Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119184 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 596(@200wpm)___ 477(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
He yips.
Mom looks up over her glasses and smiles.
My mother’s at her best in the morning, before the day’s obligations come crashing in.
Later, she’ll put her contacts in and change into something more stylish. Kerrigan Pruitt’s image is her main commodity, and she’s all about being perfectly put together.
In her opinion, failing eyesight is an unacceptable weakness, and she’s already had laser surgery twice.
Charlie barks again, his fluffy rump wiggling as he bounces around Mom’s chair.
I swallow a laugh, happy as hell to see him gearing up to play.
I idly wonder if the latest stuff my people are coming up with would ever appeal to an energetic beast like Charlie. It might make him happier and healthier, but only if his owner can afford it.
There’s the fucking rub.
Mom saves me before I glue my eyes back to the screen. She puts down her iPad and laughs, reaching down so she can cup Charlie’s fox-like face in her hands.
I’m glad he’s a well-behaved boy and his antics aren’t pissing her off.
Yesterday, when I brought him to my parents’ place from the vet, she was delighted.
My father never let me have dogs, growing up, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t adore them.
Charlie was cute enough to warrant an overnight stay in my old room, which opens up to the spacious yard leading down to the summer shore of Lake Washington.
That’s the real reason I brought him here, rather than my place. High-rise condos aren’t much for a dog to run around. Plus, I didn’t want to risk overexerting him at a public park before he’s truly rested.
“Is he annoying you?” I ask, glancing at the time. “I’ll be taking him to the clinic soon.”
“Hardly, he’s a dear.” She smooths her hand over his head, smiling. “You should take a break and enjoy your morning. It isn’t every day you wake up with a puppy.”
I grunt reluctantly.
“I mean it, Brady. You’re an investor, not a scientist. You won’t magically conjure the world’s best organic dog food out of thin air by staring at reports until your eyes melt.”
“I’m the CEO, Mother.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s my money on the line and my responsibility to be on top of everything.”
“Careful. You sound like your father.” Goddamn, that stings. “Does that mean working yourself into an early grave?” She examines one hand, the one with the diamonds glinting on her ring finger.
My parents have been married for a long time now, but she’s never stopped staring at that ring.
They have their faults, sure, but there’s no denying they love each other.
That, or she just loves the way it sparkles in the light.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
“There’s a gap in the market, and we’re going to fill it. I’m sure we can bring the prices down. Keeping more pets healthy with the good stuff people can actually afford will make everyone happier.”
“Yes, darling, I’ve read your mission statement several times.” She glances back at her tablet and continues, already distracted as Charlie settles at her feet.
To her, my achievements aren’t the important thing and the details hardly matter. She’s too used to snapping her fingers and letting someone else make miracles happen.
But for me, that’s the entire point.
Principles are God.
Adopting a pet for life is fucking hard. Giving them what they need while you’re on a shoestring budget—especially in an expensive city like Seattle, where food and housing for people is a constant issue—that’s harder.
That’s also why someone needs to make it happen, and that someone is me.
I’ve done my market research. There’s space for high-quality, healthy food for dogs and cats that doesn’t bleed bank accounts if it’s just sourced right and formulated wisely.
I’m going to prove it’s possible, even if it makes me want to tear my hair out sometimes.
Hell, often.
Mom puts her iPad back down again with a sigh, looking at me over her glasses. “I know you have your heart set on this. But I wonder if dog food is really the right direction for you right now. You could always develop another app.”
“Been there, done that. Key word being done.”
I have to fight to keep from snarling.
Being a prisoner of your own success is too real.
My first start-up went terrifyingly well. So well, it’s left everyone who matters staring at me impatiently, waiting for me to work digital sorcery again.
“You have talent. We both know it,” she continues. “You could do something more exciting—and better for your image—than that dating app you sold last year.”
“Something better for your image, you mean?”
I know her real worry. I’m practically the face of Pruitt Brands, ever since my father couldn’t be.
“Well . . . dog food doesn’t have a whiff of scandal, but it’s simply not”—she pauses and catches herself—“not very dignified.”
My eyes bounce to the clock on my computer. Damn, it’s still not time to head to the clinic yet, which means I’m stuck in this conversation.