Page 31 of Handling the CEO

DJ

Wearsomethingcomfortableandno heels.

What in heaven’s name was that supposed to mean? I am perfectly comfortable in my 4-inch Manolos, thank you very much. But the jerk wouldn’t give me any more details. OK, not an actual jerk, but… jerk… when he doesn’t tell me where we are going!

Definitely a jerk for making me spend hours picking something for this great date he has been so secretive about! Halfway through trying to get into some jeans and giving up after realizing I wasn’t also going to fit into and breathe at the same time, I did wonder why I was so concerned.

He saw me naked a few times already. Why did it matter what clothes I chose? I can wear anything and look good! I told myself that confidently, and then changed a few more outfits until I found something which didn’t scream I was trying too hard, but also didn’t look like I picked it up from a thrift store. Just a few more outfits. OK. A LOT more, but who’s complaining?

So, definitely a jerk for playing these mind games. Wear something comfortable! How is that an indication of what we are doing? I pull down on my strappy top, which has an unfortunate habit of riding up my back, not staying put over my flared pink skirt. In a way, I am glad I have my pink Converse on, as I probably would have dug a trench in my hallway with my heels from all my pacing.

Why the hell am I so nervous? I look at my phone and see Jon running 5 minutes late and ponder waiting for him outside. But that would be desperate. And I, Dahlia Jara, CEO of J-AvTech, and hard-core programmer and aerospace engineer, am definitely not that.

I jolt as I hear my doorbell, and I take a breath before I open the door. And I needed the extra oxygen boost, as Jon appears as he stepped out of a magazine. He has white shorts and a light blue shirt with sleeves rolled up, and those tats are revving up my engine like nobody’s business.

“A skirt?” he quizzes me with an obvious smirk, as he is doing a survey of my outfit, from my shoes to my hair. His eyes sparkle when he notices my ponytail, and I knew that would get him reminiscing about a certain lunch.

“You said comfortable. I complied. Now—are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I’d rather show you. But first things first.” He smiles wickedly and before I can comment, pulls me into his arms and kisses me as if it's his last night on Earth. His warm body makes me lightheaded. In no time, I am only holding myself up by digging my fingers into his shirt, as our tongues brush against each other, and his hand is already fisting my ponytail.

“Shit, Avril, I have to stop, or we are not going anywhere.” Jon pants as he pulls back slightly. “Come on, let’s go before I find out what color panties you have under that skirt.”

He waves me toward his SUV and I throw a classic, “Who says I’m wearing any?” behind my shoulder, making him grunt and putting a grin on my face.

“So, now can you tell me what we are doing?” I repeat my question as I buckle my seatbelt.

“Are you sure you are not the 10-year-old going to Disney? Or you can’t be patient?”

I huff and poke him in the side before he starts the car, and he obviously just chuckles.

“Sure. Me. Patience. Same sentence.” I raise my eyebrow at him as the Range Rover leaves my driveway, heading to the extra secret location.

“Is this one of those billionaire dates? Private jets and dinners on top of skyscrapers?” I quip with a sideways glare.

“It defeats the purpose if your date already has had her arm halfway in an airplane wing. As for dinner… I already have something planned, but skyscraper sounds a bit cliché.”

“Ha, you are right. Last thing I need to see is the inside of a plane. Well, unless it’s en-route to a Caribbean Island. In which case… my passport is back at the house. Turn the car around!”

Jon laughs at that. “Noted. I would need to check the private jet roster though; we only have one for the board members unless they bought their own.”

“Only one jet… oh no…. billionaire life is hard!” my sarcasm is dripping over every word.

“You know I’m not actually a billionaire, right?” He glances over at me as the car stops at a light.

“OMG!” I say in mock panic. “Does it mean I’ll have to just spend my own millions? The horror! Oh well, poor-man, I think I will survive by only eating at 2* Michelin restaurants.”

“Ha-ha, what a hilarious lady I got here. Not saying I’m poor, but definitely not going to buy you Hove and put them out of business for being dicks to you.”

“Darn, I was looking forward to that! That’s what a true romance hero would do!”

“Darn, you drew the short straw with me. To be fair, McAv almost went bankrupt in 2008, I am lucky to still have my millions.”

“Uh? Really?” I gasp at the direction change.

“Yeah… I just took over and then… the financial crisis hit. Suddenly private aviation was not such a hot commodity,” he says with a sigh.

“Shit! What did you do?”

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