One Bossy Disaster: Chapter 14

The only thing that gets me through the day is the thought that I’ll see Shepherd tonight.

The whispers suck, sure, but what’s behind them feels infinitely worse.

When I walk through the office, all eyes are glued to my back.

At first, it’s pretty openly. But after Hannah’s short, sweet email threatens disciplinary action against anyone who talks about other Home Shepherd personnel, they shift to more subtle disgust.

I can’t hear the rumors, of course, but I know they’re flying.

I’m her.

The cutthroat slut who slept with Shepherd Foster to get ahead.

At least I must’ve been good to land a small fortune in charity money and a trek through nature with the bossman personally.

No email—no matter how stern or official—will wipe the slate.

And thanks to that message, everyone in the office who might not have heard the news certainly knows now.

The only question is how many people believe it.

Knowing my luck, everyone.

And whether they believe it or not, no one resists speculating.

When everyone on my team gets called into the nine-thirty meeting, I head into the kitchen to grab a coffee before it starts. Most of the chairs are empty, and I take advantage of the relative silence to eat lunch early.

Turns out, misery makes you crave carbs, and I think I’ll eat the entire pound of this pasta salad I brought.

“Destiny, hi,” a woman says from behind me.

I jump.

She’s a short, neat woman with auburn hair. “I’m Rebecca from HR. Hannah Cho told me to introduce myself.”

“Oh,” I manage. I haven’t cried since last night, but my eyes are hot and itchy. I shake her hand. “Thanks. Good to meet you.”

“If you hear anything, don’t be shy. Speak up, and I’ll make sure it’s dealt with.”

Her smile oozes so much sympathy, but I’m not sure how it makes me feel.

A little like the kid who has the hall monitor protecting them at recess, I guess.

“Sure,” I force out.

“Everyone knows you’re working hard on your presentation and you don’t need distractions. That’s the same courtesy everyone deserves at Home Shepherd.” She gives me a sharp nod. Her hair is tied up in a tight, professional bun.

She resembles everything I strive to be in an office instead of the hot mess I am today. I feel like a piece of wilted lettuce.

“Thank you,” I say weakly, pinning on a smile. “I’m okay, but I appreciate it.”

She smiles like she doesn’t believe that at all.

And she’s right. I’m so not okay.

“For the record, I’ve seen the photos,” Rebecca adds carefully. “It’s not all bad. Now the world knows about the sea otters. Oh, and I’m not sure anyone knew how much Mr. Foster loves his kayaking.”

The woman is a total cinnamon bun, sincere and sticky sweet.

This time, my smile feels slightly less painted on. “He’s great at it for sure, much better than me. The trip was my first real try at kayaking and he taught me a lot.”

She nods again. “You look exhausted, sweetie. Good luck with your presentation. You’ve got a few of us in your corner, no matter what. Carol wanted me to let you know she promised to strangle someone if they shoot you down.”

I snicker at the image. Relief flutters in my chest, too, knowing I still have her on my side.

“Thanks, Rebecca,” I say again and scurry back to my desk. When I stop by the water coolers briefly, three guys whistle, practically right in my direction before they turn back to each other and burst out laughing.

Idiot ass-clowns.

For a second, I toy with the thought of reporting them to Rebecca, but I can handle a few petty comments without tattling.

I shouldn’t care.

Shepherd wouldn’t.

Even with the Dumas thing, he seemed more concerned about how it would impact the company and the employees under his brand than his own credibility.

The man is a rock, strong and indifferent. I’m sure he’ll throw off the bad thoughts just like he does the ocean waves.

But the difference between us is that I’ve made a living out of what people think about me.

The fact that people trust me on social media makes a difference.

If that trust is shattered, I don’t have a brand anymore.

It’s hard to shake that mentality.

So I shut myself in my office and focus on finalizing my big presentation. Eventually, Mark sidles back in with a look of concern.

“Destiny, I saw the email,” he says. “How you holding up?”

Deep breath.

I so don’t need this today. But I also don’t want to be rude to one of the few people here who’s still trying to act human.

“Fine. About as well as you’d expect.”

“If you need anything, just shout,” he tells me.

God.

You know what I really need?

I need to stop feeling like I made Shepherd’s life worse.

I need to stop knowing that the world is always judging him for what they think he is, when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I need people to know that yes, we broke every official rule when we did what we did. And then I need them to put a freaking sock in it and stop judging so much.

