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“Sea otters,” he repeats like he’s testing to see whether he misheard me. “You want me to drop everything to see otters? Is that a serious proposal?”
...well, when he says it like that, he really does make it sound off the wall.
“I mean, I’ve been planning an otter stakeout past Olympia for ages,” I say. “If I can’t spot them in person, I’d love to check out their habitat, at least. I love those little guys and—it’s research, okay?”
“Research,” he repeats dryly.
I wonder if he has a button under his desk for security. Am I three seconds from a pack of stoic brutes dragging me out of the building?
“For community reporting to the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife?” I venture. “They welcome public assistance with sightings and tracking. The otters are endangered and also really hard to find, so the state’s always keen for any help.”
Finally, it’s getting through to him.
The sour disbelief leaves his face, but although he nods, a muscle in his jaw ticks.
Good.
I’ve gone and pissed him off again, just like I expected.
If I can sell him on this trip, then convincing him to use company resources for animal tracking ought to be a breeze.
“Technically, thisispart of my presentation. The perfect chance to demonstrate future applications and observations for your technology out in the wild,” I say, shifting forward so I can balance my elbows on the table and face the music in those glinting blue eyes.
Dad always used to nail me on posture when I was a little girl.
Elbows don’t belong on tables, bad manners, especially in a business setting, and I know that.
I also know I should be prim and proper and remind Foster that I’m not the bad-mouthing kind of pretty girl Vanessa Dumas is.
Also, these areotterswe’re talking about.
Debra Hollens and her awesome interview are great material. Perfectly convincing but also a bit predictable.
But the otters—they’re my ace in the hole.
They’re for winning Foster over and bringing this home.
“Just think about it.” I hold up my hands. “Just for a second, okay? I know you’re a nature guy from—um, that morning we met. Say no more.” I beam him a strained smile.
He’s so not amused.
His nostrils flare.
“The otters are notoriously difficult to spot in the wild,” I continue. “And since the government is asking for civilian help, Home Shepherd has a perfect green light. Your drones couldchangetheir tracking like nothing else. And if it works in a real field test like this, it could help for way more than just otters.”
I expect him to laugh me off if he doesn’t have me dragged away and unceremoniously dumped in the back alley next to the dumpster first.
Or at least give me a cruel, mocking smile and revoke any chance I ever had at involving Home Shepherd in this scheme.
Instead, he just looks at me like he’s never seen me before.
Which is alarming, because the earlier scowl returns, gaining in harshness like a gathering storm.
I’ve never seen a man look so broody before—which is saying something when I grew up with the broodiest single dad in Seattle.
Then his hand starts moving.
Oh, here we go.
