Page 3 of Handling the CEO

“Douchebag? What are you sixteen? Maybe you can come with some better insults for what is…” he looks around Marcus’s shop, “your only client. Those Yelp reviews will not write themselves, you know; I am not sure if I have enough ammo besides your not-so-charming personality and lame jokes.”

Lame jokes? The jackass! My zingers are amazing.

“Hmm, better insults you say? Oh boy…” I start, but he cuts me off, his eyes sparkling. His smell is intoxicating. That whiff of fuel hidden behind his expensive cologne makes me want to climb him like a tree. Those biceps I can see even closer now and his giant hands he has on his hips do not help either.

“Man.”

“Excuse me?”

“I am a man, not a boy,” he says in a deep growly voice. My panties just melted, as that was probably the sexiest thing I ever heard.

“Uh OK caveman, maybe I’ll find you some wood to chop out back to make a fire as we are all out of clubs.” I manage to add. At least my brain has a few operational cells to avoid making a fool of myself and throw myself at the tantalizing jerk standing way too close to me and glowering at me with the heat of a thousand suns.

That pulls a full smile from him and darn if my last brain cells didn’t just stampede to my vagina as she decided that those white teeth and the dimple in his left cheek were cause for celebration.

“Avril, where are these insults? I’m expecting at least three, since I won’t be expecting a shirt anytime soon. Maybe never at this rate.”

His wit makes it even worse, and I need a strategic retreat, definitely a cold shower. Turning towards the most expensive shirt section, I start to go through the hangers.

“Let’s see caveman,”—and now we both have nicknames—“as ‘douchebag’ is too pedestrian for you, you do know you bring everyone so much joy... you know, when you leave the room.”

He huffs, more amused than anything, and follows me towards the merchandise. Glancing again at his suit, I pick a light pink shirt Marcus sewed when he was feeling happy.

“Here, I am sure you can pull off pink. Your face is just fine, but we’ll have to put a bag over that personality.”

At that, he starts full on laughing. This couldn’t have gone worse. He has a full, deep laugh, which messes with me and makes me want to keep on launching insults at him, so he never stops.

Get it together DJ. No more assholes for you, the last few years were enough! I need to focus on getting my career back on track and getting back at my ex-husband for the shit he put me through. I shouldn’t be allowing Chris-fucking-Hemsworth to make me all hot and bothered.

“Skater girl, I can…pull…. anything I want.” That sounded like, again, he meant a different sort of ‘pulling’. “Lovely. We finally got to an actual shirt. I need to be at Giorgio’s for 1pm and it’s across town,” he comments, changing direction abruptly and getting the garment from me. He then takes his jacket and vest off and starts unbuttoning his shirt and holy hell, I almost pass out—muscles everywhere—but manage to croak.

“Fitting room over there. No need for the strip show we take Visa.”

His naughty smile is back on, maybe with a tint of mischief this time, like he just figured out what button to push. All I can do is stand still as he passes by me way too close and he whispers in my ear, “I am sure you cantakeeverything I got, but right now I really need to get changed and out of here.”

Frozen on the spot, goose bumps break out all over my skin as he gets in the booth, and I pull the curtain securely behind him.

“You worried you’ll see me naked, Avril?” The man chuckles from the fitting room. “If you want to help me change, you are more than welcome.”

“No,” I answer brusquely, “I imagine you are more than capable.” I bite my lower lip, realizing what an opening I just gave him. “Simply putting a barrier between myself and your cheesy lines.”

“Hmm, cheesy lines you say?” That deep rumble in his tone makes my thighs clench together. “CapableI am, indeed. Just say the word and I’llthoroughlydemonstrate. You know,” he continues in the same trend, “I was feeling a littleofftoday, but youturnedme righton.”

I puff at the stupid line he knew damn well was cheesy, but he used it anyway, making me smile. I force my lips back down, not wanting to show how he got to me.

Suddenly, a random thought crosses my almost blank mind… the son of a bitch is trying to unbalance me with his flirting. I was letting him get to me! Damn him for looking like Thor’s more handsome brother with his long legs, strong arms, and annoying emerald eyes.

And being funny is absolutely unacceptable.

“Hey douche canoe—that’s three insults, by the way,” I comment casually. I stand next to the full-length drape luckily stopping my lady bits from having a viewing party, or who knows what I would do. “I really hope you weren’t checkingyourwatch when you said 1pm. From what I can see, even a Patek Philippe watch can be an hour slow, and Giorgio’s doesn’t hold a reservation more than 15 minutes.”

The clothes ruffling behind the screen stops abruptly. A couple minutes of absolute silence grates my nerves before I hear a loud “Fuck it” which puts another smile on my face. But then I am speechless and frozen on the spot as he pulls the curtain open, and I get a full frontal view of his bare chest and the sexiest sleeve tattoos I’ve ever seen. All my control goes out the window.

Jon

Myfirstthoughtswere‘how does a shop assistant know what watch I have and what a two-star Michelin restaurant’s waiting period is’. But they were quickly overridden by the fact that I completely missed my lunch meeting. Hopefully Mike was covering. Even worse, I have been hard ever since ‘Avril’ turned towards me and started throwing verbal daggers at me.

This woman might as well have turned on a switch in my dick as it can’t seem to get enough of her, and I don’t blame it. Those tits she unintentionally pushed up when she crossed her arms, and that round bottom she showed me as she turned to find my shirt in those ridiculous shorts for a woman clearly around 35, almost made me come in my pants. I was lucky the shirts were not on a lower shelf, as I couldn’t have kept myself in check if she bent over.

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