Page 32 of Handling the CEO

“What I could… Had to sell a lot of my dad’s property to pay wages and some loans he took at a really bad interest rate. Then sold more and more stock to keep the doors open. What started with me having a controlling interest turned into me only having a small percentage and a multitude of investors having the rest. Even my CEO position is subject to a board oversight. And jet sharing.”

“You weren’t kidding about the board. They can just remove you?”

“Not easily,” he winces. “I managed to turn the company around with some serious cost reduction while still maintaining most of our workforce.” Jon pauses midway through his story. “Wow, I sound like a corporate drone!” I giggle as that was comparable to him reading it from a PR pack, and wave at him to continue. “But even recently, with the markets being as they are, I had to outsource some work—like the IT work.”

“Yeah, I did find it a bit weird at first. But talking to a few of your staff, as long as they can get headphones from the equipment van and someone can install their software remotely, they didn’t appear to be fussed.”

“We manage. But the Board is a bit of a pain in the ass, always needing handholding and running through the profit numbers. Luckily, they are usually split into two factions who don’t get along. Some of the old guard who had stock when my father was running the place and the new investors.”

Jon slows down the car as he takes a left to the port sector and my palms start sweating, but still hoping he isn’t taking me where I think he’s heading to.

“Internal politics playing in your favor, huh? I… I’m going to ask again-where are we going?”

“Pretty much. If they could agree on anything, I could really get the boot, providing I do something really unacceptable. And no need to worry, we are here!” he declares with excitement in his voice, but when I see where he parked, I blanch.

“What’s wrong?” my date asks as he opens my door, but my trainers are glued to the carpet.

“Umm… please tell me we are not going on one of… those!” I point to a giant yacht moored in a dock next to the carpark.

He frowns, obviously confused for a second, but then tries to make sense of my reaction. “Well, I didn’t think to advise you to wear trousers, but I am sure the skirt in the wind will only be creating a few ‘Marilyn’ moments. Not that I’m going to complain.”

“It’s not about the skirt, caveman!” I roll my eyes. “It’s… It’s… on the… WATER!” I spurt as I point at the ocean.

“The… water?” Jon scowls for a second, then his face breaks out in a grin. “Don’t tell me, Ms. Jara, have I found another weakness of yours… are you… afraid of… water?”

“Hmf,” I puff, crossing my arms and looking anywhere but at him. “I wouldn’t say I am afraid… more like… like…” I squirm a bit more in the car seat. “I… I can’t swim, alright?” Lifting my eyes at him, I bite my lower lip.

“You… can’t swim?” he asks skeptically. “But… we live in Florida.” He points to the large water mass next to us. “Flo-ri-da! It’s a peninsula! We are surrounded by water on three sides!”

“Thanks Jon, I know the geography! Just because we are Floridians doesn’t mean I know types of alligators either, for fuck’s sake!” I exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of my nose as the blue pond is a bit too close for my liking. “I did try swimming when I was young. My sister is a goddamn fish, can’t get her out of the waves. But me… and water over my head. Or not touching the bottom? Or… OK. Just that. It’s the big water… like THAT.”

“You mean… the Atlantic?” He turns to where I am indicating briefly, then shakes his head in disbelief. “I am confused. Why did you say you wanted to go to a Caribbean Island?”

“Are you kidding me? Massages? Hotel sheets? Cocktails by a controlled-height pool with no waves? A resort sounds just fine. I can even sit in a lounge on the beach, provided there is enough alcohol. But I am in no way, shape or form getting on a boat.”

“You know it’s not a dingy, right? It’s a 200ft superyacht, and it’s extremely safe.”

“Nope. My hands are clammy just thinking of it swaying in the waves. No way am I going in the middle of the ocean.”

The man squints at me, the wrinkle in his brow visible, but then an elated smirk takes the place of his frown.

“Alright Avril, if you are not interested in donut burgers, I guess we can go.”

A loud gasp from me makes him chuckle.

“How did you know?” I inquire.

“I guessed based on your junk food ‘inclination’, I noticed when you inhaled your pizza and when I saw what’s in that fridge at work. Don’t get me wrong, that little moan you did when I found those chocolate ice-creams in the freezer got me hard in an instant.”

Crossing my arms, I glare at him. But as that dumb dimple is still very apparent, he knows I am impressed that he knew exactly what I wanted to eat.

“How about a compromise?” Jon tries again.

“Com-pro-mise? What foreign language is that?” I stick my tongue out like a child.

“Very funny, DJ, but that tongue is going to get you in trouble. How about we don’t actually go anywhere, just go up and have dinner? The boat stays moored; I promise.”

“Hmm.” I stare at the white death trap behind him again. It looks pretty slick with its curved hull and modern design, and maybe it doesn’t look as scary just sitting there. Maybe it is pretty stable anchored by the dock, with just a breeze about.

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