Through the glass windows, I can see how they glance around, their smiles cruelly curious.

Whatever.

People with dull lives thrive on whispers.

It’s just, the scandal is me.

I’m a real person, with feelings, and every little whisper or sideways glance feels like another stab of the knife.

Online, you can ignore it by turning off your phone, blocking messages, swiping away the haters.

It still sticks, but it’s not like this.

Here, I’m a fish in a bowl, and it takes guts to try to get some work done.

So that’s what I do.

For the next few hours I bury my head in the project, looking over slides, data, testimonials. I whip my presentation into the best shape I can.

Then I gather up my things as Mark gives me a wide smile. “Good luck! Bet you’ll kill it. I couldn’t help noticing how polished it looks.”

“Thanks, Mark.”

Amazingly, I’m not annoyed with him today.

Carol also stops by outside the glass, tapping until I look up and see her offering a smile and a thumbs-up.

She doesn’t know the exact details about what I’m presenting, but when I outlined the concept, she was totally encouraging. She loves to see the tech she helped bring to life used for good causes.

With any luck, their well wishes will rub off, and the bigger picture will win out.

This cause is so much bigger than me or Shepherd Foster and one dumb scandal.

Because we’ve got a whole mess of otters to save and time keeps slipping through our fingers like sand.

I’m waiting outside the conference room when my phone buzzes and turns me into a little lump of dread.

Daddykins flashes on the screen, something I knew was coming for days, as soon as he found out.

Do I even want to know?

No, not really.

But do I really want to put this off for later when I’m already a ball of nerves, waiting to find out how fast the board rolls its eyes at my proposal and spits it out?

Holding in a sigh, I swipe the green icon. “Dad, hi.”

“I’ll sue them all,” he snarls in perfect Cole Lancaster fashion. “Every last one of those pricks who thinks my daughter is dog chow for their damn amusement.”

“Hello to you, too. How’re Eliza and the kids?”

The loud squeal behind him tells me Nicole and Elijah are the same explosive little cherubs as always. I might be ancient to them, but I love my little siblings.

“Not relevant, honey. You know that. Destiny, you have to—”

“You have to stop charging to my rescue,” I say firmly. “Look, I get it. I’m not exactly thrilled about what’s going around online, either, but Dad… it’s my problem. I can’t have you bailing me out.”

“I can and I will when protecting your reputation properly costs more than those distributions from the trust you barely touch,” he grumbles. “Dess, you can’t just let bullshit like this go. It takes on a life of its own. One day you think you’re dealing with a particularly ugly frog, the next, it’s a fire-breathing goddamned dragon.”

I snort. “You’re being too dramatic. It’s really not fun, sure, but it won’t kill me.”

For a moment, he’s silent.

“No. However, it might just permanently damage your ability to keep building up the brand you’ve worked yourself to the bone for. People are fickle, especially these professional charity types. Too many morals and not enough brains. Definitely no balls. One whiff of scandal, and they’ll drop you faster than a rotten apple. They won’t wait around to find out it isn’t true.”

I freeze, unable to speak around the boulder in my throat.

“It’s obviously not true, Dess,” he says slowly, waiting for an answer I can’t give. “Is it?”

“Dad, I have a huge presentation in like ten minutes. Can we talk about this later?”

“Goddammit, Dess. Did he touch you? I swear to God, if he lured you in with promises in exchange for—”

“Dad!” I’m shaking, gripping the phone so tight. “No, he didn’t force anything. We didn’t trade favors. It wasn’t like that at all and—and frankly, it’s none of your business.”

The silence between us is suffocating.

I almost want him to yell at me.

“You’re too damn smart for me to get up in your life,” he says quietly. “But Dess, you’d better put those brains to good use if you really want to get mixed up with Shepherd Foster. The man’s not what he seems. He’s—screw it. If you want to know, you know where to find me. Until then, I’ll let you decide.”

What the hell?

What is he even talking about?

I’m on the verge of tears, so ready to go full defiant brat on my father like I haven’t since I was seventeen and bored out of my skull with everything Wired Cup.

But before I can tell him to kindly fuck right out of my life, I see the flashing screen.

He’s disconnected the call, leaving the void between us.

And coming from Cole Lancaster, that’s the most grown-up courtesy you can imagine.

