Page 35 of Handling the CEO

“Groaning again, caveman?” She seems unphased, more amused than anything, enjoying provoking me.

“You make me do this, Avril, with those taunting comebacks. OK, this tank top doesn’t help either, I have been meaning to unwrap you for the past half an hour.”

DJ readies for a snappy retort, but it is her stomach that interrupts, a muffled growl signaling I have to attend to her other needs first.

“Come on, let’s get you fed. With actual food.” I have to specify, as she is already giving me side-eye.

I get us both vertical and drag my shorts up, getting my phone out to text the crew to bring our dinner over.

“Uuu staff... fancy.” She winks at me and mumbles to herself, “Billionaire date, indeed”.

She hesitates a bit seeing the water on our left, so I pull out a chair for her facing the town instead of the ocean.

“Curious to see what you will come up with. I must point out I am very amenable to sports.” A smile tugs at my lips as I hear the expected snort when I mentioned ‘sport’.

“As long as I don’t have to literally partake. I am very happy as well to sit and have a beer watching you do your thing or a match of sorts, but me running around… not going to happen. I had an elliptic. And an indoor bike. Even a step.” She uses her fingers to count her attempts. “They are all useful coat hangers. OK, not the step that just gathered dust. Even tried the good old ‘standing desk’ for a bit, but my ergonomic chair is really the best for coding.”

“Got it. I’ll be running by myself then. No marathons, however?”

She smirks again, knowing exactly what marathon I am referring to. “Let’s have those burgers, then we can see about some more… exercise.”

Her face lights up as the steward brings our plates, and the smell of grilled meat makes my mouth water. But it is my mind—and a specific body part—which wonders to our next activity as my date picks up her burger with both hands and takes a giant bite, moaning and closing her eyes in delight.

I groan again. She slaps my side, cocking an eyebrow at me. And it is already the best date I have ever had.

DJ

Ihearthedoorbellin the distance, but I need to finish signing these contracts for the new PR team leader I just hired.

“One moment!” I holler, but that only makes my caller more excited. Putting my glasses away and locking my computer—hard habit to beat even at home—I stumble to my front door in my flannel shorts and Berkley T-shirt, hoping it’s not Jon. Though he doesn’t seem to mind my ‘house bum’ vibe. He would definitely make fun of me while peeling my clothes off, and I instantly feel rather giddy at the prospect of seeing him chuckle at my outfit.

“Open up bitch, I brought cronuts,” my sister announces herself impatiently.

“What are you doing here, Laura? Don’t you have a job?”

“Don’t you?” she counters, running her eyes over me in shock, me in my PJs versus her in a pantsuit.

I roll my eyes at her and get the treats from her, leading her to the kitchen, and start pouring us some coffee. As always, as if she owns the place, she throws herself on my favorite stool awaiting service. Her cane rests by the island.

“Also, when are you going to buy a throw pillow or something around here? You literally have a sofa and a TV in the living room and a bunch of boxes.”

“My office is fine,” I respond, knowing damn well she is right about not fully moving in. My bedroom had a bed but no end tables, and my charger sticking straight out of the socket. Good thing I have a walk-in closet or my clothes would still be packed up. But I could never do that to my shoes. Or to my dresses.

“Also, I have a wonderful job, thank you very much, Lau. One which sometimes allows me to do paperwork in my jammies. I doubt you do all your designs wearing your I-love-Hillary outfit. Now, sis... what do you want?”

“Can’t an older sister just stop by and bring pastry? Fine, don’t give me that look lil D—and put some milk in my coffee for fuck’s sake—I came to inquire about your date the other day,” she asks with a secretive smile.

“You drove all the way here for that?”

“OK, I may have been around the corner for a client… come on spill... I want to live vicariously through you.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.

“I think if we count the number of dates YOU go on, it may be the other way around.” My sister is constantly meeting men, but she never goes on second dates with them. I don’t even think she knows their names. She just says she wants to live her life and not get involved again after the accident in which her husband Charlie died, I am still not sure if I can or want to push her to reconsider.

“Yeah, but you actually went out with someone you like. And you have been seeing him officially for how long now—three weeks? Not going anywhere until you tell me, especially if it’s another one like the sex boat.”

It was circa four weeks if I were to confess, but I could feel a smile tugging at my lips thinking of our great date yesterday.

“Fine, fine… I will say just two words and then you can go back to work—leave the cronuts, though. Are you ready? The two words are… rage room!”

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