Mr. CEO Page 4

  It goes without saying--this night totally blows.

  Screw this. I pull my cell out of my clutch and click over to the messages screen. I quickly locate Ian’s name.

  Your shit better be gone by the time I’m back.

  There it is. The same text I sent several days ago. My stomach twists into an angry knot. The message is marked as read, but Ian hasn’t even bothered to reply.

  No sorry. No begging for me to take him back.

  He simply doesn’t care.

  He’s probably shacked up with her right now, fucking her brains out, I tell myself. In my bed.

  The thought enrages me and before I know it, my fingers are flying across the screen of my cell.

  You’re a real piece of fucking work, you know that?

  I hit send before I can stop myself. Shit. I shouldn’t have done that. I close my eyes, feeling pissed off at myself and at how poorly I’m handling all this shit.

  I stuff my phone back in my clutch and turn to Eva. “Hey, I think I’m gonna go,” I tell her over the bass of the music.

  Eva looks up from her phone and sees the expression of misery on my face. She taps out something quickly and then puts her phone away. “I’ll go with you,” she offers. I can tell that she’s worried about me now, but I don’t want her to be.

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “You don’t have to. We just got here and it looks like Hannah and Cary Ann are having the time of their lives.” I gesture toward the other end of the bar where our two coworkers are entertaining a group of young guys. One guy has his face almost resting on Hannah’s chest, practically motorboating her tits.

  Eva waves away my worry. “Nonsense. I can tell you’re not in the mood to be here. Besides, Kevin won’t quit texting me. I should go somewhere a little less busy so I can talk to him.”

  I start to refuse, but then I think better of it. I can tell Eva doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. “Okay,” I agree. “Thanks.”

  We go outside, where it’s still bustling with tourists, and flag down a cab. Within minutes we’re making our way back down the strip to our hotel. At the first stoplight, Eva breaks the silence and asks, “So how do you like it here? And the girls? I know they can be a little crazy, but I think you really fit in well.”

  “I like them, they seem pretty cool.”

  Eva looks at me closely, her big eyes concerned. “You’re still not bothered by the cheating joke, are you?”

  “No. It’s cool.” Yes I am. But my anger isn’t for them.

  Eva looks unconvinced. “You sure?”

  “You know what I don’t understand?” I’m forced to say.

  “What?” she asks.

  “How Ian couldn’t even be bothered enough to tell me sorry for what he did.”

  “The guy’s a scumbag. What would you expect from someone who was having an affair with your friend?” She snorts. “If you can even call her that. I sure as hell wouldn’t. A friend wouldn’t have slept with my boyfriend the first chance she got.”

  Her words hit me in the gut. It’s true. Why would I expect a selfish jerk to be repentant? “You’re right,” I say and nod my head. “Ian’s trash. I don’t know why I expect anything from him. And Sarah? She’s a bitch.”

  “Just forget them, like yesterday’s news. Let me be the first one to tell you that you’re smart, beautiful, intelligent and going places. And you certainly deserve much better than a cheating asshole.” She rubs my arm affectionately.

  “Thank you.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek before answering, “I really do like it here. Everyone’s really nice.”

  She leans across the seat and gives me a hug as the cab slows to a stop. It’s a bit awkward, but I accept it. I’m done with this. I’m done with letting Ian ruin my nights. Fuck him, and fuck Sarah.

  “Come on,” she says, releasing me and popping her door open. She forces it open wider with her heel and pulls me out.

  A young man in a tailored black suit holds the large glass door open for us. He gives me a warm smile and I have to smile back. Inside it’s so cool and calm compared to the busy and noisy streets. Our heels click on the marble floors as I walk her to the elevator, right across from the bar.

  I could use a drink. That long island didn’t do a damn thing and I don’t want to go back to the room feeling so emotionally raw.

  “You’re not coming up?” Eva asks me as the elevator doors open.

  I shake my head. “I want a real drink before I go pass out.”

