Clashing with the CEO, page 1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2024 by Sara Martin
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by
Westwell Press
New Zealand
Cover design by Sylvia Frost at The Book Brander
Paperback ISBN: 978-0-473-71865-7
saramartinauthor.com
For the romance connoisseurs who appreciate the delicious agony of a good slow burn.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Chapter One
The moment I’d been dreading all night had arrived.
Leon and I stood outside my building, the air thick with tension. He tilted his head, blond hair falling artfully across his face, and arched an eyebrow.
My heart raced. I couldn’t mess this up—I’d been burned too many times by guys who just wanted a casual hook-up. Our date went well, and Leon seemed different, but I needed to set the tone from the start.
Leon folded his arms. “Well?”
I forced myself to look past his ridiculously handsome features—the mesmerising blue eyes, the sharp cheekbones, the lips just begging to be kissed. Keeping a level head was crucial. “Thank you for walking me home. I had a nice evening.”
“Me too.” Leon stepped closer. “I was hoping we could... keep it going?”
Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit, apparently. Still, my knees went a little wobbly at the suggestion. I let out a nervous laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as unhinged as I suspected it did. “I like you, Leon. But I want to take things slow, so let’s call it a night.”
For a torturous moment, I braced myself for the wounded-ego routine—the pout, the outburst, or some other childish display. But to Leon’s credit, he just sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I aimed for an apologetic, yet resolute tone.
Leon tensed for a second, but then he shrugged, regaining his composure. “All right then. Bye, Milly. See you around, I guess.”
“I’ll text you.” I cringed inwardly, hating how it came out more like a question than a statement.
“Sure.”
With that, he turned and sauntered away, hands shoved in the tight pockets of his black skinny jeans. I watched him go, letting out a giddy exhale. Despite his obvious disappointment, he seemed to take the rejection well. Or maybe he was just trying to play it cool?
No. I refused to second-guess myself. I did the smart, practical thing by turning him down. No more wasting time on the wrong guys.
I entered my apartment building feeling satisfied this would pan out just as I intended. Leon would get over the slight blow to his ego, and a second date would be on the horizon.
I boggled at the notification on my phone the next morning. A message from Leon so soon? I unlocked the screen, biting my lip to stop myself from grinning like a lunatic in front of all the other train passengers on their morning commute.
You were so fuckin sexy last night. Sorry had to leave early. Let’s do it again sometime?
I blinked. What?
Something was off about the message. It didn’t quite align with what happened on our date. In fact, it sounded like he was talking about a different experience. A weight sank to the pit of my stomach as I reread the message, but before I could process it further, it disappeared. Leon had deleted it.
The truth hit me like a bucket of ice water. The message wasn’t meant for me. Leon must have seen someone else last night. No wonder he was so calm about the rejection. He had a backup plan all along.
That jerk!
He never cared about me. He was just like all the other dud guys I’d ever had the displeasure of dating.
Agh!
The train doors jolted open at Britomart Station, passengers spilling out onto the platform. I hurried along with the throng.
How could I have been so blind? Looking back, the signs had been there all along. He had only talked about himself, he was whiny when I wouldn’t order a second drink, and he couldn’t walk me home without asking to come in.
I quickened my pace, weaving through the other pedestrians on my way to work.
The Luxmore Appliances head office was a twenty-floor tower on the corner of Hobson Street and Customs Street. I barged through the double doors into the lobby, then marched straight to the lifts. I stood with my arms crossed, foot tapping an agitated rhythm while I waited.
I can do much better than him anyway. I’m an intelligent, attractive young woman. I have my own apartment and a decent job. Any straight, single man would find me desirable. I bet the next available man I see wouldn’t turn me down if I gave him a chance.
Right on cue, the lift door opened. Its occupant: one man.
Startled, I looked away, heat flaring in my cheeks. The man didn’t exit, and I was the only person waiting to get on. Reaffirming my little bet with myself, I gave him a once-over as I stepped inside. What I saw made me pause.
This man wasn’t my type at all. He looked much older than me, and he wasn’t handsome. A far cry from pretty-boy Leon and his ilk. The man’s black hair was immaculately groomed, and he had shrewd, dark eyes. A defined jawline led to stern lips and down his throat to a prominent Adam’s apple peeking from his crisp shirt collar. He wore a suit which screamed tailor-made and expensive, not to mention the Rolex on his wrist. He exuded an aura of power.
