Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 59671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 298(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
“Good morning, Ms. Anderson,” Tristan’s sexy voice purrs.
I look over to see him standing to the side looking like god’s gift to women. Perfectly fitted navy suit, crisp white shirt, and gray tie. His dark hair is messed up to just-fucked perfection. He has his hands in his pockets and is leaning his behind on a desk.
“Good morning, Tristan.”
He smirks and looks at his watch. “Eight fifty-two,” he says to Fletcher who is standing beside him.
Fletcher scribbles something onto the pad he is holding.
Huh.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Tristan smiles. “Go to your office, darling, and please remember that I love you.”
I frown, and the elevator doors open again, a girl steps out and Tristan stands and shakes her hand. “Good morning, Tristan Miles.”
The girl looks up in awe at the god. “Hello, Mr. Miles.”
“What is your name?” he asks.
“Melanie Right.”
“Good morning, Melanie, this is Fletcher Anderson,” he introduces him.
Fletcher shakes her hand. “How do you do?”
Melanie smiles and then scurries to her desk; Tristan looks over to Fletcher and glances at his watch. “Melanie Right, eight fifty-six.”
My eyes widen, he’s making a note of what time everyone gets here.
What the fuck?
“I need coffee.” I march to my office and close the door behind me. “Fuck.”
It’s fine, it’s fine….
My door busts open and Marley charges in. “Oh my fuck, what is going on out there?”
“What?” I screw up my face. “Do I even want to know?”
“Evan just got sprayed for being seven minutes late.”
“Oh crap.”
“And Marlene just got sent home because she was dressed inappropriately for the office.”
My eyes widen. “What was she wearing?”
“A black bra underneath a see-through blouse.”
I put my hands over my face.
“To be fair, she does dress like a total ho every day,” Marley replies. “She makes me want to vomit in my own mouth most of the time.”
The door opens, and Fletcher comes into view. “Marley, Tristan is looking for you.”
“Oh crap.” Marley screws up her face. “Help.” She marches out the door and into the firing line. I peer out the corner of the blinds and spy on the office goings-on.
Over the next five hours I watch on as Tristan and Fletcher make their way around to everyone’s desk, they chat and talk and have a way that can only be described as unapologetic.
They know what they want and they know how to get it.
Their people skills are so mastered and so perfected that they have everyone eating out of the palm of their hand.
I watch Fletcher, dressed in a three-thousand-dollar suit, exuding confidence as he chats and takes notes on everyone. He’s laughing and asking questions and oozing a certain X factor that can only be described as Miles-like.
It’s become abundantly clear to me that every day he spends working with Tristan, he becomes a little less Anderson and a little more Miles.
He’s turning into the man he was always meant to be.
A confident, knowledgeable, and hardworking man, and I have never been prouder.
We have a meeting scheduled at 3 p.m. this afternoon for all staff, and I have no idea what to expect.
But I’m trying to trust the process.
Three p.m., and I sit in the front row of the auditorium with Marley.
Tristan has hired a hall for the staff meeting this afternoon, he wanted everyone in the same room.
This is new territory; we have never done anything like this before.
Tristan and Fletcher are sitting on the stage where a microphone and podium are set up as they wait for all of the staff to pile in.
Eventually Tristan stands and goes to the podium. “Good afternoon, everyone,” he says in his sexy deep voice. “Thank you for coming.” He gives a smile to the audience as everyone hangs on his every word.
I’m taken back to that conference he spoke at in Épernay and how much I despised him from my seat in the audience. Never in a million years did I imagine this life I live now would ever come to fruition.
“It’s been great to meet all of you today.” He turns back and gestures to Fletcher. “Fletcher and I wanted to have this meeting to explain the new adventure that Anderson Media is about to undertake.”
The crowd falls silent.
“Firstly, you may all be asking what the fuck is Tristan Miles doing here?” He gives a playful wink and everyone chuckles. “With Claire Anderson’s permission I’m going to be as straight with you as I possibly can.”
He clicks a remote and a photograph of Wade and me comes up onto the large screen. We are young, early twenties, and sitting at a desk with a typewriter in front of us. I frown as I stare at it, where did he get this photo?
“Anderson Media is the brainchild of Wade Anderson.” He gestures to Fletch. “Fletcher’s father, who along with his wife, our beloved Claire Anderson, started this company from a one-room office. They worked hard with blood, sweat and tears to create the wonderful company that is here and still standing today.” He paces back and forth across the stage as he talks, he clicks the remote and photos from the early Anderson Media days come up on the screen.