Mr. CEO (2 page)

Y
our shit
better be gone by the time I’m back!

My last words to my ex run through my mind as I step into the Madison Hotel bar. I stop for a moment to address my outfit, a black pencil skirt with a shiny belt wrapped around my waist, giving my figure a shapely appearance, and a pearly white blouse. I scan the room, noting it’s filled to the brim with business people, and wonder if I should head back out into the lobby to collect myself. This is a business convention and I need to be on my A game. But I didn’t come down to the bar for business.

I’m supposed to be focused on this presentation and making contacts, but all I can think about is what happened.
What
they
did to me.

Even now the pain is razor sharp, cutting me deep.

I turn to leave the bar, but then stop.

I can’t go back
, I tell myself.
I refuse to go back to crying over people who aren’t worth an ounce of my time.

It’s easy to tell myself this, but harder to put it in action. The betrayal has been a difficult thing to swallow. Especially considering the source of my agony.

Sarah was once a good friend to me, a co-worker and confidante that I thought had my best interests at heart. Turns out her only interest was getting my boyfriend's cock out of his boxers and into her lying mouth.

Ian’s infidelity had been bad enough, but Sarah’s disloyalty was deeply personal. I’d trusted her, and with everything. The way she played up to me all that time, giving me advice on everything from my hair, makeup, outfits and my relationship with Ian, only to stab me in the back when the first opportunity arrived--makes my blood fucking boil.

Screw her
, I think to myself angrily.
And screw him. They both deserve each other. I’m here now, and it’s time to move on with my life.
The wounds are only a little over a week old, but I’m tired of wallowing in grief. It’s useless. And I can’t let anything ruin this job for me. I couldn’t stand being near that bitch so I left in the heat of the moment. Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. But I still managed to get a good recommendation and land this job quickly. Thankfully.

Deciding it’s time to drink my worries away, I head over to the bar. The clicking of my heels from the hallway is muted by the thin carpet in the lounge area. I grab an end seat in a leather wingback chair, loving the open yet cozy vibe of the room and signal the bartender, a young blond man dressed in a black tux; he’s quick to make his way over.

“What will you have, sweetie?” His voice has a high-pitched note to it.

I give him a friendly smile in return. He’s handsome and all, but definitely batting for the other team. “Apple martini, please,” I reply.

He winks at me. “You got it.”

I watch as he leaves me.

Everything’s going to be fine
.
Just watch.

I’m just starting to feel more relaxed when I feel eyes boring into the back of my neck. I look around, and then my breath catches in my throat.

Holy hell,
I think to myself, my eyes widening slightly.

A man seated at the bar just a few feet away is blatantly staring at me. Not just any man. The perfect mix of CEO and sex god. I can see he's wearing a crisp white dress shirt with only the top button undone under his suit, and his dark hair is slightly messy on top. He looks like he’d pin your legs back and take what he wanted from you.

My breath catches in my throat. He’s so fucking handsome. There’s no way he was looking at me. No way in hell. He’s way out of my league. His suit looks high dollar, and he’s groomed to perfection. Even the air around him is too expensive for me.

The bartender startles me as he comes back with my drink, and I break my eye contact with the mystery man. I give the bartender a nervous smile and wiggle the thin cocktail pick with a bit of apple on it around in the glass, my heart pounding in my chest.
Jesus.
I feel like I’m having hot flashes. I have to wonder though, if that guy can do this to me with just a look, what could he do with a single touch?

I can’t help myself. I have to look back over. I chance a quick peek.
Shit
. He’s still looking right at me. I jerk my eyes away with my breath stilling in my lungs. Holy shit. He
is
looking at me. His light blue eyes pierce into me this time, holding my gaze. My lips part slightly as the feeling of being trapped washes over me. My body tenses. He’s intense.
Too intense
. Luckily a man to his right taps his shoulder and Mr. CEO turns to face him with a look of annoyance.

I take that as my cue to get the hell out of here while I can.
He
is a bad idea. And I need to stay far away.

I abandon my drink, nearly spilling it on the bar as I set it down as quickly as I can along with a twenty from my purse. I grab my black leather Coach hobo with both hands, my eyes focused on the open entryway. My skin flushes as I pass him, making my exit a little too quickly to go unnoticed.

I don’t even breathe until I’m on the elevator and the doors are closing. I stand there feeling overwhelmed and not even realizing that I need to hit the button to get this thing moving.

