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CHAPTER TWELVE
LANDON
Growing up, I hatedpublic speaking.
The stutter was one reason; it was always lurking in the past like a ghost, threatening to upend any speech I gave. But public speaking also wasn’t native to my personality—I was more introverted than I let on and didn’t volunteer for leadership roles or seek out class appointments. I was more inclined to spend time coding and computer programming. I would have been happy if no one noticed me.
None of that worked as the CEO of a major corporation.
Giving speeches was part of it all, and I had to do several a week, no matter how much I disliked them. Even greeting my guests on the eve of the largest acquisition in the history of Sparks Innovation called for a speech.
Which I supposed went well.
Regardless, none of the sycophants and hangers-on in attendance would tell me if it didn’t. Instead, as soon as I concluded my remarks welcoming them to the weekend of festivities, they crowded around me, begging for slices of my time as they offered congratulations and flattered me about my bold decision to buy Chatter. I was swamped, and one hour faded into two before I realized Rebecca wasn’t in the crowd anymore.
I made a mental note to stop by the pool house and strode over there once Robert left, the last guest at the party. By then, it was almost midnight.
I knocked twice, and Rebecca answered the door a few seconds later. She’d changed into a pair of black lounge pants and a loose white T-shirt hung off one shoulder. Her hair was on top of her head in a loose knot. And she looked...sexy.
Not just sexy. Damn sexy.
“Hey,” I tried, thinking of our last flirty conversation. “It’s late.”
“It is.”
“Wanted to check on you. I noticed you left the party, but I didn’t get a chance to say goodnight.”
“I appreciate the chivalry.” She leaned against the white doorframe. “And...goodnight.”
“Did you get what you needed?’
“For what?”
“For the article.”
“Oh. Yes. Got a lot of useable stuff today.”
“I’m glad today was...useable.”
“You don’t like that word?”
“Seems a bit clinical.”
“Well, regardless”—the left side of her mouth turned upward—“thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied as I searched for a reason to keep the conversation going. Checking in with her was the last thing on my agenda that evening, and despite the late hour, I wanted to draw out this moment, to extend it if I could. “Big day tomorrow.”
“For you.”
“Do you have any questions about what’s going to happen? Anything to clear up?”
She shook her head.
