Seducing the Ice-Cold CEO

Chapter 15

Leah

It was 10:15 PM by the time I finally pushed my chair back and stretched my aching spine, the last item on my to-do list dutifully checked off. My eyes stung from staring at the screen too long, and my fingers were cramped from typing almost non-stop since lunch, but I felt good.

I hadn’t stopped when I finished revising my article based on my interview with Dante. It had only been the first thing I completed that evening. I had plunged right into my backlog of two more staff drafts that needed revising, one late freelancer submission that looked like it was typed in a rush during a coffee break, and a data-heavy chart for a finance column I personally loathed.

But I got it all done. I leaned back, rolled my shoulders, and smiled to myself as I composed the email to Ms. Arya, the Assistant Editor-in-Chief, attaching the article and writing a crisp little message: “Final draft attached for review. Looking forward to your feedback.”

I hit send and shut my laptop with a satisfying click.

Normally, I should have sent it to Mr. Burke’s email, since he was the Editor in Chief, but he was old fashioned; he preferred hard copies and red pens and muttered a lot about “damn screen eyes.” Burke hardly checked his email, and on a night like this, when the office was already a graveyard, I wasn’t about to wait until morning to get it into his hands. Arya would see it. She always did. And thankfully, she didn’t seem to mind being everyone’s digital bridge to the old guard.

By the time I reached the train station, the air was crisp and the night was surprisingly quiet. The platform was nearly empty as I slid into a seat by the window, my phone in hand, and just as I was debating whether to mindlessly scroll or just close my eyes for the ride, my screen lit up.

From: Arya M.

Subject: Re: Final draft - Kerlsen Interview

Message: Nicely done, Leah. Clean work. It has a strong, confident tone. You’ve come a long way.

I blinked, then reread it. Then I grinned. That was actual praise from Arya. The same Arya who never said anything unless it was a correction or an editorial cut. Arya, who made Mr. Burke seem like a cheerleader in comparison. The fact that she had taken the time, even just two sentences, meant a lot to me. It filled me with a thrill my tiredness could not suffocate.

I didn’t even care that my dinner was half a bowl of cold chicken salad I barely remembered making two nights ago. I ate it standing in the kitchen, practically bouncing on the balls of my feet. I set out my clothes for the next day like I was preparing for a major life event, not another 9-to-5. I brushed my teeth while humming off-key to whatever bubblegum pop beat was leaking in from my neighbor’s wall again. And I took the longest, hottest shower my water bill would allow, letting the steam melt away the last of the day’s tension.

I felt radiant and accomplished, like my hard work was finally catching the attention it deserved.

And then, like an ice cube down my spine, I remembered I had made very little progress in my plan to seduce a particular CEO. The shine of Arya’s praise dulled just slightly as I crawled into bed. He hadn’t reached out to me and I hadn’t gotten a suitable excuse to see him yet.

I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I should’ve followed up. What could I even have followed up with? That Alina album I had seen in his home? Ugh. I’d have come across as too pushy.

I sighed, flipped over, then flipped back. My brain was already drafting scenarios. What if I accidentally passed by his office again? Could I swing by Hensley’s desk and pretend I had a form to drop off? Would that be too obvious?… Eventually, sleep stole me away mid-plot, visions of perfectly timed coincidences dancing through my head.

The next morning, I got to the office a little earlier than usual, my cheeks still warm with the glow of Arya’s message. Today was starting out great. My hair behaved. My outfit looked sharp. And the cherry on top? Mr. Burke had approved the article, without a single correction.

“No changes?” I asked May, wide-eyed as she handed me the memo.

“None,” she said, laughing. “He said, and I quote, ‘If she keeps writing like this, I won’t have anything to do soon.’ That’s practically a standing ovation from him.”

I floated through the morning, helping May proof one of her pieces, offering suggestions like some editorial fairy godmother. I was untouchable, right up until my inbox pinged. It was a message from Dante’s team. My jaw went slack as I stared at the email on my screen, the harsh glow of the monitor reflecting off my face. I blinked once, then again, hoping I had misread something, but no, that curt, impersonal rejection was all still there.

“...We believe the tone of the article makes Mr. Kerlsen come across as slightly pompous.”

“...there are a few areas that could be rewritten to reflect a more balanced perspective.”

“...The article’s overall length is too extensive and bloated.”

The high drained out of me so fast I felt physically cold. My article had been praised by Arya. It had been approved without a red mark by Mr. Burke. And yet, it was somehow not good enough for them? For Christ's sake, it was almost the same thing as the first one, which they had approved without any problems or back and forth. I read the email again, then again. What the hell had happened now?

My skin prickled, the heat of irritation crawling up my neck and settling at the tips of my ears. I felt my hands curl into fists on instinct, my fingernails biting into the soft skin of my palms. I welcomed the sharp little pain because it helped ground me, and kept me from screaming directly at my computer like a lunatic.

Pompous? Too long? Too balanced? What did that even mean?

I bit the inside of my cheek and read the email again, slower this time, trying to find something resembling logic or at least a shred of constructive critique. But all I saw were flimsy excuses, the kind that felt more like someone reaching for a reason rather than offering genuine feedback. I didn’t know whether Dante’s team was being pretentious or just plain moronic.