- Media Inquiry: CEO Hottie List
- Sponsorship Opportunity: Scottish-Themed Undergarment Line
I click on the last one with morbid curiosity.
"Dear Ms.Peters," it reads."Our company, Highland Hammocks, would like to discuss a potential endorsement opportunity with Mr.Abernathy following his viral moment.Our premium men's undergarments feature authentic tartan patterns and our slogan 'What's Under Your Kilt?'would pair perfectly with..."
My phone rings, Viktoria's name flashing on the screen.I answer while still frantically trying to delete the post.
"Please tell me you're joking," she says without preamble.
"I wish.Someone hacked our account and now the entire internet is discussing our CEO's...assets.And it's all under my login."My voice cracks."I'm going to get fired.I'm going to get fired and then I won't be able to cover Mom's medical bills and?—"
"Breathe," my oldest sister Viktoria commands in her cybersecurity specialist voice."Have you changed your passwords?"
"Yes, but?—"
"Have you alerted IT?"
"They're tracing it, but?—"
"Has Mr.Abernathy seen it yet?"
The office suddenly goes deadly quiet.The kind of quiet that spreads when a predator enters the room.
I slowly swivel in my chair.
Callum Abernathy stands six foot three of pure, chiseled Scottish intimidation in the doorway of the marketing department.His copper-red hair is perfectly styled, his custom suit immaculate, and his expression could freeze the ice on a penguin’s ass.
"I'll call you back," I whisper to Viktoria, ending the call.
Every employee suddenly becomes intensely fascinated with their computer screens as our CEO stalks through the department, his gaze fixed directly on me.The post has been up for exactly seventeen minutes, and in that time it has gone properly, thoroughly viral.
"Ms.Peters," he says, his voice carrying the faintest hint of a Scottish accent that thickens when he's angry.Right now, it's practically a brogue."My office.Now."
I rise on shaky legs, clutching my tablet to my chest."Mr.Abernathy, I can explain?—"
"Not here."His jaw ticks—an actual muscle spasm of rage.His forest-green eyes narrow as he turns on his heel, clearly expecting me to follow.
As I trail behind him, my phone vibrates continuously with notifications.I glance down to see SUSANNA has shared screenshots of the now-viral post to our group chat with the caption:HOLY SHIT KARI THIS IS GOLD!!!IS #5 ABOUT HIS BUTT REALLY TRUE???
And below it, a message from my doctor's office:REMINDER - Your mother's appointment has been rescheduled for tomorrow at 10 AM.Please confirm.
The universe really has impeccable timing.
Callum leads me to the executive elevator, stabbing the button with enough force to potentially crack the brushed metal.We stand in excruciating silence as the doors close, trapping me with six-feet-three-inches of furious Scottish billionaire.
"Mr.Abernathy," I try again, "I know how this looks, but I swear I didn't?—"
"Ten thousand," he cuts me off.
"Excuse me?"
"Ten thousand retweets."He holds up his phone, displaying the still-growing social media disaster."In seventeen minutes.A new company record, I believe."
My stomach drops into my sensible heels."I'm trying to delete it, but someone hacked my?—"
"And the most fascinating part," he continues as though I haven't spoken, "is discovering that my Marketing Director has apparently conducted such...thorough research on what I wear under my kilt."
