The Ceo Son

10

She cursed herself for being careless, for picking up a stranger who turned out to be her new boss’s son and the newest addition the company. This was a mistake that would bite her in the ass every Monday through Friday forever, she groaned inwardly. She left the party early, claiming that she had work to complete. Back in the peace of her cubicle she made good on that statement and zipped through a stack of receipts that had to be recorded. Finished in plenty of time, she straightened her desk and looked at the clock. When she turned back to her monitor, Jack was there, filling the door of her cubicle.

“I brought you my W-2. I’m only part time so don’t bother with the benefits.”

“Do you want direct deposit?”

“Did you listen to Dad’s speech?” he grinned. “He and I are working for a dollar. Each. We don’t need the money and our salaries can help with operating capital for the expansion. So a check will be fine. I’ll be in and out. I’ve got a software project going.”

“Is this just a hobby for you?”

“Sort of,” he said with a shrug.

“Do you really play guitar?”

“Hell yes. I do all kinds of s**t. I did the graphics for my friend’s software. I do some marketing for my dad,” he said. “Look, there’s not going to be any hard feelings just because you weren’t interested and I was. I’m not going to harass you. I’m not going to make things difficult for you. So you can relax.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re pretty tightly wound. I can see the vein in your forehead.”

“Thanks,” she said dryly.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I won’t even be here that much.”

“Good to know.”

“Have I offended you?”

“Besides talking about my forehead vein and assuming, egotistically may I add, that I was trembling in my pumps because big manly you walked into my place of work? Excuse me if I’m not overcome by desire and regret. I have a new W-2 to enter,” she said shortly, face blazing with embarrassment as he left.

Why had she defaulted to being rude, she wondered. Was she really that intimidated? Really that attracted that she had to be so aggressive and mad? He hadn’t done anything except be a hot guy who showed up in a place she’d rather not see him. Dropping her head onto her desk, she groaned aloud.

“What’s the groaning about?” Marj teased.

“I was a total b***h to the boss’s son. He brought in his W-2 and—”

“Were you straightening your desk? You’re always pissy when I interrupt your little OCD ritual.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“He’ll learn when to knock. We all do,” Marj said. “Except for hook up guy, of course. If he ever shows up here, I think you’d stop tidying up to meet with him.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Britt said ruefully.

No matter how much she tried not to think about him, there he was. She saw him get into the elevator as she went down the hall. Instead of pressing the button to make it wait, she took the stairs. If she got in that elevator with him, especially if he was alone, the s****l tension would be too much, and she’d forget who she was and what she wanted. She’d only want him.

Britt went to the gym and tried to flirt with guys who worked out. She reasoned that she’d enjoyed licking Jack’s abs so much because he was in great shape, so all she needed to complete her rebound transition was to bang another guy with fantastic abs.

She put on her most flattering tank top and a pair of shorts. She climbed on a stair stepper and adjusted it to the easiest setting. Britt figured it would be easier to look approachable and sexy if she wasn’t gasping for air and sweating buckets. She took to putting a little switch in her climb, trying for a cute butt angle in case any of the gym rats walked by. Ten minutes in she was ready for a bottle of water....or a bottle of wine. She stepped off and wiped her face with a towel in annoyance. All that work and she hadn’t pulled a single guy. She’d hoped for the blond guy on the elliptical. He looked about 22 and ripped. She could really go for 22 and ripped. He might be able to take her mind off Jack...not Jack, her breakup, her broken heart, not her one night stand.

Britt walked by him deliberately on the way to get a drink at the juice bar. She dropped her towel with what she hoped was the subtle flair of a Victorian lady dropping her handkerchief. She glanced at him sideways while she picked up the towel. His muscular calves were pumping along uninterrupted on the elliptical trainer, not leaping off the machine to come to her aid. She got a carrot guava juice to be virtuous but it tasted like dirt, so she changed clothes and debated getting a Starbucks. On her way out of the locker room, she crashed into Hot Elliptical Guy.

“I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” he asked.

He was tall and broad and gorgeous in the sandy-haired Ken doll way. Smiling as dazzlingly as she could, she laid a hand on his bicep lightly.

