Page 113 of Saved By the CEO

“No.”

He looks at me.

“Fine. Yes.” I take another sip of coffee.

His mouth twitches, and he reaches out to move a strand of hair away from my face. “You’ll do well.”

“You have to say that because you’re sleeping with me.”

“I don’t have to say anything.” His thumb brushes once over my cheek before he drops his hand. “You earned this.”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling into my coffee.

I fucking did.

He studies me for a beat, then stands and reaches for his tie. “We have forty-five minutes before we have to leave. You should probably utilize that time.”

My eyes turn into slits. “What do you mean by that?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks pointedly at my hair.

I throw a pillow at him.

By the time we get to BenCo, I have managed to shower, dress, do my makeup, and tame my hair into something that could reasonably be described as intentional. Andrew drives with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on my thigh, his thumb moving absently over my knee at every red light.

He drops me off at the front entrance instead of pulling into the executive garage, because we agreed that arriving together on my first official day in Communications might be a little much.

For the first time in three years, I press a different button in the elevator.

Communications is already buzzing when I arrive. Someone is laughing near the printer, someone else is on the phone discussing a community newsletter, and two people are arguing over whether the phrase “meaningful dialogue” sounds sincere or like something a hostage negotiator would say.

There’s a small plant on my new desk, a welcome card signed by the team, and a stack of folders with a sticky note on top.

Welcome to the chaos

Marissa appears beside me with a paper cup in her hand. “Welcome, officially.”

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the coffee even though I have already had one in the CEO’s bed this morning. Which I obviously don’t disclose, even though I guess it wouldn’t matter as much anymore. I don’t report to him.

Except sometimes in bed, when we’re feeling frisky.

The day passes in a rush of introductions, passwords, system access, project folders, and people telling me things I absolutely will not remember in five minutes. I learn where the good coffee is, which printer hates everyone, and that the plant on my desk is from the social media specialist, who says it’s almost impossible to kill.

She clearly doesn’t know the level of botanical violence I’m capable of.

At lunch, I go to the cafeteria. I look toward the tables where IT usually sits, and when Josh isn’t there, a warm, petty little glow spreads through my chest.

Fuck that man.

I hope he never finds another job.

I eat lunch with two women from Communications who ask me whether I’ve figured out which printer is evil yet, and when I say I thought all office printers were evil, one of them nods as if I’ve passed a test.

Ah, corporate humor.

It’s so lame.

I love it.