Saving the CEO

by Jenny Holiday

  “Yes!”

  She burrowed under the covers and watched him complete the transaction. After he threw his phone aside, he turned and narrowed his eyes at her. “There’s good news and bad news.”

  “Well, let’s have the bad first—isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?”

  “They’re not going to be here for an hour—Saturday night rush.”

  “And the good news?”

  He grinned. “They’re not going to be here for an hour.”

  …

  Cassie came twice more before the pizza arrived. Their initial encounter against the door had been hot—Christ, it had nearly left him with third degree burns—but his masculine pride required him to demonstrate that he wasn’t usually so…hasty.

  She tucked into the pizza the same way she did everything, with total abandon. It didn’t matter if she was devouring pepperoni and mushrooms with extra cheese, diving into Winter Enterprises’ fall returns, or, God help him, driving her ass up the better to meet his thrusts—she was all there.

  When they were both sprawled back against the pillows post-pizza, he said, “So, math.” There was more there, he knew it.

  “Again? You say it like you don’t believe it.” She was using her index finger to scoop out the last of the whipped cream from the Styrofoam container that had held the tiramisu.

  “It’s not your abilities I’m questioning. It’s your motivation.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She was getting indignant. It suited her—she looked good when she turned pink. But he truly wanted to know, so he clarified. “Don’t take offense. You just don’t seem boring enough to be an actuary.”

  His observation caused her to let loose a giant theatrical sigh as she fell back on the disheveled bed. “I know.”

  Well. He’d been prepared for a whole host of reactions, but uncomplicated agreement had not been among them.

  She blew out another breath, this one with her lower lip protruding, so the exhale blew a little wind through her hair. “I told you, though, it’s about the money.”

  “You don’t seem like a person who’s motivated by money.” Then he thought of the whole absurd situation they were in. “Present circumstances excluded.”

  She grinned. Damn, he kept thinking he was going to offend her and she just kept agreeing with him.

  “It is boring. I dread it, in fact. I could take the exam any time, but I keep putting it off.”

  “So why do it?”

  “I have this idea…”

  “What?”

  “It’s stupid.”

  “I’ll bet you anything it’s not. It may be a lot of things, but if it came out of your head, stupid isn’t one of them.”

  That earned him a small half smile. “I thought being an actuary would make me a lot of money in a short time.” She rolled her eyes and huffed a self-mocking sigh. “I didn’t count on meeting a titan of industry who was prepared to pay through the teeth for a little math.”

  “Your mother must really be expensive.” He was baiting her now, but there was something going on, something propelling her toward a future she wasn’t excited about, and he wanted to know what it was.

  “Yeah, she is. But that’s not it.” She raked her fingers through her long hair in a gesture that had become familiar. “I want to make a lot of money because I want to start a camp.”

  “Camp?”

  “Yeah, a math camp.” She pulled the covers up, embarrassed. “I want to start a math camp for girls. Like a normal summer camp, but with a math focus.” She pulled the covers up even higher, covering the bottom half of her face. But he could still sense the self-deprecating smile. “That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

  He tugged the covers down so he could see all of her face and rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “No. Tell me more.”

  “Well, there aren’t a lot of girls in math. I’m not sure if they’re not interested, or if they find it intimidating. But you can do a lot with math.”

  “Like be an actuary?”

  “Yes,” she said, a touch defensively. “Or an engineer.” Then she smiled. “Or the senior executive director of finance of a company.” She began talking faster, unable to hide her excitement. “Or an artist, or a teacher, or whatever. I don’t even think it’s about careers, so much as it’s about building girls’ confidence. I was thinking about trying to target girls who maybe wouldn’t otherwise be able to go to camp. I know I would have loved to get out of the city in the summers when I was a kid, but it wasn’t…possible.”

  “Why not?” He wanted to know more about the mysterious and expensive mother.

  “Teen motherhood doesn’t usually come with a huge disposable income. She was sixteen when she had me.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “If I’d had a kid at her age, I’d have a thirteen-year-old now.” He labored over the arithmetic—he’d been wondering how old she was. It took him a while to come up with twenty-nine—eight years younger than he was.

  “What about your father?” Hell, if she was in a talkative mood, he was going to get as much as he could.

  “He wasn’t that much older than my mother. He was nineteen when I was born—but he wasn’t involved.”

  “But you’ve talked about Edward being your father’s best friend.”

  “My father and I didn’t have anything to do with each other until I was in university. He made contact about five years ago to try to make amends for…walking out, I guess. He and Edward met in culinary school and bounced around the restaurant scene together over the years. Edward had some family money and a lot more ambition than my father. He built a name for himself as a front-of-the-house guy, and when it was time, leveraged the family fortune to open Edward’s. He hired my father as sous chef—it was a huge opportunity for my dad, who’d historically had trouble sticking with any job for long. Are you sensing a pattern here?” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t be so mean. He did the best he could.”

  “How did he die?”

  “Car accident. Driving home after an evening shift. He was drunk.”

  “Jesus.”

  She scrambled up to sit back against the headboard and shrugged. “At least he didn’t kill anyone else.”

