Falling For The Double Face CEO

Gina I’m going to be so late. Traffic on I-4 is usually a breeze for me, but today it’s completely frozen. Rows of cars sit like statues, horns blaring in frustration. “Damn it!” I smack the steering wheel. My boss hates when I’m late, and honestly, so do I. With no end in sight, I grab my phone to call in. “Preston Enterprise, Jill speaking. How may I direct your call?” “Jill, it’s Gina. I’m stuck on I-4, and traffic isn’t moving at all.” “Yeah, you’re the fourth person to call about it. There was an accident up ahead—everything’s a mess. Just get here when you can.” “Thanks, I will,” I sigh, hanging up. I started at Preston Enterprise about a year ago, working the switchboard. Sometimes they stick me at the front desk, but mostly I’m connecting calls all day. The job itself is boring, but it pays well and—more importantly—it gets my foot in the door. I didn’t go to school for answering phones. I went to school for merchandising. My dream? To be a buyer for Preston Enterprise. The company owns a huge department store plus smaller boutiques across Florida, and I’d give anything to be part of that team. The problem is the CEO, Zane Preston. He’s notoriously selective. He hand-picks his merchandisers and refuses to hold open interviews. From what I’ve heard, he notices people on his own. If he sees something in you, he’ll throw a series of tasks your way, and if you impress him, you’re in. But in the entire year I’ve been here, he hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction. Supposedly he memorizes every employee’s résumé, so he must know my background. Still, no sign of him noticing me. Finally, the traffic begins to crawl forward. I make it to the parking garage across the street, park as fast as possible, and dash to the little coffee shop next door. “Mario! Emergency! I’m already late thanks to I-4!” I shout as I skid up to the counter. “Gina, don’t worry. Mario’s got you.” The burly Greek man grins and waves his hand. “If your boss gives you trouble, you tell him Mario said back off!” I can’t help but laugh. Mario is pure sunshine in human form. He calls me his Italian daughter and insists I come to Sunday family dinners. I always politely decline, then feel guilty enough that on Mondays I bring him homemade pizzelles. Honestly, I think he prefers my cookies to my company anyway—but every Friday he asks again. He slides my latte across the counter without me even ordering. I pay, thank him, and hurry into the building next door. Inside, Jill looks frazzled behind the desk. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve been covering both the phones and the front desk. You’ve got a lot of angry people waiting on hold.” “Blame I-4 and reckless drivers,” I mutter, setting down my latte and slipping on my headset. She wasn’t kidding. The calls come in non-stop, every one of them an impatient, irritated voice ready to explode. By the time 11 a.m. rolls around, I practically sag with relief at the thought of my break. Just as I’m about to head out, Jill leans over. “Oh—before you go, I got an email from Mr. Preston. Apparently you put a call through to him that shouldn’t have gone through.” I frown. “I only remember one. A woman who called him ‘Zane.’ She was… pushy.” “Yeah. That was his ex—or maybe she’s his ex now, I’m not sure. Anyway, he wanted me to tell you she’s not to be put through again.” I stare at her. “How am I supposed to know who’s an ex when I’ve never even seen him?” Jill throws up her hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” That’s the thing about Zane Preston—no one sees him unless they work directly with him. Rumor is he keeps a low profile on purpose, just to see who shows their true colors when they don’t realize the boss is watching. For all I know, anyone in this building could be him. Hell, maybe even Jill.