Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
My cock twitches at her intake of breath. Naughty little trespasser.
“I really wish you wouldn’t bring that up. I wasn’t snooping. I told you I was lost.”
“It’s a good thing I found you before you got into any more trouble then.” Trouble—like her falling onto my cock. She swallows, and my mind takes a darker turn. I’m tempted to test the waters. Would she allow me to touch her, stop me if I slid my hand up her skirt… refuse if my fingers slid inside her tight cunt? It’s a pity we arrive at the warehouse before I can. And what a shame it is. The way her cheeks flush, she wouldn’t think twice about stopping me.
“Here we are,” I say.
She blinks, glancing out the window. “You own this?”
I chuckle. “Yes. I own seventeen of them.”
“Wow. Mr. Blake, that’s—”
I rest my hand on her thigh. “Call me Jackson.”
I’m going to hell.
Her lips part, and my dick springs to life. Don’t even think about it, big guy. I tighten my grip, then release her. “Let me show you around.” The door opens, and I climb out, waiting for Georgia to follow suit.
“This facility spans one hundred and eleven thousand square feet and operates as a full-service production hub,” I explain, leading her toward the entrance. “Inside, we utilize state-of-the-art machinery equipped with cutting-edge technology to meet the demands of large-scale distribution.”
I push open the door to the warehouse and gesture for her to enter. “This location primarily focuses on plastic distribution. We supply a full range of thermoplastics, renowned for their efficiency and recyclability, as well as thermoset materials for high-temperature and durable applications. Whether a client needs sheets, rods, tubes, or custom profiles, we have the capability to manufacture and distribute them to exact specifications.”
I pause, letting her take in the sheer scale of the operation. “Every shipment that leaves this facility meets the strictest industry standards. Quality control is key. Without it, our reputation wouldn’t be what it is today.”
We head down the main hallway, and I stop at the row of hard hats hanging on the wall. Grabbing one, I face Georgia. “Safety protocol.” I lift it up to gently place it on her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “There.”
Her chest rises and falls. I catch sight of Wayne in my peripheral and grab my hat. “Morning, Mr. Blake. I’m sorry you had to make the trip out here.”
I shake his hand. “Not a problem. I just want to ensure we stay ahead of this. Let’s walk and talk.”
Wayne, the warehouse manager, runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his stance as he gestures toward the production line. “We had a coding error in the system this morning,” he explains. “Something in the automated sequencing got scrambled, and the machines started running out of sync. Some of the production lines stalled while others overcompensated, throwing off the entire workflow.”
He pulls out a tablet and scrolls through a diagnostic report. “It appears to be a miscommunication between the software update and the existing system. The coding glitch caused the machines to misread production commands—some shut down, others kept running at incorrect speeds. We’ve been working to recalibrate everything, but we had to halt production to prevent defective output.”
Wayne releases a strained breath. “The IT team is already patching the code and running tests to ensure it doesn’t happen again, but it’s put us behind schedule. We need to get this fixed before orders start piling up.”
I cross my arms, my jaw tightening as I observe the normally loud production line. "I wrote that code myself. It should be flawless.” My gaze sharpens as I turn to Wayne.
“Who’s had access to the system?” I keep my voice controlled, but the edge beneath it is impossible to miss. “I want a full audit. Every login, every modification—find out exactly when this error occurred and who the hell was in the system before it went down.”
Wayne hands me the tablet, and I scroll through the security-approved batch numbers. My gaze remains locked on the screen as I rub a hand over my jaw. “What about the maintenance reports?” I demand, shifting my attention back to Wayne. “Did anything show up—irregularities, flagged errors?”
Wayne grabs the tablet and scans through the latest logs. “Nothing major,” he says, shaking his head. “All routine checks came back clear. No system failures, no reported malfunctions. Last update was logged three days ago, and everything was running at optimal performance.”
“Then how the hell did a coding error throw the entire system out of sync? If maintenance was fine, and my code was intact, this shouldn’t have happened.” My voice hardens as my eyes flick back to the production floor. “I want every modification reviewed. Someone had to have triggered this.”
Wayne nods. “I’ll cross-check the reports with the IT team. If there was any unauthorized access, we’ll find it.”