  She was so matter-of-fact as she recounted the tale of abandonment, reunion, and death. It wasn’t like her. She was usually much more animated. The type of water she used in her scotch garnered more emotion than this tragic tale. “Well, I think the camp idea is great. There are lots of ways you could make money, though—you don’t have to be an actuary if you don’t want to.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking. Today was kind of fun.”

  “Fun?” he teased. “Thanks a lot.”

  She reddened. “Not this,” she said, waving her hand vaguely between them. “Earlier. I didn’t know a business like yours could be so interesting.”

  “You could do something like this after you graduate. You’d have to start at the bottom, as an analyst of some sort. You wouldn’t make as much as fast as if you took the actuarial exam, but you’d probably do much better in the long run. And if you’ll tolerate some unsolicited advice?” She nodded. “You’d be wasted as an actuary. You’re a math brainiac, yes, but you’ve also got people skills. It’s what makes you such a good bartender. You should think seriously about a career in business.” He hoped he didn’t sound too paternalistic, lecturing her about her career. It’s just that he meant it. The last place Cassie should spend the next several decades of her life was tucked away in an office crunching numbers by herself.

  “It’s definitely something to think about. Gotta graduate first, though.” She yawned.

  That was his cue. “I should go.” Please let this not be awkward. It always was, but maybe Cassie would be different this way, too.

  She sat up straighter. “Right.” He’d gotten dressed earlier to go downstairs to meet the pizza guy, and now she was pulling a T-shirt out of a small dresser.

  “Don’t get dressed on my account.”
r />   “It’s okay, I uh…”

  Usually this was the part where he made his speech about not doing relationships. He might be a coldhearted ass, but he prided himself on not being the kind of coldhearted ass who promised to call women and then didn’t. He preferred a clean break. But she’d heard a couple of variations on that speech already, so he’d forgo it.

  “I usually sleep in a T-shirt anyway,” she finished, pulling on a faded Toronto Maple Leafs shirt about four sizes too big for her—the sartorial opposite of the red dress. But with her hair all tussled and her mouth, red and swollen from their encounter, decorated with a little dab of whipped cream, the effect was the same. Damn, he had to get out of here or he would never leave.

  “So, back to work tomorrow?” he asked, pulling on his coat. “Two o’clock again?”

  “Sure.” She followed him to the door.

  He picked up her dress, which had been left in a heap on the floor. “Don’t wear this.”

  “Got it.”

  He couldn’t help it. He reached out a finger and snagged the rogue whipped cream blob from the corner of her mouth. Then he held the finger out, tip poking her lips gently, seeking entry. She opened and her lips formed into an O as she sucked the cream off his finger.

  He turned to go, dick rock hard.

  So much for a clean break.

  Chapter Eight

  When Cassie took the elevators up to the forty-ninth floor of the Lakefront Centre the next day, she was wearing jeans and a sweater. She’d gotten the message last night. No red dress. No more mind-shattering sex. Still, both jeans and sweater were tight—she was human, after all. She wanted him to want her, even if his stupid rules prevented him from doing anything about it. Normally she would have worn a tank top under the black sweater—the V-neck showed more cleavage than she was usually comfortable with. But, heck, today she was going to rock it.

  He was standing in the lobby when she arrived, talking to another man. They both looked up as she approached. The sweater must have been working because the other man, who looked like a photographic negative of Jack, all dark and brooding where Jack was fair, raised his eyebrows and rounded his lips as if he were about to whistle, though no sound came out.

  “Cassie.” Jack was at her side in an instant, hand on her lower back again, just like yesterday.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” said the dark haired man.

  Jack glared at the man. “No.”

  He stuck his hand out anyway. “I’m Dax Harris, CEO of Cherry Beach Software Solutions.” He nodded toward the bank of elevators. “We’re on the other side of this floor.”

  Cassie wanted to laugh. Apparently the building was full of hot CEO dudes. Was it, like, a requirement for tenancy?

  “Dax was just going,” said Jack, actually taking her hand and physically pulling her away from Dax.

  Was he jealous?

  Oh, but she wanted him to be. As immature as it was, and even knowing there was most likely going to be nothing more between them, she savored the idea that Jack was unsettled by another man’s interest in her.

  Performing a parody of a bow, Dax shot her a smile. “If you ever find yourself in need of any software solutions, you know where to find me.”

  “Time to get to work,” Jack said, shooting a final glare at Dax before ushering her back to his office.

  By the time they arrived, he’d dropped her hand and his face looked completely unruffled. Okay, maybe she’d imagined that whole jealousy thing. Maybe he just didn’t like that Dax guy.

  This time the coffee table in the sitting area was laden with a small feast. Sandwiches, assorted salads, brownies, cookies, spritzers, and bottles of juice. “Wow,” she said.

  “Didn’t want you to go hungry this time,” he said mildly, firing up his computer.

  Right. Message received. We’re not going to go back to your place to get it on and eat pizza afterward. Well, who was she to turn her nose up at free fancy sandwiches?

  They dove in, to the food and the financials. As before, the afternoon went quickly as Cassie lost herself in the numbers. She was building a picture of Winter Enterprises in her mind, one bit of data at a time.

