Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99356 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“Uh, duh. It’s on our agenda. Why do you think I’m planning to film the whole talk? You know, because I’m such a good employee and want to re-watch this to make sure I catch every not-so-little bit. I might even watch it in the bathtub tonight. Naked,” she added, as if that wasn’t obvious. “That’s how dedicated I am to my job.”
“You are not filming my boyfriend for your perverted purposes,” I said, snatching her phone out of her hands. I felt a very real tug of jealousy at the idea, which was concerning. No. It wasn’t real jealousy. I was just acting. “You can have this back when he’s done. Or when you decide to start letting your brain drive instead of your vagina.”
“But my brain drives like a grandma and my vagina is the fun one.” Marley grinned as a thought seemed to come to her. “She knows how to drive stick.” She raised her hands and suggestively started pumping them up and down along an imaginary shaft.
I laughed. “God. I’m glad I know you.”
“Aw,” Marley gave my arm a hug and discreetly plucked the phone out of my hands while I was distracted. “And I’m glad you have the grip strength of a geriatric gnat.”
I scowled. “If I even suspect you’re in the tub with that video, I’ll throw a freaking toaster in there with you.”
Marley made a face of mock horror. “Plugged in or unplugged?”
“Depends how into that video you are.”
We were cut off when Dean finally emerged at the front of the room. We’d split off after our spa day. He went to make some kind of call while I got changed and dressed. He must’ve gone back to change after that, and he looked amazing. He had on a dark black suit with a crisp white undershirt and a dark gray tie.
He didn’t need to ask the room to quiet down, because his presence did that on its own. Dean was magnetic. There was no denying that. He was fascinating just to look at. I could’ve stared at him for an hour without getting bored, which was exactly what made him such a freaking pain in my ass.
Either way, I expected to be bored once he started talking, but Dean opened with a few off-the-cuff lines like a stand-up comedian and had everyone laughing. Without me even realizing it, he’d transitioned into talking about work. Mostly, he was talking about how our mental state can be a detriment or a boon. On its surface, the topic was something I could’ve found in a million self-help books or boring work meetings. But I couldn’t help but watch Dean with rapt attention–so much so that I hardly even noticed Marley with her camera rolling and the weird little moans of approval she made every time he turned and presumably gave her a shot of his ass.
I listened to Dean talk and thought I saw for the first time why he was so good at what he did. Without realizing it, I’d been assuming Dean only had all his money and success because of how he looked or things that had been handed to him. Watching him up there made me realize none of that was true. He made connections–even with an entire room of people. It didn’t feel like he was reciting a speech he’d practiced. It felt like he’d walked in here, taken a pulse on the room, and effortlessly started talking about exactly what we needed to hear. Nobody in the room was distracted on their phone or looking bored. People were even taking notes, though the Pollard men hadn’t asked us to.
Little by little, a growing but grudging respect for Dean blossomed in my chest. I could see the brain behind the man who never seemed to take anything seriously. I could see there was another layer to him. He actually cared about this stuff, and he was good at it.
I wasn’t sure why, but that seemed to matter.
I found myself clapping hard when he finished. Nearly an hour had passed in what felt like minutes, and Dean was smiling, waving, then leaving the stage. A few people stood and then the whole room was standing and clapping.
Marley was beside me, holding her phone with one hand and whooping loud while fist pumping with the other hand. It was like she’d just watched a concert instead of a speaker at a business conference.
“Man,” she said, holding her phone protectively. “That is an hour of pure gold. It’ll be worth the toaster you’re going to throw at me. Gotta go!” She winked, then rushed out of our row of seats.
I watched her go and couldn’t help smiling. I wondered what she’d think if she knew it was all a sham. The man my entire company was probably falling in love with after our couple’s game, and now that talk, wasn’t really mine.