The presentation takes place in a conference room that feels almost tropical.

I drain sips of water every few slides with the board’s haughty, overly professional eyes on me, slow-walking them through my idea.

And it’s a damn good concept, I’ll admit.

My research is solid and I know it. I’ve got stacks of evidence to back up my claims, and the personal experience we captured on the trail speaks volumes.

I even added the pictures from the weekend, boosting my arguments for the many ways this technology can revolutionize how wildlife organizations collect data on various species.

If this were one more college speech, I would’ve aced it.

But it’s not.

These five men and one woman watch me with slitted eyes the entire time.

Somehow, I know they’re not looking at graphs and otters, even if they’re right there in front of their faces.

They’re seeing the other photos from that trip that were posted online.

They’re hearing TikTok and Twitter and tabloid garbage every time I open my mouth.

They’re wondering if I seduced him or if I’m just the latest in a slew of young, dumb girls who didn’t know any better.

They’re thinking Shepherd Foster is another rich, older goat who creeps on younger women, then hands out professional favors like candy.

A chill sweeps down my spine every time their gaze zips over me. I’m extra glad I dressed modestly today.

Oh, sure, they nod along every time I stress how critical sea otters are to the coastal ecosystem. The woman frowns with real heartache when I point out how their population crashed in perfect correlation with invasive industries.

They give me all the polite applause I could ever want at the end, and a big, blocky man thanks me and calls it an impressive speech.

But deep down, I’m thinking I blew it.

The board won’t sign off on a purely charitable venture like this when it’s tainted by egos and nasty whispers.

They’ll cave to the public spectacle around Shepherd and me. All made worse by the fact that it’s compounding the mess with Vanessa Dumas.

I wonder if they’re even plotting to remove him as CEO, assuming they can.

That makes my heart sting.

But I’m more surprised than anything to find Shepherd standing in the shadows in the back of the room when I pack up my laptop and leave.

How long has he been there?

Did he really take time out of his crazy schedule to come listen to me?

“God himself would’ve been convinced by that, Destiny. Hell of a job,” he says crisply.

I’m drowning in butterflies, but I also feel weak.

“Well, maybe he can help sway the board then. I doubt they’ll approve it, and it has nothing to do with anything I said…”

His eyes sharpen, searching mine.

I stand there in front of him, knowing that all eyes are on us now.

If their minds weren’t made up during the speech, I’m sure they are now, seeing us together like this, standing far too close and whispering to each other.

“You made your points and you showered them with proof. That’s what matters,” he growls, his blue eyes dark and stern and so hypnotically lovely I lose myself in them without a fight.

“Thanks. I was so nervous.” My tone is stilted, formal, so I offer him a quick smile to make up for it.

“Nervous? Bull. You were confident with your findings. I listened to the whole thing. Every slide was well thought out and documented.”

“You know what they say… fake it till you make it.” My smile trembles a bit.

“No illusions needed, Miss Destiny. Leave the rest to me.”

My eyebrows go up as he starts moving past me. “What does that mean, Shep—” I catch myself “Mr. Foster?”

“I have to go.” He glances at his watch, the one status symbol he seems to wear religiously. It’s a ring of solid gold that must cost more than most people’s annual salaries. “I have another meeting in five. However, I told you I’ll handle this if they need more persuading.”

It’s so hard to stand. I’m almost giddy knowing he wants to fight for me, but also knowing he shouldn’t.

It isn’t fair.

If anything, it’ll only fan the flames we desperately need to stamp out.

I can’t let him.

“Shepherd, no. Let them make up their own minds. I’ll either win or lose based on what I said. Nothing else.”

“We completely agree. Nothing else. I just need to know it’s the only factor they’re considering. Call me their friendly reminder,” he rumbles in the most unfriendly way, tapping his watch for the time. “I have to go now. See you tonight. In the meantime, Hannah has HR on your side if there’s any more trouble.”

“I know,” I whisper weakly.

With one last pat on my shoulder—a hand that’s removed almost as fast as it touches me—he turns and militantly strides on, leaving me alone to slowly make my way back to my shared office.

Mark greets me like a bright-eyed puppy.

He immediately slaps me with fifty questions about how it went.

Honestly, I barely care.

I’m still stuck on that long walk of shame back to my hole, the people passing, the whispers tossed around like frisbees.

