Page 19 of Handling the CEO

“Who is to say what she was expecting? Maybe she thought she was Dave’s favorite, and seeing Jon inherit it all made her… upset,” she dodges, checking her nails. “Anyway, enough history lessons. Can I count on you to attend the luncheon?”

“I will be there, don’t worry,” I confirm out loud the decision I made 10 minutes ago, but I can see there is more to the story which makes me want to go to the event even more.

As Ms. Jones finally leaves, I decide to resume the checks on the network I promised McAv’s CEO in the hangar the other week.

I also need to decide for myself whether I want more with Jon.

Jon

Thecharityeventisalready hell on earth, and I have only been there for 20 minutes. Julia Li adores the glamor of hosting these parties but somehow thinks we all enjoy them. Or just loves torturing all of us by making us all show up. The venue is by the boardwalk, with big windows on one side overlooking the sea, and luckily the air conditioning is at full blast and Florida’s heat is kept at bay.

I am at my second drink already—non-alcoholic as well as I had the brilliant idea to drive myself. I ponder escaping another handshake with a local celebrity or some more small talk with some councilor wanting us to make some other extension or open additional facilities so they can claim they bring jobs to Kerrington.

You’d think that having a major aviation company in town would give me a break, but all these politicians want is to bleed me dry and make themselves look good.

It doesn’t help that I have been reflecting on the events of last Saturday all week, and of a certain employee of mine I shouldn’t be thinking of. One I most definitely shouldn’t have mauled in my car. One who shouldn’t be giving me a hard-on by reminiscing about the taste of her lips, wanting to pound her tight pussy into the next century. An employee who makes me angry and happy and annoys me to no end. I smile to myself, imagining her slashing tires with ‘Before he cheats’ blasting through the speakers.

One who most certainly shouldn’t be walking into this restaurant dressed in a yellow dress, with a sleeveless top and a flowy skirt flaring from her hips, ending halfway down her thigh, highlighting her long legs in some high heeled strappy sandals. The dress is cropped to the sides, showing her delicious bronze skin and her soft hair is floating down her back. She looks as a wet dream with smoky eyes and nude lipstick. A summer dream turning into a thunderstorm the moment she spots me. I can feel her anger radiating in waves toward me as she approaches, and before being razed off the face of the earth by DJ’s wrath, our host intercepts her.

“Oh my, you are Dahlia Jara! Welcome to Florida! I am Julia Li—absolutely delighted to meet you! Jon, you didn’t say you have a superstar joining us.”

“Didn’t I?” I say through my teeth. “Must have forgotten with all the focus on the local wildlife.”

DJ throws me a look that could melt steel but pastes on a smile for Julia.

“Julia, so nice to make your acquaintance! I have heard such good things about you and this charity. Is it the sea turtle or the key deer you are promoting today?” and turning her gaze towards me, attempting to turn me to stone, she continues, “or perhaps the Key Largo… woodrat?”

The Observer’s owner seems slightly stumped to answer exactly what local wildlife she is asking for money for, which I find extremely amusing, despite the clear ‘woodrat’ jab aimed at me.

“Umm, we support several endangered species—uh, is that Mitch from the Miami Dolphins? I really must say ‘hello’!” Ms. Li excuses herself before she gets asked more uncomfortable questions such as how the funds will be distributed, which I now realize I need to get more information on.

“That was interesting. I must ask my PI to investigate this charity a bit,” I murmur for only DJ’s ears, and my comment seems to interest her, the fury diminishing.

“You have a PI? Have they checked your company’s email traffic? Do they check bags on people at the end of the day?” She goes off on a tangent, but at least the fires of Doom have been quelled.

“That is strangely specific—but yes, they had a look, no obvious emails with ‘secret files’ as the subject was sent to Lex Aviation if that’s what you are asking. We even have an AI firewall running, trying to flag all suspicious traffic. It would be very difficult for anyone to send information using company laptops or phones. Also, we ask everyone to get their smartphones cameras covered by a very-hard-to remove sticker or to leave their personal devices in lockers at the entrance—with call diverting, of course, in case of emergencies. It is a bit ‘prison style’ but with what has been going on, people understand, and it’s only temporary,” I explain.

“We always checked bags by lottery for parts and tools missing, but since we lost the tire supplier, I also asked the security team to go through all bags and any paperwork exiting the site. Everyone’s managers need to sign off on any documents or components taken out physically. Again, we can’t check on everyone, but usually the threat of getting caught is quite a deterrent. Why do you ask?”

Holding her vodka tonic, she says, “I have been checking your network and you are right, nothing out of the ordinary with your emails. I even cast a glance at your bills, and while most of them went way over my head, I was shocked at your landline bill, but you have a lot of employees. Some really long phone calls there, however, suspect some are describing their weekend.”

She is sitting close to me for our hushed conversation and her coconutty scent with undertones of vanilla invades my nostrils. I want to touch her again, taste her all over. I have to say something to not give away how distracted I am by her.

“Yes, a lot of employees talking personal stuff, you should see the number of memes that get sent.” I don’t do the best job at redirecting, as from this angle I gaze upon her delicate neck and traces of her cleavage as she looks past my shoulder, surveying the room.

When she touches my arm, I feel the warmth of her hand through my shirt and jacket.

“We need to talk about last Saturday,” she changes the subject, surprising me with the direct opening. The room appears to quiet around us, as her palm touches my arm and flaming brown eyes meet my own. But then DJ brusquely pulls away, not before poking me in the chest again with her finger. “And we will talk Jon, just after I make sure this girl is OK.”

She beelines for the toilets as I notice the silhouette of a young brown-haired girl in a green dress, running towards the Ladies, clearly crying. My heart stops as I recognize her instantly, even though I haven’t seen her outside a video call in months. I dart after them, only to get a door shut in my face.

DJ

Imayhavebeenready to tear Jon a new one after running away last Saturday, but upon reflection, I could have gone to his office this week to confront him, so there was more than one coward here.

Looking at him from a distance talking to some guests at the event, dressed in a casual white suit, with a navy pinstripe shirt, white collar and matching blue pocket square, my pulse quickens. Especially seeing him easily laughing and wooing the surrounding people, making them raptly follow whatever it is he’s saying, his confidence addictive.

So, after doing some breathing exercises, I decided to go over there and have a conversation like adults, though I had some unresolved anger lingering.

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