  Eva bites her lower lip as she studies me. I can tell she’s worried about me. Bless her heart. “Okay,” she says finally, pulling me in for a brief hug. “But please don’t overdo it.” She disappears into the elevator and I make my way inside the hotel’s bar.

  As I walk in, I remember how I left last time. I remember the gorgeous man in the suit. My body shivers as I remember the way he looked at me, the way his looks make me feel. I could really use one of those looks right now. It made me feel... sexy. Wanted.

  I take the closest seat to the exit at the bar, signaling the waiter for a drink. As I wait for it, I pull out my phone and check the status of the last messages I sent Ian. They haven't been read. God. He’s not even reading my texts now. I don’t know why, but this makes me feel even more alone and angry.

  It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being alone, I just didn't think I’d wind up single at this age. I smile while placing my order, although it doesn’t at all reflect what I feel.

  I thought for sure I’d have a couple of babies with Ian by now, I think to myself sadly. I shake off the depressing thought and promise myself that I won't dwell on it anymore. As far as I’m concerned, I dodged a bullet.

  The waiter comes back with my glass of cabernet. He gives me a sexy grin as he sets it down. He’s a cute brunette and all, sexy even, but I’m just not feeling him. He’s not my type.

  My stomach twists with desire as I remember Mr. CEO again. There’s just something about him. His raw sex appeal and obvious power; the way he wears his suits--like he fucking owns his dominance. It’s funny, because in my life of business I’m surrounded by men in suits, but none of them look anywhere near as good as he does in them.

  I smile as I bring the glass to my lips.

  The bartender must think I’m smiling at him because he winks and says, “It’s on the house, sweetheart,” when I try to pass him a tip. He gives me a cocky smile as I watch him walk off to serve another patron. I get the feeling he’s going to come back over when he’s done and try to see if he’ll get something for his free drink.

  He’ll be sorely disappointed if he does. I’m not that cheap.

  I’m taking another sip of my cabernet when I suddenly feel a large hand on my waist. I nearly spit my wine out onto my blouse as thick fingers dig into my skin and I turn to push whoever it is away.

  “What in the-” I turn to see a man who's gotta be in his late thirties leering at me with his bloodshot eyes. His hair’s short, cut in military style and he has a serious case of dimples.

  “Hey, sugar. What are you drinking tonight?” asks the man, his breath carrying the strong smell of whiskey.

  My first reaction is to tell the man to get the hell away from me. But I glance around the bar and notice the upscale patrons and business people that are probably from the convention. I really don’t want to cause a scene and have it get back to my boss.

  “Just a glass of wine by myself tonight,” I say politely, putting emphasis on ‘by myself’.

  The drunk guy fails to get the message. He tugs on his plaid tie that’s already loose around his neck and wobbles as he takes the barstool next to me. Eventually, he manages to mount it and then he turns to me, practically staring at my breasts.

  Okay, now I’m seriously uncomfortable.

  “You’ve got a nice outfit on,” he says in a low, gravelly voice. He leans in close, invading my personal space, so close that the smell of his breath becomes overpowering. “I think it’d look better on the f
loor though.”

  Oh hell. I need to get out of here now.

  Just as I'm about to get up and leave Mr. Drunk to hump my empty barstool, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn and my breath catches in my throat at the sight before me. It’s Mr. CEO, walking through the bar like he owns the place, and his eyes are focused on me.

  Chapter 7

  Logan

  I’ve held many business meetings at restaurants or bars just like this one. The back booth in the Madison Hotel bar is perfect for this meeting. I don’t usually like it, but it does have advantages. It makes it easier to slip out and leave the company with a round of drinks on me. But tonight I chose this bar hoping to see my Rose again. And she didn’t disappoint.

  I noticed her the second she walked in. There’s an air around her that commands my attention. Stevens was in the middle of a counterpoint on international resources when she walked through the open doors and walked to the same seat she was in before, directly across from the booth I chose.