I can imagine all the crap they’re saying even if I can’t make out a word.

I’m sure they’re talking about the way Shepherd pulled me aside, if anyone saw it.

Sighing, I do my best to ignore this torture and make a few new social media posts to my Instagram. All otters, all the time.

I’m not posting a word about shit talk and kisses that never should’ve happened. If people don’t like that, they can hit the Unfollow.

The trolls are bad enough to temporarily disable comments, though.

My DMs are overflowing, too, but I don’t have the energy to go through and block them all. Later.

“It must be terrible.” Mark doesn’t sound like he’s faking it this time. He nods at my phone. “That’s not a good face. Are they still spamming you?”

“Eh, it’s what happens when you get caught in something like this. I’m used to it.” My smile stretches across my face like clay and sags almost as quickly.

This is definitely not the kind of attention I’m used to.

“You need anything? Coffee? Water? Something stronger to take the edge off? Our little secret, of course…” He jerks a thumb at people walking by beyond the glass.

“Well, I won’t start drinking my problems away, but an iced tea would be amazing if you can run down to that machine in the break room,” I say gratefully.

“On it! Then if you’re not too busy you can help me with the grant applications. I’m just one guy, I can never keep up,” he says. “A lot of outside charities are interested in working with Home Shepherd, but we can only sign on to collaborate with so many.”

I nod automatically.

That makes sense.

And helping Mark feels better than stewing in my own misery all day, wondering when I’ll get the disappointing ‘thanks, but no’ message from the board.

Still. As the clock ticks closer to five, knowing I’ll see Shepherd tonight is the only thing that keeps me going.

I’m too excited.

Don’t lose your head. He wants to talk, I remind myself.

Right.

Just because he comforted me in his office and made noise about charging to my rescue doesn’t mean it was anything more than a few beautifully reckless days with a massive price we’re both paying.

A temporary paradise where we played at being someone else before returning to the cold, hard minefield of reality.

Or was it who we really are, away from prying eyes?

Shepherd the stonehearted supergrump, a front for the warm, passionate man underneath.

The person he showed me was so kind. So gentle. So open.

He touched me so reverently.

Like there’s this hidden warmth under the surface just longing to be kindled. And at night, that heat boiled over, branding me for life.

“Focus,” I whisper, pinching my wrist. “Stop. Dwelling.”

You know it’s bad when you have to talk yourself down from obsession.

But yes.

That was then.

And now, for some unholy reason, he’s invited me to his house, and yes, I want to go.

But this is a strategy meeting and nothing more.

Not another huge mistake waiting to happen.

Not another chance to bare my heart to Shepherd Foster, and let his burning, honest soul consume me.

Good Lord, Shepherd’s house is gorgeous.

It’s a pretty big contrast to the iron and glass cage he lives in downtown, all light teak wood and modern curves and arches with thoughtful finishes.

The floor looks like it’s been sculpted out of one massive piece of dark granite. The dark contrast with the walls makes this soaring space with the high ceilings seem intimate and shadowed.

Masculine, but not overbearing.

I’m no stranger to fine hotels and ostentatious homes, growing up like I did, but this…

This place takes my breath away.

Sweet Jesus, save me.

It’s so freaking masculine my mouth dries up and my heart flips over.

If it wasn’t for Molly pulling insistently at her leash, I’d enjoy the view longer.

“Hello?” I call. “Anybody home?”

I’m pleasantly surprised and a little weirded out that a man who owns a major home security company doesn’t lock his door, even if the house is surrounded by a gate with a digital intercom screen that must go to someone manning it twenty-four seven.

“In the kitchen!” Shepherd calls right back. “Come down the hall.”

I fully mean to head straight down to join him. But as I walk the wide hallway flanked with golden sconces glowing like artificial torches, I get distracted.

The house is actually a proper ring around a glass-walled atrium full of wild growth and greenery. Is that a breakfast nook hidden in the flowers and trees?

Be still, my heart.

A stone path leads outward, splitting the house neatly in one spot as it leads directly down to the waterfront.

I should’ve guessed it would go to his own personal pier. Several kayaks are tied up there, dwarfed by a ridiculously large yacht.

It’s not nice.

‘Nice’ is too tepid a word for this place when it’s bursting with class and character with plenty of space to roam around in.

Best of all, it’s not the fifteen-thousand-square-foot castle to one man so many rich people need to show off.

