? Why at this particular section of the fucking huge conference table? My skin heats, part anger, part craving—craving for something that I desperately don’t want to crave. I won’t look at her. I refuse to. My hand squeezes the handle of the coffee pot.
“Are you finished?” she asks. It takes her question to remind me that I have what she wants. I place the coffee pot down on the table, sitting back with my cup, ignoring her hand as it reaches out before me. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
I keep my focus on Sal as he does the introductions, starting with me. He motions toward me, pointing me out to the lady who’s taken a seat beside him. The marketing executive, I guess. “Claire, this is my partner, Tyler Christianson.” Sal looks at me hopefully, willing me to launch into the charm offensive. I try to muster the smile that knocks women out, try so fucking hard, but all I’m able to focus on is making a point of looking at the opposite side of the room to wherever Lainey happens to be while she makes her way around the table pouring coffees. I’m stock-still in my chair. Frozen. Unable to deliver the smile that’ll soften the marketing executive of Adidas. Unable to find my legs to stand and greet her.
I watch as Lainey takes a seat, and I listen to Sal stumble over a few words before he dives into his pitch. But I can’t relax. Not now. I shift one way in my chair, then the other, crossing one leg over the other. Focus on Sal. Focus on work. My eyes flick to Lainey, just as hers flick to me. And they hold for a few moments before she looks away, sinking deeper into her chair. I can see from here her mind is racing.