  I’ve barely listened to a word from Trent or Stevens. The meeting’s done as far as I’m concerned. We’re not pushing it through until we meet agreeable terms. Stevens can insist that the cut in costs makes it worth it, but I know better. It’s best not to cut corners, especially when quality and timing are concerned.

  Her shapely legs are crossed and it pulls her black skirt up a little farther. She's wearing a loose slightly see-through blouse and even with the dim lighting in the room, I can easily make out her curves. Her tall heels hook onto the leg of the barstool and she sighs heavily before leaning her forearms against the bar and waiting patiently for the bartender.

  She came in alone and I can’t help but wonder why. My heart slows as I watch her baby blues skim the bar. She’s not looking for anyone in particular. She brushes her hair out of her face and leans in slightly to order a drink. I can’t hear her, not with all the other noise in this place, but her lips mesmerize me. They’re a darker shade of red tonight than I’ve seen on her before. The deep red makes her beautiful eyes shine brighter, but that look is still there though. That sadness that’s haunting her. I don’t know what’s causing it, but I want to find out.

  “Are you going to drink that or not, Parker?” Stevens asks me from across the booth, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Not,” I answer and push the cold glass with the back of my hand toward Trent.

  I stand tall with my shoulders squared, ready to make a move on Rose. I may appear confident, but my nerves are getting the best of me. She could say no; she may not be interested in me in the least. Or worse, she may be taken already, though my research on her didn’t turn up any partners. But I’m not going to take no for an answer.

  Nothing extreme, I'm just going to offer to buy her a drink. She can’t deny me such a small request. I slip off my jacket and loosen my tie.

  Trent eyes me suspiciously. “Where are you headed?” he asks with a bit of suspicion in his voice. I never stay for drinks, and I never stay for anything other than business. As my right-hand man, he knows my habits.

  Stevens looks past me and right at Rose. His thin lips pull into a smirk and then wider as he realizes my intentions.

  “You’ve got a date, haven’t you?” he says, raising his glass of scotch. The ice clinks as Trent leans forward and looks past me to look at Rose as well.

  I stand for a moment and let a waitress pass. She gives me a heated look and blushes as she walks by. I keep my eyes straight ahead on my prize and undo the top button of my dress shirt. I don’t get nervous about first impressions. I have no one to impress. My track record and bank account are enough to give me a presence in the boardroom.

  “A date?” Trent asks with disbelief and then shakes his head. “She has a date, but it’s not with Logan.” He sits back in the booth, causing the slight shifting of the black leather seat, content with the fact that Stevens must be wrong. It’s irritating that he’s so sure she’s not waiting for me. It shouldn’t be annoyed since I shouldn’t even be pursuing her, and he knows that. Still, it pisses me off. Maybe more so because she isn’t waiting for me. He brings his jack and coke to his mouth as I turn to face my Rose.

  And some fucker who’s pawing at her.

  Anger rises slowly inside me. Anger and jealousy. It’s not a good look and I don’t let it show, but it’s there. It's heating my blood and forcing my limbs to move. His hands are on her as though she belongs to him.

  My anger is relieved slightly when I take in her body language. She’s not interested. She tries to push him away, but it’s not happening. And that’s my cue.

  I leave, not bothering to look back at either of them. I know they’re going to be watching; I don’t give a damn what they think.

  It only takes six long strides, turning my body ever so slightly between two small tables, until I’m beside her.

  I lean forward, laying my jacket down and bracing my hand on the bar between my Rose and this fucker.

  “I leave you alone for one night and you’re already replacing me?” I look into Rose’s widened eyes and wait for her to respond. Her breath hitches, and that sexual tension I’ve felt the last two times between us rises to a nearly unbearable level. My back is to the asshole who’s still not taking the hint. I completely ignore him.

  Before she can answer me, I hear the prick clear his throat. “Hey-” His weak tone comes to a halt as I stand and turn to face him. I’m a full inch taller than him. He’s got a little muscle to him and could probably get in a good hit if he wanted, but he’s got nothing on me. I make it a habit to keep my body in shape. I have to. The thought makes my hands ball into fists until my knuckles turn white, but I release them just as fast.