He can’t host a small town with a freaking ballroom like other billionaires Dad knew. This seems like just enough, a comfortable place that feels like a real home for a larger-than-life man.

I’m beyond impressed.

It takes a lot to impress a billionaire’s daughter, but somehow, he’s done it.

I shouldn’t be surprised.

At this point, I should expect Shepherd to subvert expectations.

After one last longing look around in the fading light while I rein Mol in, I follow the lights, padding my way to his kitchen.

Of course, it’s enormous. Stylish, too.

The wall tiles are soft earth tones surrounding sleek greenblack cabinets. A hulking island separates us from Shepherd, who stands in front of the range with his shirt sleeves rolled up.

So, he doesn’t just cook when he’s camping.

For a hot minute, all I can do is stare in awe.

I thought the otter trip showed me a generous slice of the real man.

Now, I know it barely scratched the surface.

There’s something about seeing him like this in his home, suit coat and waistcoat gone, shirt sleeves rolled up, tie discarded.

The top two buttons of his shirt are undone when he turns to face me.

Oh, boy.

My heart does that flippy thing again.

Molly also perks up and chooses that moment to lunge, and the leash slips from my now-loose grasp.

“Shit! Mol, no!” I gasp as my thirty-five-pound dog leaps at Shepherd.

It happens so fast.

I can only watch in breathless horror as he—catches her?

Yep.

Just grabs her and hoists this big, squirming fluffball in his arms, cradling her like a baby as she wiggles with joy and licks his face frantically.

My heart? The one that was fluttering a second ago?

It pretty much melted into jelly at the sight of him smiling slightly in that way he has, weathering her frantic face slurps.

“Welcome to the manor, girl,” he says.

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to the dog and not me.

My heart is too full.

I don’t know whether to smile or shrivel up and die of embarrassment.

But how can I even have feelings like this?

Sure, we’ve had some hot sex and tons of unexpected drama, but I can’t—

No. Not going there.

“I’m mortified. She hasn’t been this crazy for months. I thought I’d trained it out of her, but… clearly, we still have work to do.”

“No hard feelings.” He sneaks her a piece of the strip steak he’s been frying up and my gooey heart puddles in my shoes.

“Now you’ve done it,” I say, finding my voice and rushing forward to pull my dog away. “You’ll spoil her. She’s already a little duchess.”

“Royalty, huh? I guess pets really do take after their owners,” he teases, planting a kiss on the top of my dog’s head and finally setting her down.

Molly circles around the kitchen in glee, still licking her chops.

“A demanding princess,” I argue. “Don’t even comment.”

“Certainly. She learned it from the best,” he says, totally ignoring my warning.

I fold my arms, but he just throws back another one of those sly smiles and turns back to the steak. “Have fun snooping around my place or what?”

I gasp. “I wasn’t snooping!”

“Weird. I’d have thought you’d have come right down instead of spending three minutes walking around.”

“…you were counting?”

My face must be white.

Eventually, the longer he stares me down, I crack and start laughing.

“Fine! I had a little look. Couldn’t resist. Nice boat, by the way.” I motion to the ship perched near the small dock and boathouse down the hill, past the floor-to-ceiling window.

“I was hoping you’d notice. It does the trick for getting around when you’re too worn out from kayaking or other activities.”

Is he joking? Straight-up dicking with me?

I squint at his broad, muscular back, too shell-shocked to speak.

I thought he’d be the tense one thanks to this whole situation and the fact that I’m here in his house.

After everything else, I never thought he’d invite me over and treat me like this is no big deal.

I definitely didn’t expect him throwing around innuendo like we’re on a second date.

Oh, crap. Are we?

I shake my head like I can physically banish the thought.

“I like your house a lot,” I say lightly.

Keep it calm and casual. Stay cool.

He’s only grilling you steak and what smells like a delicious chimichurri sauce with his sleeves rolled up in a kitchen that should be on MasterChef.

This is fine.

Totally normal behavior, and not even a little bit date-like.

Yeah.

I really cannot go around thinking Shepherd is treating me like a date.

We’re not dating.

We’re not even screwing anymore.

This is purely a work meeting until it isn’t.

“Thanks,” he says smoothly. “I designed it myself.”

“Wait, what? You’re an architect too?”

“I’m demanding. I hired the right people to make my needs a reality.”

No argument there.

