Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
"You know Eleanor?" I asked. “She’s also a client of ours,” I added, hoping the shared connection would be another factor pushing him toward working with us.
"Oh yes," he said, his weathered face softening with what might have been nostalgia. "We go back... quite a ways. I actually gave her her first duck, you know. A rubber one, from my father's factory." He cleared his throat, seeming to catch himself. "But that was a lifetime ago. Now, about these proposals..."
I filed away the odd moment, noting how quickly he changed the subject. There was clearly a story there, but whatever it was, Davenport wasn't ready to tell it.
There was an awkward pause as they stood just outside my office, Davenport’s watery blue eyes watching me expectantly.
Finally, he smiled and gave a small wink. “I can see I ruffled your feathers showing up early. Good. People with ruffled feathers are far more interesting. And Miss Hartwell was kind enough to show me her ceramic waterfowl spreadsheet. It’s quite detailed—really extraordinary work.”
What the hell was every client’s sudden fascination with ducks?
I noticed Ember's slight flush at that. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Shall we?" I gestured to my office.
Davenport took the chair across from my desk and Ember settled in beside him, crossing one leg. Like usual, it didn’t matter how serious the circumstances were. My memory still flashed with an image of her spreading her legs for me and flashing her panties, along with the slightly dark patch of arousal I had seen there.
That single image had been haunting me for weeks, and I already lost track of how many times I had fucked my hand to the thought of it. The woman was single-handedly unraveling me, and I wondered if she even knew it.
Davenport cleared his throat, yanking me from my perverse thoughts to the present. "I've been thinking about what Miss Hartwell said about legacy."
I glanced at Ember, but she was suddenly very interested in her notebook.
"The thing is," Davenport continued, "these factories aren't just buildings to me. They're living history. Hundreds of families built their lives around them. Generations of workers passed through those doors. I may not be long for this world, but those factories could stand long after I'm gone. That matters to me."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "Which is why our renovation plans—"
"Let me finish, young man." Davenport's eyes hardened slightly. "The problem with youth is you become so fixated on the future you forget about the past—both yours and the past of those who came before you. You charge so fast ahead you lose sight of what matters."
I felt my jaw tighten. "With all due respect—"
"Mr. Foster," Ember cut in softly. When I looked at her, she gave a tiny shake of her head.
Something in her expression made me pause.
She was right. I needed to shut my mouth and let Davenport speak before I sabotaged another meeting with the old man.
"Please, continue,” I said, bowing my head slightly in apology.
Davenport looked surprised, then pleased. "Well. Perhaps you can learn after all." He leaned forward. "I had an interesting conversation with Cole Northman last night."
I saw Ember go very still.
Why did she always react so strangely at the mention of that man?
"He had some... creative ideas about the properties,” Davenport continued. “I was also quite impressed with his dedication to the history of my factories. He showed me an entire set of documents he has been putting together detailing everything from families who worked in those buildings to facts about the lives that were impacted by the products there."
Now Ember's face had gone white as a ghost. I slid my eyes to her, temporarily more worried about her than the implication of what Davenport was saying—that he was actually considering working with Cole Northman instead of Foster Real Estate on this.
"He showed you that?" Ember asked. Her voice was uncharacteristically meek.
"Yes, Sweetheart," Mr. Davenport said. "I've appreciated the touches of personality you bring to the project, but I must admit I was quite impressed and moved by the sheer amount of work that must have gone into his research."
Ember looked like she was trying to swallow a giant, dry ball of cotton as she nodded and forced a smile.
What the hell is going on there?
"But," Mr. Davenport said, leaning in and giving Ember's knee a friendly tap with his knuckles. "I'm here because I also liked what you said about your vision. Tell me a little more about what you think should be done with my factories?"
All my instincts screamed to jump in at that moment and take control of the conversation. Instead, I took a slow, steady breath and waited for Ember to speak. I couldn’t say if my restraint spoke to my belief in Ember, the changes she had already sparked in me, or a little bit of both.