  “Yes?” I ask in a low, threatening voice, daring him to utter a response. I narrow my eyes and wait for him to make his move. He’s drunk, but he’s not stupid. The intimidation he's feeling is clear on his face, and he struggles to respond. He opens and closes his mouth without saying anything. His forehead’s pinched and I can tell he’s debating on how to handle it without looking like any more of an ass. I can feel eyes on us and the bar’s noticeably quieter. We’re all waiting to see what this asshole’s going to do.

  But he doesn’t get a chance to do anything; instead, my eyes are drawn to Charlotte’s small hand gripping the front of my shirt. Her other hand comes around my other side to rest just above my hip. She presses her front to my back and I stifle my groan at the feel of her breasts pressed against my lower shoulders.

  I look down at her as she peeks her head around my arm to look at me. Her voice is soft but strong, and on the verge of being casual. “You wanna go?”

  I look back at the asshole and he takes the chance to turn on his heel and walk off without a word. Smart move on his part. When I look back at my Rose, her eyes are on him as he leaves, and she visibly relaxes, releasing her grip on me.

  I miss her touch instantly. I want it back.

  As soon as I turn to face her, everything changes. A spark ignites between us and she takes a hesitant step back, suddenly realizing how close she is to me for the first time. The stool behind her scratches against the floor and her hands fall behind her to grip onto it. As though it can protect her from me.

  A heated moment passes as her eyes wander down my body. I let a smirk kick up my lips and enjoy the fact that she obviously likes what she sees. The same is true on my part. Up close, she’s even more beautiful. Her skin is sun-kissed, but also flushed. She has yet to disappoint me.

  I wait for her eyes to find mine again. There’s a blush on her cheeks, but the confident woman that took command of the stage is staring back.

  “Thank you…” she says, eyeing me warily. “For that.”

  I hold her gaze. “No need to thank me, Rose.”

  “It’s Charlotte-”

  “Charlotte Rose… yes, I know.”

  “How do you know my name?” she asks suspiciously. Her breathing picks up, making her chest rise and fall a bit faster
and I find my eyes drawn to her gorgeous curves. I quickly lift my gaze back to her eyes, but I know she saw.

  “I saw your presentation,” I answer simply and pull the stool out for her to take a seat.

  “I saw.” A knowing look crosses her face as she slowly sits down. She parts her lips as if to say more, but the bartender brings a drink and sets it down in front of her. He looks at me and starts to ask if I want a drink, but I wave him off.

  She sees and purses her lips. There’s an air of distrust around her and I can tell she’s debating on getting up and walking away. But I can’t let that happen.

  Before she can come up with an excuse, I say teasingly, “I think you owe me at least one drink.” I set my hands on the bar as I say, “I’m Logan, by the way.”

  “But you aren’t drinking,” she says, still eyeing me with caution.

  “I’m not,” I say easily, although the fact that it makes her suspicious pisses me off. “I’m done drinking for the night.” She rests the tip of her finger on the rim of the glass as if debating if she should drink it.

  “Your presentation went well,” I say to change the subject. “Have you worked for that company very long?” I already know the answer, but I want to get her talking.

  “I actually just started,” she says a bit peppier, but her body language doesn’t match the false tone in her voice. She seems angry, pissed off at me. I don’t know why, but fuck, it turns me on.

  “What’d you do before this?” I ask her easily before signaling the bartender. I was bred into this lifestyle, so if there’s one thing my father taught me well, it’s how to charm women. I haven’t needed it… ever. But I know I can win her over.

  “Let’s see...” she pauses and straightens a little as the bartender stops in front of us.

  “Could we see the dessert menu, please?” I ask. I’m going to guess she’s a chocolate cake kind of woman. “You were saying?” I ask as the bartender sets down a menu and I slide it over to her. I tap on the picture of the lava cake and raise a brow.