Must be in upper management.
I looked at the keypad. Sure enough, he had selected the twentieth floor. All the top executives had their offices on the twentieth floor—the highest level of the building. He either worked there, or he was a visiting businessman from another company.
As I pressed the button for the fifth floor, I could feel the man’s intense eyes boring holes into me. I wondered if he was checking me out.
Maybe he really is interested in me?
I didn’t know what to make of it. He was too old for me, and he wasn’t my type at all. Then again, he was far from decrepit—early forties at most. He looked fit and well-groomed, and he was probably intelligent and ambitious if he held a high position like I suspected. Maybe it was time to broaden my horizons. Besides, I could use the confidence boost.
Mind made up, I turned on my charm offensive and flashed him the sweetest smile I could muster. “Good morning.”
His jaw tightened, and the veins in his neck flexed. He left me hanging for a long beat, an inscrutable expression on his face.
The corners of my mouth twitched, unable to hold up the smile much longer as awkwardness set in. Our eye contact was on the verge of unbearable when he finally spoke. “You’re…” His voice was low, and he had a hint of a posh English accent.
What’s this? All I had expected was a simple “Good morning” in return.
Is he actually going to hit on me? I can’t believe it.
He cleared his throat and continued. “Your top’s inside out.”
Huh?
“My…” I looked down and examined my blouse while feeling behind my neck for the tag. Sure enough, the seams were showing, and the tag was on the outside. A fresh surge of heat burst onto my face. “Oh!” I spluttered. “Thanks for telling me.”
He didn’t say another word.
I hurried out as soon as the door opened onto the fifth floor, nearly tripping over my feet on the way. I didn’t
What’s wrong with me today?
I headed straight to the bathroom before anyone else could glimpse my wardrobe malfunction. In the safety of a vacant stall, I shrugged off my overstuffed bag and hooked it on the back of the door. My blouse came off next. I checked it was the right way around, then slipped it back over my sweaty head.
Properly dressed, I emerged from the stall and double-checked my appearance in the mirrors above the row of immaculate white basins. My forehead was shiny, and my cheeks were pink, but apart from that, everything was in order. I smoothed a hand through my hair.
Okay, so it’s been a shitty morning. That doesn’t mean that the rest of the day has to follow suit. Forget about Leon. Forget about that man in the lift. I’ve got more important things to think about.
I left the bathroom with my head held high, vowing not to let anything else rattle my self-composure.
An arctic blast from the air conditioner made me hunch my shoulders as I entered the communications department. I walked along the uniform row of wooden desks to my designated workstation and placed my phone, diary, and pen case into position. I had the tidiest desk on the entire floor, earning me the title of Resident Neat Freak among the staff. My neatness extended to the digital realm too, leading to my second nickname: File Management Nazi.
Brooke arrived shortly. She was wearing a green dress today, and her long dark was loose and straight. “Hey, Milly,” she said, taking her seat at the desk next to mine.
“Hi, Brooke.”
She leaned in close. “Sooo… How did your date go?”
I felt the colour drain from my face as the sting of Leon’s text message resurfaced.
She cringed. “Not good, I take it.”
“Correct.”
“But he sounded so promising…”
“Long story short, it turned out he was a jerk.”
“Okay, spill. I want all the juicy details.”
We moved to the break room to continue our conversation over morning tea. Brooke set down two mugs of hot tea on a table opposite the window. I pulled out a chair.
“So, what happened?” Brooke asked.
I recounted the story of the date with Leon up to the text message he accidentally sent me this morning, and the realisation he was seeing someone else.
Brooke grimaced. “Yikes. What a douche.”
“I shouldn’t have got my hopes up. Think I’m ready to swear off dating apps for good.”
“How old was the guy?”
“Twenty-seven. Same age as me.”
“Maybe that’s your problem. Boys in their twenties are too immature. Why don’t you age up a little?”
“Most guys in their thirties are already taken, and the ones that aren’t… well, they seem to be single for a good reason.”
“Oof. I know what you mean. But there are some decent men out there. You just have to—”
Something in the background caught my attention and drowned out the rest of what Brooke was saying. My focus shifted to the window behind her.
The world slowed down. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears and my beating heart.
