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)
His gaze lands on my face, direct and forceful like always. I have to fight not to flinch under his scrutiny.
“Do you need an apology? Is that what you’re waiting for?”
“You were rude,” I grind out. “And pretty psycho.”
“I was,” he admits, with absolutely no regret or remorse. “I suppose you only had my well-being in mind that day at Alki Point when you threatened to sic the Coast Guard on me.”
My lips thin. “Oh, please, it isn’t even about that—”
“My apologies, Miss Lancaster.”
I’ve never heard a less sincere apology.
Somehow, I ignore my urge to spin around and exit the room.
“Now,” he continues, “I need to bring you up to speed on our expectations. I’ll give you the company tour now so you know what you’re getting involved with.”
A company tour with this guy? Not Miss Cho?
I can hardly imagine anything worse.
“Peachy,” I whisper.
“For the next two weeks, you were supposed to be working with the Director of Corporate Giving, but regrettably she’s just starting her maternity leave. Unfortunate.”
He doesn’t look like he thinks it’s unfortunate.
Bastard.
“Right now, there’s only a program intern, but he’s well versed enough to explain how everything works with our grant process. I’m sure he’ll be grateful for your cooperation and a chance to reduce his considerable workload.”
Oh, now I see.
The big press junket is over, so he’s pawning me off on a minion.
Just like I expected.
This awkward trainwreck of a meeting is probably the only time I’ll see Shepherd Foster. That’s a small silver lining.
Still, I smile tightly and decide to push my luck.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Foster. I thought I’d be working directly with you?”
He stares blankly.
“Did you?” Either he’s not used to being challenged or he really didn’t know that was the deal.
“Unless, of course,” I continue, “you’re the kind of CEO who doesn’t know the ins and outs of his own program.”
His eyes narrow.
Gotcha.
That awful clock ticks between us as he stares at me, his stern eyes hiding everything but his flaming irritation at being in this room with me.
Then he gives a small cynical smile.
“We work with Homes for Seattle,” he says, naming one of the biggest charities in the city. “With Doctors without Borders, CARE, the International Rescue Committee, Direct Relief.”
Some of the biggest global charities.
Of course, he knows about those, though. They’re famous and worldwide.
“You’ve heard of New Leaves Tree Recovery as well, I imagine,” he continues. “Every year we donate a substantial sum to Friends of Arctic, the only conservation group to ever increase polar bear numbers near Hudson Bay. Last year, we partnered with Winthrope International to host a global conference for Hawaiian bird conservation. I gave a presentation on efforts I funded with a local, Dr. Cash—at my personal expense—to find a living Kauaʻi ʻōʻō. The bird is probably extinct, but I’ll agree with that call only after we’ve scoured every rock on Kauai.” He raises a challenging eyebrow. “Are those too famous for you? Too personal?”
I think my jaw is hanging open.
I can’t even argue.
“Additionally, we work with Nairobi Waters and a new earthquake and disaster recovery charity set up in Turkey and Iran, a banana soil rehabilitation group in Brazil, and True Blue Blooded to stop the over-farming of horseshoe crabs by big pharma.” He keeps going, rattling off charities ranging from international rock stars to the local and obscure.
And... and he knows the details.
About every single one.
Holy hell.
This man isn’t bluffing.
He’s not pretending just because he thinks it’ll impress me. And he doesn’t even glance at his computer screen to cheat and read off information.
The man knows his shit.
When he’s done, he folds his arms over his broad chest, reminding me again of those shiny gold cuff links and his sheer size.
“I could bore you with more details, Miss Lancaster, but that’s not why we’re here.” He watches me swallow too loudly. “Tell me, though, who exactly did you think you were dealing with?”
I bite my tongue.
Not because I think he’s right or he deserves my consideration.
He might know what he’s talking about, but he’s behaving like an asshole. The arrogant, entitled superprick I met the second he stormed away with his kayak, thinking he could wrestle nature and win.
I’m still a little sad that he did.
But he wants me to rise to the challenge.
That’s what this whole thing is—a test.
No way am I going to let this man bait me. I’m not intimidated by his big showy knowledge—and just because he knows the names and a few of the whys doesn’t mean he cares.
He’s probably one of those freaks with a photographic memory or something.
“Very impressive, sir.” I give him an artificially sweet smile.
That gets through if nothing else does.
His biceps bunch, and he looks like he’s gritting his teeth. A muscle pops in that impossibly sharp jaw.
Honestly, I would have preferred it if the exterior matched the interior. It would be easier to hate him if he looked more like his gnarled gargoyle of a personality.