Page 8 of Saved By the CEO

“Outside,” I say, hoping that it’ll be enough. “What did you want to discuss?”

“Are you out drinking?” he asks. “Is that why you didn’t pick up?”

I stifle an annoyed groan.Who does he think he is? My dad?

“I’m out with some of the guys from IT. It’s Friday night, and we’re having a drink, yes.” I try my hardest not to let the irritation bleed into my voice. “Now, what did you want?”

“Who?”

Oh my god, what is his deal?

“Josh, Tate, Jordan, and—” I frown. “I think his name is Tom? Or maybe Tim?”

“Tim.” He goes quiet. “I called because I need you to be prepared to meet the press again on Monday.”

I rub my hands up and down my arms. I left my jacket inside, so I’m freezing my ass off. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said that you’re meeting with the press on Monday. You’re going to give them updates on the Green House building. It’s a fucking nightmare financially, so you better prepare yourself for that.”

The line goes dead.

I take the phone from my ear and stare at the dark screen before heading inside again.

“You look like an icicle,” Josh says as I sit down at the table. He shrugs off his zip-up hoodie and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells like cheap cologne. “Who were you talking to?”

“Mr. Bennett. He asked me to do another press thing next week.”

Josh lights up. “That’s great! You must have done really well if he wants you to do it again.”

I immediately pull up the website of one of the news outlets that covered the press briefing. They have an article posted, so I click it and start skimming. It’s very positive. I go to another website, and it’s the same there. All the press coverage I can find is overwhelmingly positive.

I let out a sigh.

“Thankfuck.”

THREE

Iwake up Saturday morning wanting to die.

Josh had decided I needed to celebrate how well the press briefing had gone and ordered shots for the table. Not one to turn down a free drink, I indulged—with maybe a little too much enthusiasm.

GoodGod, this headache.

Josh’s excitement for me was cute. I know he has a crush on me. I’ve known for a while, really, and if I weren’t so busy with work, I might have acted on it. He’s cute, a little goofy, and the textbook definition of a golden-retriever guy. Definitely my type.

Too bad I have zero time for dating.

I force myself out of bed. And yes,forceis absolutely the right word. It feels like my entire body is made of lead. Just getting my feet to the floor takes every bit of energy I have.

What was in those drinks?

Annie’s in the kitchen, humming a cheery pop song as she makes breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee reaches my nostrils, and I moan. Actuallymoan.

She spins around and looks me up and down.

“Honey, this is concerning.”

I drag a hand over my face, still working on getting my legs to carry me to the coffee pot. “I’m hungover,” I say in a croak.