Page 9 of Handling the CEO

“Hey!” he argues, “I am sitting right here!”

But she ignores him. “Is to make sure your ex-husband is ridiculed in front of everyone you know and made to crawl back to whatever hole he got out of?”

“Yes, that sounds about right,” I admit, slightly impressed.

“And Jon, I know you, the only thing you have been trying for the past 15 years is to make sure Miranda and her company are burned to the ground and then buried in a lime-coated deep grave?”

“That was oddly specific, Mike, but it wouldn’t hurt,” he says, and his fury diminishes a bit.

“Well then, kids,” she adds, blatantly looking at both of us, “it seems that besides the obvious… affliction… between you two—which I am not about to unravel right now—you are in an ‘enemy of my enemy is my friend’ situation. Jon needs to overtake Lex Aviation and after this morning’s spectacle, the best way of doing it is launching this software earlier than those nincompoops. Dahlia needs some time to repack her software and an aviation company to test and use it and make sure everyone knows that it was her—with her double masters from Berkely—not her college dropout ex-hubby who wrote it.” I noticed she specifically mentioned my qualifications, no doubt for Jon’s benefit, who probably didn’t bother to read my CV.

Jon and I carry on staring at each other, waiting for one of us to break the stalemate we found ourselves in, as Mike’s words made perfect sense, but neither wants to admit it out loud. All the fight between us pointed towards our rivals would really be something else.

“Fine!” I relent. “Fifty mil down payment and three years exclusive usage of the software for McAv plus a percentage of savings,” and put out my hand.

“You are insane, skater girl! Absolutely crazy! Twenty million down payment and ten years exclusive usage! We also want franchise options to other airlines!” Back in Superman pose he goes trying to intimidate me, but he is in for a surprise when Mike takes his hand and clasps it against mine. Electricity jolts us both again, but we don’t react.

“Twenty-five mil down, five years exclusive usage and the percentage and the franchising—we can agree later,” she closes the deal for both of us.

Begrudgingly I grunt, “Deal.”

“Deal,” he mutters angrily. “NOT looking forward to working with you, Ms. Jara!”

“Feeling is mutual, Mr. McMaster! Ms. Jones, thanks for refereeing. Please email me the contract.” I throw the last word in, then pick up my bag and leave the office, managing not to slam the door or punch him in the throat. With difficulty.

Jon

Theweekcontinueddownhillafter my hell of a morning between the 12 rounds with Dahlia and the announcement from Miranda. Another supplier—this time carpets—asked to have a meeting next week to review our contract. Again something smelled fishy, so I put a call to my PI to make sure all our security measures are in place and the firewall is still working. My Security team here also reassures me that everyone’s phones are checked and cameras are stickered, and nobody can take any pictures without the proper forms. But it seems we continue to have a leak.

By Thursday I was using one wall in my office to bounce my stress ball off it when Mike walks in, her navy business suit and silver short hair in all their glory, but with a scowl on her face I haven’t seen in a while.

“Well… if it isn’t the CEO of a company who employs over 5000 people,” she mocks my voice on the phone from last week, “you literally had one mission, and that was to not mess up the session with Dahlia Jara. Do you want to tell me why I had to send you both to your corners?”

I turned my head to her, remembering—as if I could forget—those blazing eyes and the firebrand of a woman they came with. All week I tried to erase her from my head—again—as what I asked for happened: a reason to stop thinking of her, and her working for me is the best of them all. That was a line I never crossed ever since I took over McAv, and was not about to start now, especially not when Dahlia Jara was still a live grenade with baggage to boot.

“None of your business, Mike. She just rubs me the wrong way and I can’t seem to stop myself from aggravating her!”

“Mm…” She nods, unconvinced. “From where I was sitting looked less aggravating and more like foreplay in the form of pulling on the girl’s pigtails. Anything I need to warn HR of?”

“Nothing to say—not interested at all! She’s my employee now, not going anywhere near her, especially with the mess with her husband and Miranda.”

“The gentleman doth protests too much, methinks, but I will let it go for now as she won’t be around the office much, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, forgetting to feign indifference, as the thoughts of DJ’s behind in that dress… those heels… maybe of her wearing nothing but those heels as I spread her on the conference room table have been haunting my dreams since Monday. More so, my days were spent going through her software proposal, and marveling at how her mind works.

Mike has a less than flattered reaction to my excited question, shaking her head and removing an inexistent lint off her pants.

“Good thing you aren’t interested, Jon,” she smiles at me. “She sent back an edited version of the contract where she requests to work remotely at least 4 days a week. Don’t think that’s an issue, seeing as her job is basically behind computer screens.”

“She WHAT? No way she’s getting 4 days to sit in her pajamas and mooch off my money!”

“Jon, I think you are overreacting. She doesn’t need supervision and all her work can be done remotely,” my VP is trying to dissuade me gently. “We would also need to find her space in some of the upstairs’ offices. The IT department is really unsavory—nobody would like to work down there, especially not someone of her caliber.”

But I was too far gone to properly listen to anything Mike said. The audacity of that woman to come into my company and demand special treatment! She should be in the office so I can see what my millions are buying!

I pull my email app on my laptop and start typing in anger, but I feel my VP rolling her eyes at me.

Dear Ms. Jara,

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