Something was falling. No… someone. A body soaring straight down outside the building.
My mug slipped from my grasp and hit the table, splashing the remnants of my tea. I shrieked.
Chapter Two
Amonth had passed since the CEO jumped from the roof, but the haunting image lingered in my mind. I avoided the fifth-floor break room, opting to use the kitchen facilities on the sixth floor instead. No one questioned my change of routine.
I came back downstairs after putting my lunch in the fridge. As soon as I pulled out my chair, Brooke descended. “Have you seen the latest article in the Herald?” she asked.
“No. What article?”
“Well, apparently, Alex was being audited for financial discrepancies in the business at the time of his death. That’s why the police closed the case, ruling it as suicide.”
I let her words sink in, mulling over their implications. Something didn’t sit right. “Why steal money from the company? He was already rich enough.”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Duh. Greed, of course.”
Ellen stuck her head through the gap between our monitors from the other side, joining our conversation. “I wonder if that means the other rumours aren’t true.”
“You mean that he was having an affair with an employee?” Brooke asked.
“Yeah. And the one about the rickety railing up on the roof—that maybe someone had tampered with it.”
I threw up my hands. “I’m sure what the police have concluded is based on solid evidence. They would have noticed a so-called rickety railing if there was one.”
Ellen and Brooke exchanged unconvinced glances. I was about to turn my focus back to work when Brooke changed the subject to a related tangent. “I wonder when there’s going to be an announcement about who’s going to replace Alex as CEO. It’s been a month already.”
Mike, who had evidently been listening in on our conversation from the row of desks behind ours, rolled up in his office chair. “You guys are way behind. Catch up.”
Brooke narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Management has already chosen a new CEO—and get this,” he leaned in and lowered his voice, “mass layoffs are on the cards.”
His statement struck me like a slap across the face. “What?” I spluttered. “Where did you hear that?”
“I know someone who knows someone who works on the twentieth floor. Apparently, Alex left the company in a state of financial difficulty, and the person who’s going to fill his shoes has got a big ol’ mess to clean up.”
“Mess or no mess, layoffs so soon after such a big tragedy… That’s just evil.”
Brooke eyed Mike doubtfully. “If what you say is true, you don’t sound too concerned about it.”
“That’s because I’ve got my exit plan all sorted out,” Mike said.
“And what’s that?”
“I’ll take voluntary redundancy.”
“Really?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“How can you be so calm?”
“I’m twenty-three, and I’ve already gone through two redundancies in my brief career. What’s a third?”
“He lives with his parents and doesn’t have to pay any rent,” Ellen explained.
“So what? Being a full-time gamer living in my parents’ basement is a valid plan,” Mike said.
“Not if you want to get a girlfriend,” Brooke countered.
“One day I’ll meet the gamer girl of my dreams. Just wait and see.”
“I believe you,” I offered with a smile. “Just don’t forget about personal hygiene.”
Brooke snickered.
As farfetched as his plan sounded, I knew Mike was smarter and more determined than he looked. I wouldn’t be surprised if it worked out for him.
Ellen sighed. “I hope this isn’t true. I like my job just the way it is.”
“Me too,” Brooke agreed. “Whoever the new CEO is, they can get fu—”
Brendon swooped in to break up our conversation. “All right, everyone, I know it’s been difficult to focus lately, but work still needs to be done. Speculating won’t achieve anything. Besides, tomorrow there’s going to be an announcement and a question-and-answer session, and I have it on good authority that we’ll find out what’s going on then. Let’s wait and see what management has to say.”
Mike rolled away while Brooke grumbled under her breath, shaking her mouse to wake up her monitor.
I checked my emails, but my mind was still on what Mike had said. Could it be true? Was my job in jeopardy? I swallowed a rising sense of foreboding.
The conference theatre buzzed with anxious murmurs, twitching, foot tapping, and knee jostling.
This was our chance to get some answers—about what happened to Alex Patterson and what was going to happen to the business going forward.
Staff members crammed the conference theatre, spilling along the aisles and overflowing out the door. Brooke and I had secured two seats near the back right-hand corner.
David Green stood at the lectern in the centre of the stage. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in a snazzy pink shirt, grey trousers, and a black bow tie. He looked out to the audience through tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, the stage lights bouncing off his shiny forehead and lenses.