I need to get a grip. I push the button for my floor and lean back against the wall of the empty car. A waist-high bar is behind me and I hold it to steady myself. What the hell was that about? I replay the scene in my head, but there’s no way I’m remembering it right.

The way he looked at me triggered something deep inside me; something I’ve never felt before. A mix of fear and lust.

It was like he owned me.

T
he curtains are
open in the penthouse suite, but the soft glow from the harbor outside does nothing to brighten the darkness in the room. It doesn’t matter. The dim light from my laptop is all I need. I’m used to it. I’m most productive at night.

This is the ideal atmosphere for me, but I can’t focus. I’ve been staring at the same portfolio since I came up here and took my seat at the corner desk in my hotel room. My fingers tap against the smooth surface of the hard maple desk in a soothing beat.

I can’t calm down though. I’m nothing but tense and anxious.

I want something I can’t have, and that’s a rarity.

She’s
someone I shouldn’t pursue. I already know this, yet I’m toying with the idea of making her mine. There’s a difference between finding a quick fuck to ease my appetite and taking with the intention of keeping her.

And I already know once won’t be enough.

What’s worse is that I know keeping her entails a sort of relationship. One I’m not inclined to have. A fuck buddy is an impossibility for me. I’ve learned that the hard way. Women lie. I don’t know whether they’re lying to themselves or just to me, but when they say they’re happy with only being my fucktoy, they’re lying. Even if I’m paying them. They always want more.

I don’t know what came over me downstairs and even now. I can’t get her out of my thoughts. I shouldn’t even be considering this knowing what she’ll be getting in return, or should I say what she won’t be getting.

I want her though, and I haven’t ever wanted someone like this before. I wish she were here now, and I keep picturing it over and over. I want her straddling me, with her shapely legs draped on either side of mine and her arms wrapped around my neck.

My cock hardens in my pants. I can hear those soft moans as I fist her hair at the nape of her neck and thrust my dick over and over into her hot, tight cunt. I lean back in my seat and sigh as I try to erase the image from my head.

I’ve sworn off companionship. I don’t need it. But something about her is drawing me in. Insta-lust at its finest. I haven’t fallen victim to that in quite a while.

I don’t need anyone. And it’s best I don’t get attached. More so for them than for me.

I’m a selfish man, but I’m not so selfish that I’d bring another person into my life. There’s a reason I keep them away.

I need to remember that.

I can’t have her; I’m firm in that decision. But even as I come to that conclusion, I find myself looking through the convention’s website. I just need to know her name. With a little digging I’m certain I’ll lose interest in her. I’m sure it’s the fact that she left before I could talk to her, leaving me wanting, that has the image of her branded in my consciousness. At least that’s what I tell myself to justify looking through the list of presenters with their square pictures and short biographies.

I fucking want her.

As the thought hits me, her picture appears on the screen. My fingers stop on the touchpad as I take in the soft curves of her face. Her beautiful smile puts my memory to shame.

Charlotte Rose Harrison.

I focus on her middle name Rose, which is also the color of her lips, and the delicate features fit her perfectly. She was meant to be a Rose.

Keynote speaker for Armcorp and former executive of sales for Steamens Marketing.

Education: Graduated from North State University (2013) with master's degrees in business, marketing and economics.

I’ve seen resumes like this before. Although I have to admit her progression in a mere three years is impressive. I’m not concerned with her work habits though. I should be, but in this very moment, I don’t give a fuck about any of that. I want to know about
her
.

I open a new browser tab and type in her name.

Specifically, I want to know who she’s fucking. That’s the only thing on my mind.

Before I can press enter, I shut the laptop with more force than what’s needed and slowly rise from my seat, shaking my head.

Now’s not the time or place for this shit. This is business. And she could be an employee of mine if we settle on her company. It’s one of the two we’re considering.

I stalk across the room in darkness and head to the large windows.

The idea of buying Armcorp just to be close to her eases the part of me that’s panicking to act now before she slips through my fingers. If she’s close, I can keep tabs on her until my interest wanes. And I’m sure it will.

I run my hand through my hair and then lean against the window. It feels cool against the palms of my hands.

It’s an easy enough decision to make. A shit reason to make a business decision, but I don’t need anyone’s approval. I own my business, and I can do whatever the fuck I want to do with it.

I close my eyes and lean my forehead against the cold glass. It’s late and I can’t be rash in this decision. My hands ball into fists as I push off the large window and move to the king-size bed in the room.

