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She nods.
That makes a little more sense.
Destiny dresses like someone familiar with high fashion, which becomes second nature when you come from money. The Lancasters have a vast regional coffee shop empire stretching from Montana to Hawaii and they’re well known in these parts.
Wasn’t there even some drama with her old man and his wife years ago? Some sort of headline-grabbing rescue story?
I can’t remember.
“Yes, the coffee people,” Hannah says. “But that’s not the point.”
“Then what the hell is?” I rake my hand through my hair.
Goddamn.
She doesn’t seem to notice my irritation intensifying like a grease fire. In the five years she’s worked for me, I haven’t been able to provoke a single negative response from her.
Believe me, I’ve tried.
Not deliberately, but I’m the kind of boss who would try anyone’s patience.
“Don’t worry, I did some digging into her motivations. She’s sincerely renounced her family’s money in favor of doing honest nonprofit work,” she says. “That’s another reason she stood out in a field of well-qualified candidates. For Miss Lancaster, this isn’t just about raising her own profile.”
“So?” I demand.
She sighs patiently as we walk through the lobby.
“So, if you’re seen working with her like a perfect gentleman, while she publicly vouches that you have no ulterior motives as a funder and mentor, then perhaps she’s it. Your golden ticket out of any alleged escapades with Vanessa Dumas.”
Shit.
I hate that it makes too much sense.
I rub the back of my head as we sweep through the lobby, twitchy bystanders parting for us like Moses and the sea.
Unlike my office, this lobby is all white and gold and busy as hell.
Interns with coffee in their hands and harassed expressions on their faces hurry toward the elevators, lanyards around their necks swinging.
Normally, it’s the kind of chaos I enjoy because it’s productive.
Today, I can’t even bask in the joy.
“Look, Mr. Foster, all you really have to do is be decent for a few weeks with her,” Hannah says. “Is that so hard?”
Miss Cho, you have no frigging clue.
“I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I can’t,” I say, though it’s a valid one, considering the way I’ve already handled this Destiny situation.
Like a magnificent asshole.
Hannah side-eyes me.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, though she doesn’t mean it. I think she just gets her kicks from calling me ‘sir’ when she’s right and waiting for me to admit it.
Infuriating.
If I had a real leg to stand on, I’d have already argued back, but I don’t.
