Page 15 of Handling the CEO

“Julia, how are you? Sorry for calling so late. I hear someone, a guy called Kev Greer, is trying to pass some false information as news on your paper. Can you please look into it for me? Perhaps talk to the other media owners here. Wouldn’t want to upset our advertising contract with your company now, would we?” The last phrase is more of a rumble which goes straight between my legs, as apparently, I find low-voiced threats extremely exciting. “Yes, of course McAv will be at your charity luncheon next Saturday. We definitely support our local community and wildlife. OK, I’ll leave you to enjoy your evening, Julia, speak later in the week.”

The call ended, his knuckles white gripping the device, then another long breath, and the phone gets put down on the console. I am the recipient of a blast of green eyes, and a shiver of excitement goes down my back.

“Well, feel free to start,” he says quietly.

I stare at my hands in my lap for a moment, as I never thought this would be a conversation I would have any time soon with a guy I had sex with. Especially not in a dark carpark after getting basically attacked by a reporter. I know Jon needs an explanation as without his connections here in Florida, that article could have hurt both me and his company, but as I start speaking, I lose it a bit.

“Obviously, I am going to begin by confirming I am NOT a convicted felon! Or a violent criminal or an offender!” I do not even notice I am talking with my hands and basically hyperventilating until he takes my hand in his and squeezes me gently.

“I know DJ, never believed that for a second,” he tells me tenderly, and I feel my eyes tearing up, but I blink quickly to hide it.

He opens the console fridge, passing me a water and getting one for himself. I take a few drinks and put the bottle down. Before I start the story I never wanted to repeat, Jon takes my hand again, his fingers intertwining with mine, and somehow, it strikes me as the most natural feeling in the world.

“As Hove’s route software was beginning to take off a few years back, I was out with some folk from work and my best friend at that time, Janine. On that evening I met Richard—hot, charming, smart—son of a congressman, but he didn’t seem to act entitled or anything. He was also at Hove, in Purchasing actually, so we knew a lot of the same people. We started going out, and we had lots of fun, as it was all easy, nothing very serious. Fast forward a few months, and somehow, one night, we had a bit too much to drink. But having too much to drink in Vegas had the very unintentional consequence of a ring on my finger in the morning, and social media full of pictures from our wedding.”

“What? You got married by an Elvis impersonator?” The disbelief on Jon’s face is apparent.

“Don’t be daft. It was a Dolly Parton impersonator,” I huff with a smile.

At that obviously, Jon starts laughing so I have to mock-punch him in the arm.

“Come on, don’t be like that—I was wasted! Somehow Richard managed to convince me not to get an annulment right away. He pleaded with me, as it would have looked bad for his father who was running for the Senate—again, social media posts are a very silly idea—and we agreed to ‘give it a go’. Anyway... as you can imagine, after a few more months the marriage wasn’t going so great, but I was so busy with Hove’s maintenance and started ‘Zephyr’ that frankly I couldn’t be bothered to try to fix it. I was coding 16-hour days mostly and barely saw him for weeks on end. I know I should have ended it then and there, but I honestly didn’t care that much either way. But what surprised me was that one day out of the blue he decided he wanted to ‘make it work’—couples councilors, all that jazz.”

“Then he started being interested in ‘Zephyr’.” I sigh. “That should really have raised some alarm bells as, despite him being a computer science student like myself, he is far more focused on business and politics than coding—which is probably why he never got his degree. But I thought little about it at the time and explained my premise and the code structure in broad lines to him.”

“The information you gave him persuaded the judge that he was involved in the work you were doing?” The clever man next to me shakes his head gently.

“Yes, part of the reasoning. It gets worse.” I continue staring out into the dark car park, then take a risk asking. “You feel like driving? I am a bit claustrophobic staying here stationary.”

“I love to drive, actually; my driver takes me when I need to the office, but I could really go for a drive right about now as well. I’ll drop you off while you tell me more of your tale of woe.”

“Woe? Again with the words! Do you have a ‘word of the day’ calendar?”

He rolls his eyes at me while I smirk and add, “I am at 156 Grove Lane. This isn’t how I imagined this evening going in the slightest… but thank you for being my Uber.”

Putting the car in ‘D’, Jon chuckles at me, “Yes, a lot of unexpected events happen with you around.”

I turn my head towards the side window, so he doesn’t see me blush and decide I might as well put it all on the table.

“One day I had an excellent idea on getting data from some private satellites for the weather patterns and of all ridiculous things that could have happened—my third computer screen packed it in at home. So, I decided that going into the office would be a great plan. I cannot only work on two screens anymore, of course. What was not a great plan was stopping by to say ‘hello’ to my friend—and Marketing manager at Hove—Janine.”

“Ah, I can see where this is leading to,” Jon says quietly, and I should have known as well.

The lights of Kerrington were passing us by, Jon’s car swaying from lane to lane, taking the long way to my house, passing the beach, and then the business district.

“Yes, it was ‘going’ exactly how you expect, on her glass desk. Richard had a moment of shock to see me there. Janine—the bitch—didn’t even feign remorse. I stormed out and then I did something really stupid.”

“This should be good—suspect you didn’t stop at throwing away his stamp collection or shrinking his clothes?”

“Mmm, that would have been a wonderful idea, but I think you noticed I have a bit of a temper.”

“Yes,” he clips, “you are a bit tempestuous.” He gives me a pointed look before I pounce on another of his posh phrases.

I roll my eyes at the big word and then confess what another night of tequila bought. My fingers dig into the black leather of the car seat, bracing for my confession.

“Well, I went home... had a few too many drinks—I really can’t handle tequila—and… I’ll just say it in one, judge me at your leisure… I-slashed-his-tires-and-carved-ASSHOLE-into-his-hood!”

I put my head in my hands and low-key scream.

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