Page 7 of Hot CEO

I swallow, jaw tense. Of course, he doesn’t. I probably sound like a stalker. “Sorry, just…” I trail off, swirling whisky and ice around the bottom of the glass. How the hell do I explain that I’m pretty fucking sure my soulmate spilled her drink all over me last night and now I feel like I might actually go insane if I don’t get to see her again?

The bartender must have seen this nightmare run through my head because he clicks his tongue off his teeth and steps back with a smirk. “I get it, dude. You got it bad!”

I groan but don’t disagree. I take another sip of my drink, but I’m not in the mood for it and I don’t want to be here alone. While the bartender is serving the small queue that’s formed while we talked, I grab a napkin from the stack at the front of the bar and steal the black pen he’s left sitting on an order pad next to the beer taps.

The tip of the pen rips the napkin on my first try, and I ball it up before trying again. I’m usually calm and collected. I have to be to run the company. I’m great in a crisis, let stress roll off me like water off a duck’s back, always ready with a backup plan. I’ve certainly never felt as agitated and tense as Savannah’s absence is making me feel.

I force my grip on the pen to loosen and manage to get through all the numbers of my phone number without destroying the napkin. Deciding it’s best to at least try to be smooth, I scribble a note down onto the uncooperative fabric.

Can’t stop thinking about you. Call me.

I sign it then cap the pen and return it to its place before tapping the bar to get the bartender’s attention. He holds a finger up to the man he’s serving and jogs closer to me with a raised brow.

I shove the napkin at him with perhaps more force than strictly necessary. “If she comes back,” I tell him, pressing the napkin into his palm. “Give her this for me.”

The bartender tucks the napkin under the tip jar by the register, giving me a nod before he turns back to the customers. I push my mostly full glass away, stand, and cast a last long look around the bar. Sure enough, Savannah still isn’t here.

Agitation and frustration so high I swear my teeth are going to break from how hard I’m grinding them, I walk out of the bar and back to my empty apartment.

5

SAVANNAH

Ispend the entire weekend on edge, anxiety simmering in my stomach and ruining my appetite.

On Saturday, I distract myself by looking after Polly, which really just looks like lounging in her flat watching reruns ofFriendswhile she complains about how much she hates her ex. That was the emergency she called me with—her ex texting her after months of silence. I understood her pain and her badly hidden heartbreak.

I haven’t known her for long, but I find her flirty, fun, and a little shallow. Really, she’s just trying to cover up her sore heart by filling the space her ex left with other guys.

But another part of me, a part I try to hide from her as we eat cookie dough ice cream straight out of the tub, can’t help but resent the fact that I ran out on that man…Sean…for this.

Guilt swarms me as I think about it, and I bite into a frozen chunk of chocolate. Polly needs me, I’m her friend, and I should be happy to be here for her. Yet, as she tells me the same teary story of how she caught her ex liking another girl’s bikini photos on social media, my brain conjures up the image of the guy I dreamt of all night.

Short, dark hair just long enough to run my fingers through. Deep brown eyes dark with desire. Muscles flexing in his arms as he backs me against a wall, expensive fabric under my hands as I run my palms over his chest, the tickle of his breath in my ear as he says my name in a whisper…

No. Bad Savannah!I stab my spoon angrily into the remaining ice cream and hand Polly a tissue.

“Okay, enough crying!” she declares after a deep breath, scrubbing mascara tracks off her cheeks with the tissue. “I need to focus on something else. Ooh, like that guy from the bar. I saw him follow you through to the back.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, leaning her shoulder against mine.

“Oh, no. That’s nothing,” I say, waving away her unspoken questions. “He waswayyyout of my league. This is about you, anyway. Let’s not talk about me and my utter lack of love life.” I finish my sentence with a giggle that she doesn’t buy.

“I’m swearing off men,” she decides, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “That means I need to live vicariously through you. That dude was hot and rich and like totallynotan asshole like—nope! Not saying his name.”

I sigh, giving in. “I really liked him,” I admit, and she squeals, grabbing a half-eaten bar of chocolate from under one of the blankets. She bites into a piece and nods for me to continue. “And I mean…well, okay, we kissed—”

“Oh my god! I knew it!”

I cringe. “But that’s all! I left and didn’t even get his number and I’ll never see him again. I’m sure I was nothing more than a bit of fun to him, anyway.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. Sean’s voice replays for the thousandth time in my mind when he said, “I don’t want whatever’s between us to end here.”

“Just kissed?” Polly asks, pouting. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want to jump on that guy and ride him until the sun came out.”

I gape at her unashamed talk of sex. To buy time, I snag a piece of chocolate from her hand and let it melt on my tongue. I absolutely did want that, but I want more too. I felt connected to him somehow. He was sweet and protective, kind but dominant. The perfect mix of everything I’ve ever wanted.

Everything I can’t have.

I don’t want to talk about my feelings or missed opportunities, so I stick to the facts. “Well, okay but…” I sigh, knowing she’s going to scream at what I say next. I brace myself as I admit, “I’ve never…you know…before.”

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