He flips the steaks over. “None of the other houses I looked at had what I wanted, so I had to build it. It only took a hundred hours of my life with sketches and consultations and corrections.”

I have to grip the counter with both hands.

Is there nothing he isn’t good at?

“It paid off. This place is drop-dead gorgeous.”

Molly lets out a loud yip of agreement that bounces off the high ceilings.

His next glance is assessing, but he just nods.

Deftly, like he’s heard it a thousand times, and maybe he has.

This is a home that deserves to be shown, though he’s so private I can’t imagine he would.

I watch him slather the steaks in green sauce, line asparagus neatly on the side, and then spoon rosemary-scented potatoes onto the plate.

My mouth waters.

After animals and the ocean, my next dearest love might just be food. I’m not ashamed of it either.

“You don’t have a chef?” I ask as we take our places on the island, opposite one another.

“No. No staff,” he answers.

“None at all?” My eyebrows go up. Even Dad keeps over a dozen people on payroll just to manage everything when he owns several properties and travels a ton.

“A few cleaners come in twice a week, just to help stay on top of things. There’s also my personal security specialist, Hank, now interning with Enguard Security out in California. I don’t skimp on my safety.”

I stare at him, waiting for more that seems to hang in the air.

It makes perfect sense that a man with his money who heads a world-class home security company would have strong personal protection. So why does it feel like more than that?

He reaches down to scratch Molly’s head before I can ask.

I don’t know if it’s me, but his voice sounds a tad wistful. A tiny bit lonely.

Like maybe he’s so used to it being this way he doesn’t know how to imagine anything else. Just him and his small, distant house crew… but does that mean it’s what he wants forever?

I don’t know if Shepherd even knows what he wants.

“Your girl won’t jump our plates, will she? Time to eat.” He carries two thick, ceramic plates of steaming food over to this massive wooden table and lays them down.

Once I’m sure I’ve got Mol settled with an antler chew I fish out of my bag, I sit down across from him.

I’m not expecting to be totally bowled over.

The steak melts in my mouth, and I melt with it.

Even the wine he’s paired it with is on point, elevating the meal from awesome surprise to exquisite shock and awe.

“I prefer a rosé,” he explains as he takes a long sip, staring over the edge of his glass.

“Oh, so you’re not a traditionalist.” I smile into my own sip, and it’s so good I could die.

I’ve always been a bit of a wine snob—probably comes with the territory when you grow up rich—and this ticks all my boxes.

“Not for everything, Dess. Sometimes a man must be inventive.”

I look at the glass, running my finger over the slight condensation, letting the slight sharp bite of chill ground me.

“Well, this is nice and all, but should we get down to it? Talk damage control? You must have something in mind, but I’ll go first.” I take a deep breath. “I decided to feel out Meghan via DM personally since we were acquainted before all this. I’ve asked her if she’s willing to hear my side to consider a retraction.”

His face turns up sharply, but not with the anger I half expected.

“You think she’ll go for it?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think she’s a bad person exactly, though she likes to play one for views. This sort of thing is her brand, sharing gossip and tea, but I know she calls it human interest.” I pause and sigh. “I really don’t know if she’ll consider a truce. But there’s no harm in correcting the facts since there’s nothing much hidden anymore. No harm in trying, right?”

He chews slowly as he considers it, his muscular jaw working.

“If that doesn’t work, we’ll go direct. Put out a joint statement about adapting our product for conservation work and get the sea otter trip into the press release,” Shepherd says with a stoic coolness I can’t imagine feeling. “We’ll be clear it’s a work excursion without denying the claims head-on. In fact, we should do that even if Meghan does retract,” he adds.

My blood pressure rises. I’m speechless.

“You mean there’s still a chance at adapting—well, anything? Like moving forward with the tracking drones?”

He gives me another dry, heart-stopping smile. Reserved yet amused.

“I meant what I said, Destiny. It was a perfect presentation.”

“But it isn’t up to you. The board…” I trail off.

“Consider them convinced. I was open and honest, and I told them if they wanted to can me from being CEO, be my guest. I also made it clear there was real merit in your idea, and raising the company’s global profile is a certainty if we give it a chance. What reason would they have for letting some he-said, she-said bullshit stand in the way of progress?”

Wow. Is that a hint of smugness in his voice?

I’m still too flabbergasted to speak.