  “I think I’m getting it,” she declared, looking up to note that darkness had fallen. “It’s late?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  She nodded. “I think tomorrow I should turn my attention to Wexler. If this is going to work, I should know everything I can about that company too.”

  “Good. Let’s call it a night for now.” He walked over to a mahogany sideboard. “Let’s have a drink. You want scotch? Or something else?”

  “No, I feel like a change. Surprise me.”

  “Okay, hang on, I’m going to run to the kitchen for ice.”

  While he was gone Cassie looked around the office some more. Same as yesterday, he hadn’t turned on any overhead lights, instead relying on floor and table lamps that dotted the space. Awash in soft, warm light, tucked away high over the snow-covered city, the huge office managed to feel cozy and comfortable. This was…nice. The winter break from school, while welcome in that it meant a respite from her usually punishing pace, did get a little solitary sometimes.

  He came back with an armful of stuff and began mixing and shaking. “I make a mean crantini,” he said.

  “Crantini! Isn’t that a little…”

  “Froufrou?” He turned and grinned, two of the offending drinks in hand. “Not the way I make them.” He handed her one and clinked the edge of his glass against hers.

  She took a sip, and as promised, the drink was neither cloying nor sweet. “Wow,” she said, lips puckering at the sour blast.

  “Yeah, I use real cranberry juice, no sugar—but I can froufrou-ify on demand.”

  “No, it hits the spot, thanks.” Suddenly, she was hit with a wall of exhaustion, aware of the tension that had built up in her shoulders from an afternoon of hunching and craning her neck. With a sigh, she lowered herself to the couch, kicked off her shoes, and stretched her legs out along it.

  He surprised her by sitting on the couch, too, and not even on the opposite end, but right in the middle. She pulled her legs back a little to make room for him, but he only moved closer and tugged her legs back so her feet were in his lap. He rested his hands on her shins, and she could feel the heat emanating from him even through the jeans that covered her legs.

  “Tired?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around one of her ankles and drawing his thumb up the sole of her foot.

  Pleasure shot through her as she let her head fall forward. “Ohhhh.”

  He responded by increasing the pressure.

  This was probably not a good idea.

  But, on the other hand, if they were done sleeping together, what could it hurt? “Okay, you can just forget the fifty grand and pay me in foot rubs,” she said, hoping to signal that she wasn’t taking the whole thing too seriously.

  Then he peeled off her sock and repeated the stroke with his thumb against her bare skin, watching her face the whole while. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Yeah?” It was hard to concentrate. There was the inherent deliciousness of the massage, yes, but the fact that it was him with her foot in his hands had her nerves humming. It was an odd combination of relaxation and alertness.

  “I’m not the kind of person who plays games,” he said, sliding his thumbs to the front of her foot and stroking up the sides of her ankle. “I have these rules, see.”

  “Yeah, you’ve mentioned them once or twice.” And she understood. She had a few of her own.

  “Several apply here. I don’t do relationships. I don’t sleep with my employees.”

  “Yep. Uh huh. Got it.” She really did. There was no need for him to keep reminding her of all the reasons nothing more was going to happen between them.

  “So you’ll appreciate how I’m between a rock and a hard place.” He looked down at his lap. “Literally.”

  She followed his gaze. A telltale lump in his
jeans gave her a little thrill.

  “Because on the one hand, I have the rules.”

  “And on the other?” she prompted.

  “Every second that I’m in your presence I’m thinking about how badly I want to fuck you again.”

  …

  A slow smile blossomed on Cassie’s face. She was such an incredible mix of innocent and wicked. It drove him apeshit.

  “I see your dilemma,” she said, pointing the toes of the foot he wasn’t holding so they could just reach his cock, which, as usual in her presence, was at full attention. Case in point: one minute she’d be all guileless and sweet, laughing and pasta-swearing, the next she’d be pressing purple sparkly painted toes against his poor beleaguered dick. “However, I believe there’s another interpretation. You just need to look at the situation creatively.”

  He closed his eyes and clenched his fists to keep from lunging at her. “How so?”

  “First, I’m not your employee. I’m more like an independent contractor.”

  He smiled despite himself. “That’s true. You’re not on the payroll.”

  “You said it yourself. I have skills you value. Think of me as a very expensive hairstylist. Or electrician or something.”

  He couldn’t help smiling. “And second?”

  “Second is don’t stop rubbing my feet.” He unclenched his fists, grabbed the foot that was pressing on his dick—somehow, removing it didn’t provide any relief—and began kneading it.

  “Third…oh, that feels amazing.” She let her head loll back. She looked so fucking good when she did that, lost herself in a sensation—and she lost herself so easily. She was good at pleasure, this one, and just watching her made him hot.

  “Third,” he prompted gruffly.

  Lifting her head, she was suddenly all business. “Third. You don’t do relationships. But we aren’t in one.”

  “So what is this then?” He nodded at the space between them, her legs draped over him.

  “This,” she said emphatically, “is a no-strings-attached…” She trailed off.

  “See, that’s the problem. The next word is relationship.”

  “Entanglement,” she pronounced.