Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
A bead of sweat trickles down my spine.
His gaze moves over me with a familiarity that’s startling. It takes me less than half a second to place him. He’s the CEO of Holt Media. He crosses the room and extends a hand, forest-green eyes locked on mine. It’s unnerving, and even worse, oddly stimulating in all the wrong places.
“Jackson Holt, CEO of Holt Media. It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Ms. Spark.”
Again?
“It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Thank you so much for the opportunity to present.” I’m grateful that it doesn’t come out all pitchy, thanks to my current state of shock. I know very little about this man, apart from what I read about his business accomplishments, but it’s enough to make me feel like I’m meeting a celebrity.
I slip my hand into his, and my entire body breaks out in a wave of goose bumps. I fight not to succumb to a full-body shudder. As it is, other parts of my body respond with an inappropriate level of excitement.
His gaze lowers briefly to our clasped hands before it meets mine again, and his smile widens. My heart nearly stops before it shifts into a full-on gallop.
In pictures, Jackson Holt is stunning. In person, he’s a force. His hair is styled, but a tad too long at the sides, giving it a slightly unruly appearance. His eyes are a vibrant shade of green reminiscent of evergreens; his lashes are thick and dark and long. His jaw is glass-cuttingly defined with high cheekbones. Charisma drapes him like an aura.
He’s hardly said a thing and I have the urge to give him my online banking password. Not that I have a whole lot of funds for him to get excited about. But still.
“My apologies for interrupting.” He finally releases my hand and drops into the chair closest to the front of the room, and consequently less than three feet from where I’m presenting.
“Mitchell, may I see the file for Spark House, please?” Jackson gives him a tight-lipped smile.
“Of course, sir.” He passes him a package of information containing the handout I brought with me and a thick file.
Mitchell and Tish exchange a questioning look as Jackson quickly flips through my proposal. It gives me a brief opportunity to inspect Jackson a little closer and figure out why he looks so familiar, and not just because I spent a ridiculous amount of time staring at his picture yesterday.
And then it hits me like a sledgehammer. Three months ago when I was at the bar with my sisters, he was the guy who bought our drinks and asked me out. And here he is. The CEO of a massive company, a self-made almost billionaire. Who wanted to go on a date with me. Which would explain why he said it was nice to meet me again. And I turned him down. Crap. I hope he’s not going to try and sabotage this meeting. Or embarrass me. Is he? Where are Harley and her pep talks when I need them?
How I’m going to maintain my composure for the remainder of this meeting is beyond me.
Before I can launch back into my presentation, another man steps into the conference room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he directs the comment at me and then turns his attention to Jackson, tapping his wrist. “We have a meeting.”
Jackson motions toward me without even looking at the man. “As you can see, I’m in a meeting right now.”
The man in the doorway looks to Mitchell and Tish, who both shrug. “I definitely see that, but we’re scheduled to meet with Lincoln Moorehead in ten minutes.” He leans against the doorframe, one brow arched.
“I trust that you can handle it on your own, and send my apologies. I’m needed here. Close the door on your way out, and make sure the Meeting in Progress sign is up so there aren’t any more interruptions while Ms. Spark is speaking.”
The man stands there for a few more seconds, looking annoyed and maybe slightly amused. I have no idea what’s happening. “You got it, boss.” Eventually the door closes with a quiet click.
“Once again, I apologize, Ms. Spark. That’s the last of the interruptions. Don’t feel as though you need to start from the beginning. But I’d love a brief history of Spark House.” He flips through a couple of pages. “It says here that this is a family-run business?”
“That’s correct. The original owner had been planning to sell to developers, but my great-grandmother saw the opportunity, and she and my great-grandfather purchased the property.”
“Real estate is always a wise investment,” Jackson says.
“She thought so, and I have to agree. The property has been passed down through the generations, and we’ve been fortunate in that we’ve been able to secure grants to help make it a more energy-efficient, green-friendly hotel and event facility. My parents were one of the first to secure a grant for a solar farm, which helps reduce our carbon footprint and provides energy not only to Spark House, but to the surrounding community members. Our neighbors are farmers, so in exchange for energy, we receive locally sourced produce and eggs.”