“I’m fine now. It’s so sweet of you to be concerned.” About little ol’ me, she wanted to add with an eye-roll. But sarcasm wouldn’t get her in his pants, and she needed a new fling to erase the old one that was haunting her.

“You seemed a little-disoriented back there. I thought maybe you didn’t feel well or you were on heavy cold medicine or something. You were blinking a lot,” he said sheepishly.

Britt shut her eyes for a moment in mortification. All that eye-batting had just made him think she had allergies.

“I tried Mucinex once, and I was so out of it. I nearly got stuck in one of the weight machines,” he went on.

“I’m okay. But thanks,” she said.

“You look familiar. I’m Wade Hanson. Gilda’s boy.”

“What?”

“I guess you’re not...I thought you were one of my mom’s friends. Some of them come here, and you just looked familiar.”

“Wow, Wade. That totally made my day. Have a good one,” she stalked off, gritting her teeth. His mom’s friend? At least he didn’t think she was his grandma’s age, she thought ruefully.

“Hey, Marj, I tried to pick up a guy at the gym, and he thought I was his mom’s age. Call me,” she said to her friend’s voicemail.

They met for coffee to talk it over. It was a post-mortem that demanded immediate attention.

“Girl, are you trying to pick up kids again?” Marj teased.

“Ew, no. He was at least 21.”

“And you are...”

“Twenty-EIGHT. Don’t I look twenty-eight? I bet I need eye cream.” Britt groaned, sinking into a chair.

“Fine, I’ll buy the coffee. Unless you want to use your senior discount,” Marj teased.

“I need a muffin. A big one with chunks of chocolate all over it.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Hey, I went to the gym, and I didn’t get laid.”

“You obviously need to join a different gym. Not mine, mine only has yoga, not gigolos.”

“I don’t want a gigolo. I want to get it for free and get over my breakup.”

“You mean your hook up. Because you haven’t been boohooing about Kevin. I mean you bitched about missing out on the roof garden more than you said you missed him. I think you’re stuck on Mr. Margarita.”

“That’s not his name,” Britt huffed.

“Fine. What IS his name?’

“Mr. Margarita it is,” she sighed. “I think I rebounded too fast. It was a mistake. Then he tried emailing me and—”

“Wait, Mr. Margarita came back for more? Do tell!”

“Get the coffee.”

Britt waited for Marj to get back and then she dove into the muffin face first. Marj sat impatiently while her friend chewed.

“Have you had enough carb therapy? Can you talk yet?”

“Sure. He emailed, but I didn’t want to pursue it. I don’t think I’m in the right head space for a relationship right now. I just got out of one that was pretty serious and I can’t deal with more drama. My emotions are too raw.”

/> “Are you on a talk show? Your emotions are too raw. Your head space isn’t right. Honey, please. If a man curled my toes like that and then bothered to contact me, I would straight up hand him my panties and tell him I was all in.”

“That’s because you’re in a better head space than I am.”

“Stop saying head space or I am eating that muffin. Right now,” Marj said.

“How’s it going with Luke?”

“It’s not. I like him; he likes himself. We work together, so it’s probably a crap idea anyway. But, good news is, I’m low carb again. You will envy my abs.”

“Okay. I will. I promise. Why are you low-carb again? You get so mean.”

“It’s just the healthiest way, I mean, sugar kills. That muffin is killing you. It’s why you look so old.”

“Don’t make me force-feed you bread. Did Luke put you up to this?”

“Luke? Are you kidding? Anything that involves giving up wine would be right out with him.”

“Not all alcohol, though, right?”

“All alcohol.”

“You are going to be so much fun. The men will beat down your door to get at you.”

“Snark if you will but I’m going to be super-hot.”

“Marj, you’re gorgeous. I don’t know why you would—you know what, do what works for you. If giving up carbs makes you happy, do it. Live and let live.”

“Is that muffin putting you in a better head space? Because live and let live is so not the Britt I know.”

“Must be the muffin. I don’t want to judge.”

“You should eat more of those.”

“You’re low carb. Shame on you!”

“I’m not a low carb priestess or anything. You can ruin your health if it makes you nicer.”

“Thanks a lot.”