Page 50 of Sexting Mr. CEO

Sera: I’m not little or vulnerable, Luke. I just need help.

Luke: Yep. Gotcha. Sorry about that. My head is in a million places. I’ll text you the time and the location. We’ll do this together.

Sera: Okay, Luke, thank you. That means a lot.

I take a moment to gather myself, drying my cheeks and breathing slowly for a minute, trying to diffuse some of the panic. Luke will be here tomorrow. Together, we’ll fix this.

Chapter Eighteen

Luke

Not Delivered

I stare down at my phone, my hand trembling like any second I’m going to curl it into a fist and crush the thing. I’ve tried to text Sera several times, and it keeps giving me that same message. Whenever I call, it cuts out without even ringing. Is her cell turned off? Or is she ghosting me?

My day is a busy one. Those suspicions won’t let up, whispering in my ear, telling me she lied to me, that this has all been a game. My heart, my instincts, and my soul – something I never thought about before Sera – tell me she would never do that. But my head can’t ignore the possibility.

Andy approaches me backstage. He seems on-edge, shifting from foot to foot. When he opens and closes his hands nervously, my assistant’s Michael Faraday tattoo shifts around.

“Relax,” I tell him. “You’re not the one who has to charm her. I do.”

“Cynthia Linx?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Sorry, boss, but if I had to charm her, I wouldn’t be complaining.”

“Is something wrong?”

He averts his gaze, shaking his head slowly. It’s like he can’t bear to look at me. I wonder if the stuff with Sera is making me suspicious about everyone and everything.

“The company,” he says. “We need this to go well. It’s not just your job on the line.”

I look at him, but he still doesn’t face me. He’s acting weird. I don’t buy the company angle, either. It’s like he’s saying what he thinks I want to hear.

But life is too busy to give me time to ponder this. I check the message I sent to her socials, but I remember she said she doesn’t use them often. She hasn’t seen that message, either… or she has, but she simply didn’t open it. Perhaps she’s already got what she wanted; perhaps now she and her team are working out how to get away with the sabotage.

“You’re up, boss,” Andy says. “Break a leg.”

I walk into the studio. Cynthia is renowned for flirting with guests, a woman of around thirty with a bob of blonde hair and a healthy – or the opposite, depending on a man’s perspective – layer of plastic surgery. She crosses her legs, raising a stenciled eyebrow suggestively at me.

Behind the camera, my PR manager is giving me a serious evil eye. Her suggestion was that I flirt with Cynthia because it will make me seem more human, approachable, and that’s what we need right now. But the thought of flirting with her feels like abetrayal to Sera: a betrayal to the woman who refuses to text me back.

“Are you ready?” Cynthia asks.

I adjust my tie. “Sure.”

“You can take that off if you’d be more comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly.

“Have it your way.” She flutters her eyelashes. I’m sure she’s used to men fawning over her… and she is. “Ready for the countdown? It’s not live, but I like my guests to be comfortable.”

It’s not live, meaning she can cut it any way she wants, meaning I have to be on my A-game.

After the countdown, she becomes even more animated, gesticulating so that her shiny bracelets catch the light. I wonder if this is a purposeful tactic to blind and disorient her guests. Because it’s working.

“Luke Cross, I have to say, this is an absolute pleasure.” She beams. “For a long time, you’ve been the enigmatic playboy of the tech world.”

“I’ve never been a playboy,” I say, and my PR manager glares at me like she wants my head to explode.

“Forgive me,” Cynthia goes on. “A turn of phrase I’m too accustomed to. You’ve certainly been enigmatic, though, releasing a series of wildly successful self-driving cars, rarely giving interviews or seeking the spotlight.”

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