Page 2 of Handling the CEO

“Excuse me,” I say again more forcefully, while rapping my fingers on the counter anxiously. “Perhaps Candy Crush can wait a bit until you can serve your customer if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

That stops her typing and she slowly turns in her chair and lifts her head towards me. The fire in her brown eyes makes me stop breathing as the girl—no, woman, as she is older than her outfit would indicate—exhales and starts smirking at me like I am about to be obliterated on the spot. Her dark hair is in a high ponytail, but the length of it is resting on one of her shoulders, and the bronze skin of her long and elegant neck is visible on the other side.

High cheekbones, long eyelashes, and soft pink lips—lower one slightly fuller than the top—and not a hint of makeup on her, complete what may be one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen. And somehow, the fury-lasers her eyes are aiming at me from behind large glasses with black rims make my cock harden.

“Ah, if it isn’t ‘customer number one’.” Her throaty sex voice shocks me even more. “Whatever shall I help you with? Maybe some patience—we have some on sale?”

“I... ahem... need a shirt ASAP.” I ignore the jab as I struggle to formulate words when I gaze down and spot a pair of amazing tits straining her top, but I pivot my eyes back to her.

“Mm, in a hurry, are we? I most definitely should not waste a minute helping you then,” she continues with the smirk on full blast.

“I need a shirt and I see you have plenty here—anyone else in the store who can help? Maybe someone who doesn’t use the royal ‘we’ or should be way past dressing like Avril Lavigne?”

That makes her eyes narrow and she puts her glasses down on the counter in a clear ‘ready for a fight’ stance, which somehow turns me on even more. What the fuck is going on with me?

“Well dear customer, I will answer the second half of your question—you know, because of your bizarre foray into my wardrobe choices, having only met me about two minutes ago. For your information, Avril is actually two years older than me. She is also a badass bitch who can wear whatever the hell she wants. As for the first half of your question, pompous asses like yourself are probably used to the royal ‘we’. I am still awaiting your Karen-like-requests, but the day is young.”

That does it—it doesn’t matter how hot she is—and my chord snaps. I am not interested in spending another minute being insulted by a wannabe skater girl.

“Is this how you talk to paying customers? I am surprised this shop is still in business! I am this close to walking out the door, but I have to say—I’m even closer to opening a bottle of scotch while talking to you!”

At this, she starts laughing. A loud crystalline laugh, which somehow makes her more beautiful. But crazy is crazy. Do NOT put your dick in crazy!

“Jeez,” she says struggling to breathe, “that was one of the most ‘Karen’ things you could have said! Will you also be wanting to talk to the manager? Maybe leave a scathing Yelp review? Please make my day!” She bats her long eyelashes at me mockingly.

At her amusement, my anger just goes up a notch but I won’t give her the satisfaction of continuing the game—despite it being quite entertaining. My cock sure seems to think so and just imagines those nice lips on it. Maybe while I make a fist out of her ponytail and see tears in those bright eyes as I explode down her throat.

Or perhaps I could just fuck her on this counter. It appears to be the right height, I assess after a quick glance, which makes her raise an eyebrow at me in confusion.

“Oh, it is very tempting, skater girl”—damn, now she has a nickname—“but how about you get that ass off that chair and find me a shirt?”

DJ

Thatconcededasshole!Hotasshole, but what a dick! Issuing me orders like I am his subject, and he is my master.

Though by the snug fit of the custom Armani gray suit on his six-foot three frame, he could be ‘mastering’ me around in a different context if it weren’t for the obvious ‘he is a douche’ vibe.

Damn those green eyes sparkling at me. Damn that light brown hair—the kind that turns blond in the sun—falling in messy waves around his tanned face and his short, dark beard. The man looks like an extremely hot older rocker in an expensive three-piece suit, with a watch that costs more than a house—and is randomly running an hour behind. And all I would like, if he weren’t a giant ass, is to help him change his shirt. Maybe while licking his chest and abs. I suspect there is at least a six-pack hidden under that coffee-stained shirt. But enough objectifying, he needs a little lesson in humility. After the year I’ve had, I have plenty of energy for a little sparring session.

“Ah dear customer,” I seethe in a sweet voice as I get out of my chair and round the counter towards him. “There is nothing in the world I could possibly do besides assisting you, as you’ve asked so nicely.”

I adjust my shirt with a frown. I need to get back at my nephew for making me wear this ridiculous outfit, ill-timed to the one day when I had to help out my brother, Marcus, in the store.

The customer moves back a few steps and I stop about a foot from him, giving him my best ‘just die’ glare. He appears taller now, and wide. Like a Greek god staring down at me as I barely reach his shoulder.

Get it together DJ!

“Why Avril, you are shorter in real life—maybe you need a stepladder to get to the top shelf!” He grins at me. “This whole angry-chick vibe is ‘delightful’,” he says while doing air quotes, “but I really need to get out of your charming little shop.”

“Not my shop!” I snap. “However, feel free to help yourself to anything on the top shelf. All old guys pick from there for their retirement parties or bingo.”

He moves a half step toward me with a scowl. The faint crinkles around his eyes and forehead make him even hotter, if possible. He smells intoxicating too, musky cologne and something else... Maybe fuel? It doesn’t matter, it is all HIM and I am having trouble concentrating but continue my death stare thanking the stars he can’t tell my panties are wet.

I cross my arms and hold my ground, lifting my chin at him in challenge.

“Avril, I am 38 not 80! How about you go back behind your counter? I will pick my own damn shirt as I see that customer service was not part of your training.”

“No way douchebag, nobody puts Baby back in the corner. You wanted me off my chair. Well, here I am.” I make a step toward him, and we are now almost touching, both of us staring angrily at each other. I say nothing else. Just shoot him a ‘fuck you’ smile.

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