MY CEO

The elevator ride felt longer than it should have. Ethan Reyes shifted on his feet, adjusting the strap of his leather satchel as the numbers blinked upward. Floor 28… 29… 30… He swallowed. In less than two minutes, he’d be stepping into the office of one of the most powerful CEOs in the city. No big deal. Except, of course, it was a huge deal. Blackwell & Co. wasn’t just any marketing firm—it was the marketing firm. Their campaigns ran the city: billboards, digital ads, luxury brands. Ethan had studied their work like gospel during his undergrad and practically memorized their pitches in grad school. So when he was offered a summer internship here—his first real break in a painfully competitive industry—he’d nearly passed out. And when he was told that the CEO himself requested a one-on-one welcome meeting? He had passed out. Well, fainted, technically. In the kitchen. His roommate still hadn’t let him live it down. Ding. The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, revealing the thirty-fourth floor of Blackwell & Co. Everything gleamed—glass, steel, marble. The air smelled like expensive cologne and ambition. Ethan felt his spine stiffen automatically as he stepped out, trying to steady his breathing. Okay. Be calm. Be professional. Be— “You lost?” The voice was dry, amused. Ethan turned toward the reception desk, where a sleek, dark-haired woman sat behind a glowing screen. She looked like she belonged on a runway but spoke like she’d been through five meetings before breakfast. “I, uh—yes,” Ethan admitted, smiling sheepishly. “Intern. Ethan Reyes. I’m here to meet… Mr. Blackwell?” The receptionist gave him a brief look of surprise, then motioned toward the glass hallway to her right. “Third door on the left. Don’t be nervous. He only bites if you’re late.” She winked. Ethan forced a laugh, trying to calm the tremor in his chest. With a grateful nod, he turned and followed the hallway. The walls were lined with abstract art and framed magazine covers—Forbes, GQ, TIME. In nearly all of them, there was the same man. Adrian Blackwell. Dark eyes, sculpted jaw, power stitched into every line of his body. He was thirty-four, but already a legend. A playboy in headlines, a genius in boardrooms. His presence filled every space he entered—rumored to be charming one minute, cold the next. People either feared him, worshipped him, or wanted him. Sometimes all three. Ethan wasn’t sure which category he fell into. Yet. He reached the third door and hesitated. Then knocked. "Come in." The voice was smooth. Confident. It slid under his skin like velvet with a blade beneath it. Ethan opened the door. And there he was. Adrian Blackwell stood behind a massive glass desk, dressed in a navy suit that fit him like sin. He wasn’t looking at a laptop or scrolling through emails—he was standing, facing Ethan as though he’d been expecting him for hours. Dark hair. Darker eyes. A small, unreadable smile. “Mr. Reyes,” he said, stepping forward and offering a hand. “Welcome to Blackwell & Co.” Ethan blinked, then rushed forward to shake it. “Mr. Blackwell. I—thank you. I’m honored to be here.” Adrian’s grip was firm. Controlled. His palm warm. And he didn’t let go right away. “You don’t have to be so formal,” Adrian said, his tone light. “It’s just Adrian. Unless we’re negotiating million-dollar deals. Or roleplaying.” Ethan choked on air. Adrian tilted his head, clearly amused. “Relax, intern. I’m just teasing.” Ethan nodded quickly, laughing nervously, his cheeks turning scarlet. “Right. Of course. Teasing. Got it.” “Good.” Adrian finally released his hand. “Sit.” The command was gentle, but it left no room for debate. Ethan dropped into the chair across the desk, heart still thudding. Adrian remained standing for a moment, then walked around to his side and leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, eyes never leaving Ethan. “You’re twenty-six?” he asked. “Yes, sir—I mean, yes. Just finished my Master’s at NYU.” “Impressive.” Adrian’s gaze flicked down, briefly, like he was reading something in Ethan’s posture or expression. “Why marketing?” “I like stories,” Ethan replied before he could overthink it. “I like the idea that you can create emotion, desire, even identity—with just a few words, a color scheme, a name. Marketing... it’s modern magic.” Adrian smiled. “Interesting. Most people say it’s about manipulation. Sales. Numbers.” “Those are tools,” Ethan said, gaining confidence. “But the real power is in connection. You don’t remember a product—you remember how it made you feel. That’s the part I care about.” Adrian pushed off the desk and circled behind him. “You rehearsed that?” “No, sir—I mean, no. It just came out.” There was silence. Then Adrian’s voice, smooth and low, right behind him. “I like that.” Ethan turned his head slightly, surprised. Adrian was closer now—leaning casually against his chair, his presence magnetic and quietly intense. “You’re sharp,” Adrian said. “Honest. And you’re not trying to impress me.” “I am trying,” Ethan admitted. “Just… not like that.” Adrian’s laugh was quiet. Rich. “Don’t worry,” he said, finally moving back to his chair. “You’ve already made an impression.” Ethan didn’t know whether to be proud or terrified. Adrian sat down, steepling his fingers. “You’ll be working under Laura Chu in Creative Strategy. She’s brilliant. Demanding. Keeps her interns on their toes.” “I’m ready,” Ethan said. “Good.” Adrian leaned back slightly. “Because I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.” Ethan blinked. “You will?” “I make it a habit to personally follow interns I find… promising.” There was a glint in Adrian’s eyes. Not unkind, not threatening—but something else. Something Ethan couldn’t name. “You can learn a lot from me,” Adrian said softly. “If you’re open to it.” Ethan nodded, heat prickling at the back of his neck. “I’m very open,” he muttered, instantly regretting his word choice. Adrian smiled again. “So I see.” There was a knock at the door. Adrian didn’t look away from Ethan. “Come.” The door opened, and a poised woman with a sharp bob entered. “Laura Chu,” Adrian said, standing. “This is Ethan Reyes. He’s yours to mold.” Laura gave Ethan a brief, appraising look. “You sure you’re ready for this?” “I think so,” Ethan said, standing. She raised a brow. “Confidence. