Page 86 of Eco-Activist's Mountain Men
“Eric’s Chief Scientific Officer,” Luna says without hesitation. “He leads research, R&D, innovation, and makes sure our science matches our business strategy. Sound good?”
“Oh gosh, yes—I mean, I’d love that. Conferences, research, helping Jack plan the future—yes.”
“Exactly. You’ll also be our scientific spokesperson. Write articles, impress customers with our innovation. That’s your lane.”
I write it down, my pulse quickening: Eric, Chief Scientific Officer.
“Go Doc, go Doc,” Toby chants.
“Shut up, Toby.”
“And you?” Jack asks Luna.
“Me? CRO—Chief Revenue Officer. Sales and marketing. I’ll handle the charm offensive.” She winks.
“That fits,” Jack says simply.
“Sounds good,” Luke agrees.
“Works for me,” Toby adds.
“What about finance and legal?” I ask. “We’ll need proper oversight.”
“Good point,” Luna says. “We’ll use Daddy’s contacts for now—an accountant and a lawyer. Keeps us safe.”
I scribble it down: Outsourced CFO/legal. “That matters,” I say. “We can’t afford mistakes.”
Jack nods at me. “Good call, Eric.”
Warmth spreads through me. I’ve never felt more included.
“One more thing,” Luna says. “This lodge. If we’re living here as owners, it changes. Starlink internet, proper bedrooms, private bathrooms, and a real office. I want my own en-suite shower.”
No objections—her money, her call.
Toby raises a hand.
She sighs. “What now?”
“I just want to know if it’s standard practice for the Chief Revenue Officer to sit in the CEO’s lap during meetings—and whether it’s exclusive, or if we all get a turn?”
“You want to sit on your brother’s knee? Be my guest.”
“Not exactly what I meant?—”
We collapse in laughter.
Jack clears his throat, smiling. “Let’s celebrate. Toby, bring out the bottle.”
“Sure thing, Mister CEO, Sir.” Toby salutes and trots off, returning with a bottle and a tray of mismatched glasses.
Jack takes the bottle, holding it like treasure. “Lagavulin sixteen-year. I was saving it for a special occasion. This feels like it.”
He hands it to Luna. “You made this happen. Pour.”
She pops the cork and pours five amber measures. The whisky glows in the sunlight.
I clear my throat. “May I propose a toast?”
