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We went to her house and spent hours pleasuring one another. It’s tormented me ever since.
I crave her body. I crave her mouth on my shaft again. I want to see those green eyes of hers pleading for release.
And I despise myself for all of it.
CHAPTER TWO
PENELOPE
“NO. TELL THEM IF THEYwant accreditation from us, then they need to be audited.” I tell my farm manager. “What don’t they understand about certification?”
Jesus.
“They say they meet the government standards and that should be good enough.” Tucker shrugs.
I roll my eyes and adjust my laptop monitor. The glare from the floor to ceiling windows behind me is bad today. If I just pulled my blinds...but I’m too busy to even stand up and do that.
Stupid busy, I call it.
Running a non-profit organization is not for the fainthearted. We don’t have the budgets that corporations do which would allow us to hire a full team. So, we all work ten times harder.
I might be the CEO, but that doesn’t mean I do less work. Quite the opposite.
Then there’re all the networking and events to make sure we get donations from key wealthy individuals and keep the door open to opportunities.
People do business with people, as my father once taught me.
He was right.
I don’t think he ever expected me to end up working for a non-profit, but it’s what my heart wants to do.
I’m fortunate to be able to choose it. I have a trust fund that allows me to make decisions other people may not be able to.
“Well, it’s not enough, Tucker. Consumers want to know their animals have been farmed humanely. That’s what the blue heart logo we provide them with for their packaging means. No audit. No logo.”
I feel like a stuck record.
“So tell them?” Tucker asks, scratching the back of his head.
Oh, my god.
Tucker is new, so I know he’s just looking for direction, but I am so busy and my patience is thin.
“Yes. No. One of my team members will. But in the future, if someone stops you going on a farm, tell them they either get audited or they don’t. The end.”
“Got it. Okay.” Tucker nods, and when my marketing manager joins us, I let out a sigh of relief.
She understands how it works.
“Jenny, can you please give the owners at CluckaDale Farms a call? They refused to let Tucker on the farm today to be audited.”
She frowns. “They have to.”
I know!
I nod and stare at the email I’m trying to write. We’re lobbying the government for better conditions for farm animals—like many charities around the world are constantly doing—and I have to get this in by tomorrow.
I glance up when no one says anything, lifting my brow in question.