Tomorrow I’ll decide. Either I’m taking her, or I’ll leave her and this fantasy alone. As I close my eyes my dick begins hardening with the thoughts of what I want to do with her and I already know what my decision will be.

Charlotte
Rose
is
mine
.

T
he pressure is real
.

Convention hall. Game face on.

I’m sitting in the audience filled with my peers, coworkers and powerful business executives, trying to calm my rising anxiety. A lot is riding on this presentation. It could literally be the difference between having a job, or being on the street. Armcorp just hired me, and if I don’t ace this I know they’ll be wondering if I’m worth it.

To make matters worse, my boss is sitting right behind me and he’ll see everything. I’m doing my best to stay still and not appear nervous. I hold my head upright and do my best to project confidence, even though I’m drowning with anxiety inside. I hope he can’t sense that I’m nearly having a panic attack right beneath his nose.

I can do this,
I tell myself. I
’m strong, smart and confident. I have this presentation memorized. This is what I do, and I’m damn good at it.

I keep repeating these words in my mind, letting it become a powerful mantra that drives back the anxiety that threatens to send me running from the room a nervous wreck.

I will succeed. There’s nothing I can’t do. They hired me because they were impressed by my resume and experience. I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

I obsessively click on my phone and look at the time. Each presentation is fifteen minutes long and I’m up next. Two minutes left.
Shit
. My heart won’t stop racing. I dim my cell’s screen and put my phone away.

I don’t know what I’m going to do when I’m called up on that stage. I’m practically shaking like a leaf.

A soft voice interrupts my anxious thoughts.

“You’re going to do fine,” Eva White, a coworker who’s sitting right next to me, says. I look over and she’s staring at me with empathy, her large brown eyes looking at me reassuringly. For a moment, I feel my anxiety ease and I’m grateful that she’s sitting next to me.

Like me, she's dressed to impress, in a sleek black pantsuit with her dark red hair pulled back into a professional ponytail.

I smile back at her, unease twisting my stomach, and mouth,
thank you
.

“You’re welcome.” She gently pats me on the leg to comfort me and I’m reminded of her nickname.
Sweet Eva
. I’m so lucky to call her a friend. In the corporate world, there's no shortage of people who will backstab you in the blink of an eye to climb the ladder, but not Eva. She’s a team player, and it’s one of the reasons I trust her already. When we’re together, shit gets done.

The announcer walks back up on stage to the podium as the previous presenter leaves, and despite my mental pep talk and Eva’s reassurance, my heart begins doing backflips and sweat slicks my palms.

“And now,” he says into the microphone, “I’d like to introduce the keynote speaker presenting Armcorp’s quarterly report, Miss Charlotte Rose Harrison.”

Oh my God. I’m so fucked.

Polite applause floods my senses and I climb to my feet with a tight smile on my face.

You’ll do fine
, Eva mouths to me.

I give her a thankful smile despite the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

I make my way to the front of the room as quickly as I can without falling on my face in these heels, my heart beating wildly with every step. I’m careful not to trip as I climb the steps to the stage and walk over to the podium. The announcer hands me a small clicker to control the projector behind me. I glance up and see the powerpoint I prepared. My heart races as I square my shoulders and straighten my back.

Alright, Charlotte. You can’t fuck this up.

For a moment I’m blinded by the bright lights on the stage making me the center of attention in the darkened room. I can’t view the sea of executives in the audience or anything for a moment. It’s just me and the stage with the projector behind me.

Slowly, everyone comes back into focus. I can see them all. Faces I know, some that I don’t. They’re all waiting for me. Staring. I swear I’m starting to sweat in places I didn’t think I could. The pressure is immense.

Get on with it, girl! I can do this.

I swallow, and then take a deep breath. The lights are shining on me, waiting. My voice is caught in my throat, suffocated by nerves. But I take another deep breath and begin what I’ve rehearsed. It’s almost like white noise in my ears as I rattle off the background and current state of Armcorp’s hold on the market. I know these lines by heart.

I turn to the projected slides and click the small button to move forward. Everyone’s watching. My blood heats and my heart races, but I know this. I quickly hit through all my notes and bullet points with an ease in my voice that doesn’t reflect my nerves, and the more I talk, the more my confidence grows. This is how it is every time. I can barely handle the pressure, and it’s huge, but I’m damn good at pushing through and maintaining the professional presentation that’s expected.

