Page 7 of Saved By the CEO

I know. I have never known anything more than I know that.

“You look tired.”

“I’m not,” I lie.

He clearly doesn’t believe me, which is fair. I’m almost falling asleep at my desk.

“Are you sick?” He puts a hand on my forehead. I’m instantly weirded out. He removes it after feeling how cool—and a little bit clammy—my skin is. “Am I going to regret giving you this responsibility?”

Probably, yes.

“No, sir. I’m just going to drink my coffee first, then I’ll go set it up. I won’t let you down.”

The hours that follow feel like a fever dream. I think I might have blacked out at one point. I remember meeting witha bunch of bored journalists at the proposed construction site. I remember answering questions and showing blueprints. But I can’t remember what I said or how they reacted. It feels like I just babbled a lot. Did I even make sense? At least I didn’t fall asleep. That’s something.

My computer pings.

Josh Stanton: Heard you did a press thing today! That’s big! I smell a promotion

I snort.

Carly Michaels: I’m pretty sure Mr. Bennett’s just sick of doing them himself. I also don’t know how it went. Haven’t seen any articles yet

Josh Stanton: I’m sure you killed it

Josh Stanton: Still up for drinks tonight?

Carly Michaels: Idk. I’m kind of tired, and I also have a ton of paperwork to get through

Josh Stanton: Come on, just one drink?

I bite my lip. Maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt? It would be a nice distraction while I wait for the articles.

Carly Michaels: All right, one drink

It’s crowded,the music is too loud, and the stool I’m sitting on feels rickety. Josh is on my right, gesturing wildly as he tells a story about some tech-thing that happened at work that I don’t understand. The rest of the table, mostly other people from the IT department, listens intently.

I sneak a peek at my phone under the table, trying to gauge when it’s socially acceptable to leave. As I wake the screen, I see I have two missed calls from Mr. Bennett.

Fuck.

I ease off the stool. “I gotta take a call—be back in a second.”

Finding somewhere to take a phone call in a rowdy bar is easier said than done. I end up stepping outside.

Mr. Bennett picks up on the third ring. “Speak.”

Always the charmer.

“Hi. I’m sorry I missed your calls. Was there something you needed to discuss with me?”

“I wouldn’t have called if there weren’t. I’m assuming you were busy with something very important since you didn’t bother answering.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you could say that.”

A group of girls leaves the bar, laughing loudly. The sound from inside spills out to the street.

“Where are you?”