Page 1 of Handling the CEO

Jon

“Jon,Ihavethebest of news!” my Vice President enthusiastically yells over the line, so loud I have to pull my phone away from my head to keep my eardrum intact.

“What is it, Mike? Have we got the tire guys back?” I ask hopefully as I attempt to return to the office, still surprised my assistant somehow forgot to send the car over to my lawyer’s place.

The day was nowhere near ending, but my patience was well past its finish line by midday. First, a supplier backed away from a productive tire deal at the last minute. Then, my ex-girlfriend decided she wanted me back and started texting me non-stop.

My favorite watch went on a fritz after banging it against my desk. To make matters worse, I now found myself walking back to my office instead of getting picked up by my driver.

The weather in Kerrington is what you’d expect for a town on Florida’s Atlantic coast in February—not as humid as other times of the year but sunny and mild. The streets downtown are full of people for a Monday midday. I’m repeatedly bumped by someone, having to balance my coffee as I struggle to hold my phone.

“No silly, I got something even better—Dahlia Jara is back on the market!” One could see the exclamation marks in my VP’s voice, and I imagined her doing a happy dance in her office chair. For a mother of three with 5 years until retirement, Michaela Jones—or Mike—often sounds like a teenager with some high school gossip she was just dying to tell everyone. Including me, unfortunately.

“Who?”

“Jeez—for someone who knows anyone who’s anyone in aerospace, you’d think that you would know the name of the creator of Hove. She is a top-notch programmer, probably best in the business,” she comments in a ‘disappointed schoolteacher’ tone.

I almost trip over myself, my coffee dangerously close to spilling over the delivery guy in front of me. Hove, the best route calculator in the industry, saves an airline company millions of dollars! Even better, hiring her would be a big ‘fuck you very much’ to my rival, Lex Aviation, and their cunt of a CEO, Miranda Lexington. Our two private jet manufacturing businesses have been in competition for years, but only recently my suppliers have been targeted.

Mike continues cheerfully, “She divorced her husband and doesn’t want to work in the same company with him, so she is moving back here to Florida. I’ll get a meeting set up between you two for next Tuesday. Try not to mess it up.”

“That sounds great. And yes, as CEO with five thousand employees, I will attempt not to fuck up a basic interview with a programmer. Now, can you maybe hire me a new assistant also? Anya forgot to send the car over for me and I am walking back to the office.” My VP handles all the contract work, but even with my focusing on engineering and production, having an executive assistant who isn’t a complete moron is necessary.

“You? Walking?” she laughs like it’s the funniest thing to ever happen. “Well, try not to break something vital. I must also remind you, you have lunch with the new tire suppliers at Giorgio’s, so maybe you should just walk that way instead. Shall I drive there to ensure one of us is there?”

“Shit—I didn’t get a notification on my phone! Anya really needs to go, Mike. If I walk to the office now, I won’t make the restaurant! Fuck, I’m heading towards the meeting now. But would appreciate it if you were my back-up—just in case I don’t make it,” I grumble, ending the call.

However, fate had other thoughts. I turned right abruptly, just as the delivery guy turned left with a giant parcel. It forced me to step towards the curve to avoid him, directly into a light post and I spill my coffee all over my shirt.

Fuck, fuck again—now I have to stop and get a fresh shirt! Can’t show up to a meeting with a new supplier with stains all over me. I run my fingers through my hair and ponder what the hell I am going to do. There is definitely not enough time to get back to either the office or home.

I have to find something around here.

But before I can locate a store, my phone rings again, and despite my shitty day so far, I don’t even blink before picking that call up.

“Hey Jon, how are you?” My sister’s voice makes my lips tug into a smile.

“Hey Tae,” I answer breathlessly, trying to escape the crowd of people. “Is everything OK?”

“Uh yeah, I’m OK. I was just seeing how you were. My mom is at work again.” She sounds dejected, another one to blame Miranda for. Normally I would let her tell me about her day, but time is ticking away and I need to get a move on.

“I am sorry, can’t really talk a lot right now. Is it OK if I call you back tonight? I am a bit behind schedule.”

“Oh, sure. Talk later.” She cuts the call, and my heart breaks a bit. I vow to go see her soon, but for now I need to get to my meeting.

A quick google search shows an impressively rated men’s clothes shop just around the corner, so I have to take my chances in finding something there.

As I make my way there with no more mishaps, I almost pass it by. The store seems quite unassuming from the front, just one suit on a mannequin in the window—no brand, just a dark green painted door. But even from the outside, I appreciate the great tailoring and material of the navy three-piece on display. Maybe my day is turning around, though so far it was still touch and go.

I step inside, glazing over several shelves and racks with men’s suits, trousers, and shirts in a cozy yet elegant store, with dark wood paneling and green velvet chaises, but with strategic lighting on a few suits on display. Just as the suit outside, I could clearly see these giving my branded ones a run for their money. There is even a bar in a corner, with expensive bottles of whiskey and scotch on the shelf behind it. Very nice—more like something you would find in London rather than in Florida.

I spot a brunette by the tills, sitting on a bar chair, intensely typing on her phone with her back to me. She is dressed in ratty trainers, baggy khaki shorts with giant pockets on the sides, and a ‘Hoe’s before bros’ t-shirt. She appears completely at odds with what I would expect of be a high-end men’s clothes stores assistant.

“Excuse me,” I start yet the little brat just raises a finger at me like her phone is much more important than a customer. “One minute,” she answers in a muffled voice without turning, her leg twitching.

One minute I do not have as I stare at my watch. I now only have 40 minutes to get to the restaurant. Though looking at the girl she seems not to have a worry in the world—definitely not any worries about her job today. That ass, however, looks pretty good sitting perched on a highchair, and a trim waist gives her a delicious hourglass figure.

But I am done with the ones straight out of college after Sienna, so I need to stop ogling her behind. It’s difficult to find anything in common with someone fifteen years younger. Physical attraction can only go so far, and I am tiring of simply finding bed partners with nothing to spark my interest beyond a romp in the sheets. If I am honest, despite my ex’s supermodel appearance, I barely remember the sex, just some exaggerated moans from her and a warm body in my bed.

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