“So as you can see, the company’s market share is growing by seventeen percent and it’s on an upward trend,” I say, turning around to face the room of corporate executives. They’re all watching and judging me. And they should be; this is business, after all. “By reaching out to the other markets depicted in table five of this slide we anticipate a growth-” I pause as my eyes lock with the handsome stranger from the bar last night, my ability to speak momentarily stolen. The lines I’ve rehearsed seem to vanish and not a word can pass the lump in my throat.

He’s sitting in the back of the room, watching me with an intense gaze that makes me feel like I’m sitting in a 120 degree sauna.

Jesus. Focus, Charlie!

I clear my throat and open my mouth to continue. But nothing comes out. My mind’s blank. I stand there for several moments, my heart pounding. I need to get myself together. The corner of Mr. CEO’s lips rise in an asymmetric grin as he stares at me. He’s affecting me, and he knows it. Suddenly, I’m pissed. My nerves shift and anger replaces them. Nothing’s going to stop me from acing this and proving to everyone that I’m damn good at what I do and that I’m worth it.

I tear my eyes away from him, trying to unscramble my thoughts. A few attendees shift in their seats. They’re probably thinking I’ve suddenly gone brain-dead.

I turn my back on the room and face the drawing board, pointing with the tiny light in the clicker at the projection screen. Even with my body breaking out into a cold sweat, I push forward, quickly thinking on my toes until I’m able to remember my presentation. “And so what we have here…” As I point my wand at the graph, my hands start to tremble.

“Is room for exponential growth,” I continue on smoothly with my presentation as if nothing happened, even though it feels like my heart is climbing up my throat. I get through the next few minutes, presenting data clearly and easily. By the time I’m done, I’m covered with a sheen of sweat. But I’m sure I’ve done a competent job.

“And we will grow our profit margin by nearly ninety percent,” I say, turning to face the room in conclusion. I smile brightly and signal to the announcer that I’m done. Looking at the large clock on the far back wall, I see I’ve hit the fifteen minute mark right on the dot.
Perfect
. “Thank you for having me.” The room bursts into a scattering of light applause. I beam with relief although I’m still hot as hell with anxiety. Both from the presentation and from
him.

My nerves are still high, but I feel a slight sense of relief. I did it. It’s over, and other than that hiccup it went just as I planned. No thanks to Mr. CEO. I start to look his way but then stop. I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. He almost ruined my presentation.

I make my way back to my seat as the announcer walks up to introduce the next speaker, being careful again not to trip in my heels. That would be embarrassing as fuck.

I wiggle my way through the row and back to my seat next to Eva. She’s looking at me with admiration as I sit down.

“See, what did I tell you?” she squeals in a hushed voice, pulling me into a soft embrace. “You did fantastic!”

“Thank you,” I whisper back. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Eva waves her hand as she releases me from our hug. “Nonsense. You had that in the bag before you even stepped foot on the stage. Hell, I wish I could speak like that in front of a large crowd. You’re a natural.”

“Job well done, Charlotte,” my new boss, Charles Hastings, chips in from behind me. I turn to face him with a grateful smile as he places a hand on my shoulder. Charles’s an older man in his forties with dark hair, greying at the temples, and a chiseled jawline that is beginning to lose its strength. He’s the type of man I’d be attracted to if I were into older guys. Or if I was about five years older, he definitely could get it. Except he doesn’t hold a candle to...

I try to push Mr. CEO out of my thoughts, but it doesn’t work. All I can see is his handsome face in my mind’s eye, his piercing gaze, his crisp suit and his full lips. All I can think about is how much I want to kiss them. Good God.

“Thank you, sir,” I say, trying to shake the man from my mind.

“No, thank you, Charlotte,” Charles tells me, patting me on the shoulder. “That was a wonderful presentation. You made our company look good.”

Seeing as how I was about to pass out from anxiety before taking the stage, I should be overjoyed that I’m getting such praise from my boss. But I can’t fight the urge to look over for the stranger.

My heart does a little jolt. His seat is empty. He’s gone.

I settle back in my seat feeling a pang of disappointment.

I try to focus on the next speaker as the slides change on the screen in front of us. But I can’t concentrate. I can’t shake the hold he has over me. And why? Why does he have such a strong effect on me?

I can’t tame the urge to look back over my shoulder. He’s not there. I swallow thickly and try to ignore all thoughts of him. I don’t even know his name.

But I want to. I’m woman enough to admit that I’m at least curious.