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Adrian stepped between them slightly. “He’ll be fine. Won’t you, Ethan?” Ethan met his eyes. “Yes. I will.” Adrian looked pleased. “Welcome to Blackwell & Co., Mr. Reyes,” he said. “I look forward to watching you work.” The way he said watching made Ethan’s heart do a double-take. Laura cleared her throat. “Let’s go, intern.” Ethan nodded and followed her out of the office, trying not to stumble as the door shut behind him. He didn’t dare look back—but he could feel Adrian’s gaze following him. — The rest of the day passed in a blur of names, handshakes, and instructions. Laura didn’t do small talk; she dove straight into strategy briefs and client expectations. Ethan did his best to keep up, scribbling notes and asking sharp questions. She nodded once, approvingly, and didn’t say more. But Adrian kept appearing in his thoughts. The way he moved. Spoke. Looked at him. He hadn’t imagined that look—right? Later that afternoon, as Ethan passed through the break room, he caught two junior staff whispering. “—I’m telling you, Blackwell never meets interns personally.” “Except the ones he finds cute.” “You’re terrible.” “Just saying. He has a type. Pretty. Young. Nervous.” Ethan froze for half a second before walking faster. When he returned to his desk, a notification was waiting in his inbox. From: A. Blackwell Subject: Welcome. Body: I enjoyed our talk. I hope you don’t mind if I check in from time to time. Some lessons aren’t best taught in meetings. – A. Ethan stared at the screen, pulse quickening. It was just a message. Just a casual note. Right? Still, when he logged off that evening, he couldn’t stop the slow, lingering smile on his lips. He didn’t know what this was By the time Ethan made it back to his apartment that evening, his brain was a scrambled mess of data sheets, department policies, and one particular pair of dark eyes he couldn’t shake. He kicked off his shoes at the door and dropped his satchel with a dull thud. His phone buzzed with a reminder to review his onboarding documents. He ignored it, flopping onto the couch like he’d just returned from war. A war waged in Adrian Blackwell’s office. That message had been haunting him all day. I enjoyed our talk. I hope you don’t mind if I check in from time to time. Some lessons aren’t best taught in meetings. – A. He’d read it five times. Then ten. Then screen-capped it and stared at it during his lunch break like it held the secrets of the universe. What the hell did it mean? Was it just a motivational gesture from an engaged CEO? A friendly nod to show support? Or was it more? The timing. The tone. The way Adrian had looked at him—like Ethan was something worth studying. Worth unwrapping. Don’t overthink it, he told himself for the twentieth time. It’s your first day. You’re tired. You’re projecting. “Hey, star intern.” Ethan’s head snapped up just as Alex walked into the living room, a takeout bag in one hand and a six-pack in the other. He kicked the door closed behind him with practiced ease. “You look like a guy who just had lunch with a demon or a billionaire. Wait—same thing, right?” Ethan groaned. “I think I’m traumatized.” Alex snorted, tossing him a bottle and settling beside him on the couch. “Tell Uncle Alex everything.” “You're only a year older than me.” “Yeah, and a year wiser. Now spill. You’ve been buzzed about this internship since you got the offer. What happened? Did they make you mop floors with your resume?” Ethan took a long sip of his drink before answering. “I met the CEO.” Alex nearly choked on his drink. “What? Like Adrian Blackwell?” Ethan nodded slowly. “First meeting of the day. Apparently, he ‘likes to welcome promising interns personally.’” Alex stared at him. “Promising... or hot?” “Shut up,” Ethan said, trying to hide his blush. “I’m just saying,” Alex continued, setting down his food. “You’ve seen the headlines. Adrian Blackwell is rich, powerful, and allergic to shirts in the summer. The man’s basically a walking GQ spread.” Ethan leaned his head back against the couch, groaning. “It’s not like that. He was professional. Well... mostly.” Alex raised a brow. “Mostly?” “He said some things. Teasing stuff. Like—drop the ‘sir,’ unless we’re roleplaying.” Alex blinked. “Oh.” “And then there was this message.” Ethan grabbed his phone and showed it to him. Alex read it silently, then gave a low whistle. “Damn. That’s not HR-approved language.” “It’s probably nothing.” “You don’t write some lessons aren’t best taught in meetings unless you’re planning to teach them with dim lighting and less clothing.” “Alex!” “What? I’m just observing.” Ethan dropped the phone onto the couch and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t want this to be a thing,” he muttered. “It’s my dream job. I worked my ass off to get here. The last thing I need is to become a story someone gossips about in the break room.” Alex’s voice softened. “Okay. Fair. But let me ask you something: do you feel like it’s a thing?” Ethan was quiet. Because that was the problem. He didn’t know. He thought back to the way Adrian had stood behind him, voice low and smooth. The weight of that gaze, deliberate and lingering. The subtle power in every movement, the confidence in every word. It was like Adrian had studied the art of seduction and was fluent in it—without even trying. “Yeah,” Ethan admitted quietly. “It felt like something.” Alex leaned back. “So what are you gonna do?” “Nothing,” Ethan said instantly. “I’m going to focus on my work, stay out of trouble, and pretend like this is not happening.”