“You can guess which way they came down,” he continues. “Mrs. Medlin texted me two hours ago with their decision. With so many companies fixated on their public reputation for sustainability and mitigating environmental damage, it’s too brilliant to ignore. You handed them a golden ticket, woman.”

I flop back in my chair, raking a hand over my face.

Shepherd clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

“Holy shit. Yeah.” I crack one eye open and stare. “You’re being completely serious, right? Like this isn’t some horrible story just to make me feel better?”

“I may be a hardass sometimes, but I’m not that cruel. I also noted there was still plenty of indirect profit to be made by investing in reputation management—a lesson I know all too well, personally. How many consumers try to make ethical shopping choices today? It’s a tidal wave and it’s growing. Perfectly logical, though I’d like to think my personal touch dragged them over to our position.” He gives me that secret smile again I’m not sure I understand. “A bit cynical, perhaps, but it worked. That’s the important part.”

The messiest smile takes over my face.

My chest goes light as my heart stalls.

I have to check to make sure I’m still bound by gravity.

Without thinking, I reach over, drag his hand across the table, and sink my teeth into his finger.

He jerks his hand back like it’s on fire.

“What the hell was that?”

“What does it look like? I had to make sure I’m not dreaming. This is too flipping good to be true.”

“So you bite me when you’re supposed to pinch yourself?” he growls.

I shrug, feeling my cheeks overheat until I break into another smile too bright for my face.

This is really happening.

Shepherd went to bat for my product line.

He believes in my work.

He believes in me.

And it’s definitely not helping to quell the crazy butterfly swarm that’s taken me over from head to toe.

I need to divert right now before I do way more than bite him.

So I wipe the smile off my face, rubbing Mol’s head as she struts over and lays it in my lap, hoping for a few scraps, I’m sure.

“What happens if the rumor mill keeps spinning?” I ask. “If there are more of those pictures, X-rated ones…”

“They won’t dare.” His voice is so firm and unyielding. I half believe it from his tone alone. “I’m certain it’s someone from inside the company. Miss Cho is on the case. She told me Mrs. Garcia found a few anomalies with one of our prototypes. Turns out, it wasn’t ours at all, but a crudely modified consumer drone you can buy online.”

“Wait, what? Someone stole your drone and replaced it?”

He nods sharply.

“Wait. Not Carol, right? She’d never.”

“It’s unlikely, however, since she was the last person to access the lab before the crime, we have to look at her.”

I’m almost dizzy at the implication. I can’t bring myself to imagine the office mom could be so underhanded, so cruel.

There must be a better explanation.

I blink at him. “I guess that’s logical, but why? Where’s the motive? You think someone inside the company wants to—what, ruin you?”

And how did they know where we were going? They couldn’t have followed us off my Insta pictures and stories when I only started posting them when we were well up the coast.

That’s the part that makes no sense.

Was it in Shepherd’s work diary or something?

Go look at otters with Destiny Lancaster.

“I think they breached our lab and had another one of my stealth drones trailing us. The units still struggle to penetrate dense tree cover, and the infrared mode isn’t fine-tuned yet. So, the world can get fucked until we get to the bottom of this. Everything we did stays between us.”

“Right.” I release a long breath.

But did we have tree cover every time we had sex? The weekend blurs into one long haze of passions.

“They won’t find out, Destiny.” Shepherd’s voice is so gentle. “Even if they did, it’s not true what that rat influencer says, the way she’s framing it. You know that, right? You were chosen for the program on your own merits, your own reputation and image. Hell, I almost made the mistake of locking you out.”

“Lucky you for changing your mind.” I grin.

“Yeah. My point is, the fucking came after that.”

The way he says it is devastating.

It crawls right up in my feelings even more until every last part of me tingles.

Fucking.

It’s the way his lips move around the word, maybe.

Or it’s just the raw, frenzied image of us tangled together, making me half tempted to ask if he wants to do it again.

But my phone buzzes on the table beside me first.

Meghan’s picture-perfect face appears on the icon beside the message, wearing her trademark smile.

A DM answering me.

Smug. Nasty. Triumphant.

One look at Shepherd tells me he knows it’s nothing good.

I swallow nervously as I scan the message and meet his eyes again.

“It’s her. She says she’ll be in Seattle this week for a media convention,” I say, reading the message again. “…and it looks like she’s willing to talk in person.”