Page 6 of Hot CEO

Instead, I stalk towards it, snatching it up to examine. The white cotton is ruined, stained pale pink, still smelling of sweet fruit. I inhale it deeply, eyes closing as if I can conjure up Savannah if I try hard enough.

If anyone saw me now, standing alone in the middle of the room clutching a ruined shirt to my face, they’d think I’d gone insane. Not that I care. Giving a fuck about what other people think isn’t what’s made me one of the CEOs at a very successful, very lucrative investment firm. I lost the ability to value strangers’ opinions of me a long time ago.

Except, I’d kill to know what Savannah thought of me. Is she going as out of her mind as I am? Does she regret rushing off as much as I regret not stopping her? Or has she forgotten about me entirely?

The last thought feels like a punch to the gut, and I grit my teeth. She can’t have forgotten. I felt the combustible chemistry between us like a physical flame, felt the way she responded to my kisses, my touch. She was going to let me take her somewhere, just us, before her phone rang.

I fold the shirt and set it back on the chair. I can’t even bring myself to wash the thing. Then I straighten, force my legs to take me back to my office, and sip my coffee as I stare at my to-do list blankly.

There’s always work to be done. Clients don’t care about things as arbitrary as weekends or the time. There’s five emails in my inbox alone from yesterday evening, last night, and early this morning. Three of them could’ve been sent to my secretary to deal with…if I had one.

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. My black coffee is still scalding hot but I sip it anyway, needing the caffeine rush if I have any chance of making it through the day. By the time I’ve answered just two of the emails with as little passive aggressiveness as I could muster, I’m thanking the universe that I’ll have someone else to do this for me on Monday.

I click open the third email. It’s only two lines long but no matter how many times I scan the letters, I can’t focus enough to actually read them. My brain changessalestoSavannah,broadcasttobar, andcredittococktail.

“For fuck’s sake,” I curse to myself, head falling into my hands. If I could just see her, talk to her, even text her, this gnawing ache would ease. I have too much to do to afford to be distracted, but no matter what I do, my head won’t clear. It’s like she’s cast a spell over me, her magic clinging to my skin, seeping into my thoughts every time I try and force my brain to focus on something else.

Frustration builds inside me, a coil of angry tension winding tighter and tighter until I’m going mad.

I need to find her.

4

SEAN

This is either very creepy or very romantic, I think to myself as I stand outside the bar. I’ve spent all fucking day fixated on one thing and one thing only, and I might turn to tearing my house apart if I don’t do something about it.

I hadn’t even been able to eat my fucking lunch because all I craved was strawberries rolled in sugar.

So here I am. Outside the same bar I was in last night, glaring up at the old, worn sign as though I can force the letters to rearrange themselves into her address. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely creepy if I turn up at her door but…shit, I’m desperate here.

I drag a hand down my face, then step inside before I make more of a fool of myself. The bar’s busier than it was last night, and for a brief second, hope makes me feel buoyant. But a quick scan of the boisterous crowd reveals no sign of golden blonde locks or glossy lips.

Most of the crowd is businessmen and women shedding their suits and pencil skirts for the weekend in an attempt to pretend they have more to their lives than work. Hell, I know because I’m one of them.

Maybe she just hasn’t arrived yet. It’s early still, and just because she’s not here right now doesn’t mean she won’t come at all. Regardless of my shitty internal pep talk, the bad mood that’s been clouding me all day follows me as I stalk towards the bar.

“Two days in a row?” the bartender asks as I snag the last stool at the bartop.

It’s the same guy who was working yesterday, but I can’t remember his name. My brain has been cleared of any information that does not pertain to the woman I need to track down.

I grunt in response to the bartender’s question, not having the capacity for small talk.

“Hard week at work?” he tries again, and I’m about to tell him I don’t want to talk when I realize he’s already pouring me a double scotch on the rocks. My irritation relents a little as he slides the glass towards me.

“Something like that.” I run a hand through my hair distractedly.

The guy shoots me a conspiratorial look, drumming his forefinger against the countertop. “Take it you didn’t get to blow off the stress with that pretty little blonde from last night? Hard luck, man. Looked like she was into you.”

I hide the way my lip curls at his words by taking a swig of the drink I don’t even want.Pretty little blonde thing. It takes all my self-control not to tear into him just for that. But if he remembers Savannah and I talking at the bar, then maybe he knows more about her.

I set the glass down slowly. “Savannah,” I correct him tightly, squaring my shoulders. “You seen her here before?”

The bartender backs off a little bit, clearly sensing my displeasure. “Yeah, a couple times just recently. Not a regular or anything, though.”

Shit. I was really hoping this guy knew her well and could give me her number or something. Of course not, that would just be too damn easy. Sighing, I nod. “Know her last name or where she works?”

The bartender’s brow furrows as he gives me a look up and down. “Dunno what to tell you, man. I don’t make a habit of asking about customer’s backstories while I pour their tequila shots.”

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