Mr. CEO (12 page)

W
hat the hell
am I doing?
I ask myself.

I’m sitting at the bar in Logan’s kitchen, engaged in thought, while he readies the dinner table. Our hot lovemaking session worked up a hunger and Logan ordered Chinese takeout on our way over. Yet with how my anxiety is growing, I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat by the time it arrives.

I feel like I’m losing control. This whole thing with Logan is supposed to be mutually beneficial, friends with benefits, but I’m starting to think that it’s more than that. At least to me. I can see it growing to that already. And that scares me. It terrifies me that I think I’m falling for him. Especially when I feel like this is still a game to him.

I wrap my arms around my torso, squeezing myself tightly, feeling a range of emotions. I’m not sure agreeing to stay at his place for the night is a good idea. Not when I can’t trust my feelings. I should tell Logan that this is starting to be a problem, but I feel anxious about how he might take it.

He says this is just sex, just for our enjoyment and nothing else. And God, am I enjoying it. But I’m starting to feel that it’s more than that. Much more. And I’m afraid if I tell Logan, I might drive him away. As much as I feel like a relationship with him is a bad idea, I don’t think I’m ready to lose what we have. I don’t want to lose
him
.

And maybe I’ll never be ready.

“What are you thinking, Rose?” Logan asks me as he finishes setting the table.

I snap out of my pensive thoughts, focusing my eyes on his gorgeous face. He’s studying me with a look that’s intense and at the same time brooding.

“I was just thinking about how absolutely gorgeous your kitchen is,” I lie. Though I’m trying to hide my emotion, I do have to admit it does look like a grandmaster chef’s paradise with gleaming quartz countertops, stainless steel appliances, and tons of space to whip up gourmet meals.

I give him a weak smile and add, “I get the sense that you don’t cook very often, though.” I’m choosing to just ignore everything that happened in the office about Ian. I think it’s better this way. It actually brought out a side of Logan that makes me feel comfortable and secure. But that’s what’s causing this new insecurity. I’m just moving from one problem to the other. For a moment I feel pathetic. But then I look up at Logan. It’s because of these men.

Logan shakes his head. It takes me a moment to realize he’s answering my question about cooking.

Of course he doesn’t cook
, I say to myself.
The man could hire a score of personal chefs to cook for him. Why would he go through all the trouble?

“Seems crazy to order takeout when you have all,” I gesture expansively at the grand kitchen, “this.”

Logan, walks over to me and I feel the beginnings of desire stir, along with a dull ache from where I’m sore. He’s just so irresistibly sexy. I never stood a chance. “Would you rather cook for me then?” He nods back at his huge, state of the art, stainless steel refrigerator. The damn thing even comes equipped with a touchscreen and WiFi. “I’m sure there’s something in there to make...”

“Me?” I snort. “Sure... if you want to end up dead on your kitchen floor.”

Logan lets out a dry chuckle. “I bet you’re being too hard on yourself.” He leans against the island's granite top. “Your cooking can’t be all that bad.”

“Trust me, one taste of my cooking and you’d be changing your mind in a heartbeat.”

Logan laughs again and the rough sound combined with the sight of him so at ease and happy stirs an emotion in my chest. I suddenly feel a wave of apprehension as the feelings I’ve been struggling with threaten to overwhelm me. I try to push it all away, but it stays with me.

I tap my fingers on the counter and try to ignore them. The soft
click
,
click
,
click
of my nails aren’t soothing though. For the past few hours, things have been better that way, with me ignoring the constant insecurities and red flags going off in my head. Yet I feel like if I don’t get what I’m feeling off my chest, things are only going to get worse.

Just tell him, if he gets spooked by how I feel, then this wasn’t meant to be.

The notion that he’d cut me off as soon as I tell him that I might be feeling more for him than the sex fills me with dread. But I’m burning with the need to put this out there. I want to get a feel of where we’re at. And it’s not going to happen if I keep pretending like this is all just hot sex.

Summoning my courage, I say seriously, “Logan.”

Logan's expression is solemn as he looks at me, and I get the sense that he already knows what I’m going to say. “Yes?”

I hesitate. This is it. This is where I tell him how I feel, and it’ll be our last night together. “I’m… scared,” I say finally. There. I said it. If he pushes me away after this, so be it.

Logan doesn’t seem at all surprised by this admission. In fact, it seems like he’s been expecting it. “About what?”

My heart pounding, I gesture at the space between us. “About this. About us. I feel like this could… become more than just sex for me.”

Logan walks over and climbs onto the stool next to me, taking my hand and kissing it softly, sending tingles up along my arm. Then he looks me straight in the eye. “I appreciate you being honest.”

Searching his face, I wait for him to say more, to tell me that this is becoming more to him as well. But he doesn’t say it, and instead he looks like he’s calculating what he wants to tell me, like he wants to be very careful of what he says next.

This fills me with wariness, and it’s just another red flag that I’m better off leaving, yet I remain glued to my seat.

After a moment, Logan offers, “How about this. Let’s just enjoy each other for as long as we can, and if everything goes well, we can reassess later?”

It’s not the words I want to hear. I’m telling him how I feel now, and if I’m already feeling like I’m too invested, what’s it going to be like later? Will he just keep stringing me along as I slowly fall in love with him, using me as his sex toy until he wants to discard me?

It’s an unsettling thought and not one I want to believe he’s capable of doing. But the fact that he isn’t starting to feel the same is yet another warning sign. I shouldn’t be here. And I need to get out before I’m in too deep. I just don’t know how.

“I don’t know if I want to do that,” I say. “I don’t know if I can handle another…” my voice trails off.
Ian.

Logan stares at me and I feel like he wants to say something, but is holding it back.

My lips part to ask him what it is that he’s not telling me, but the sound of the doorbell interrupts the moment. Our food is here. Planting another kiss on my hand, Logan gets up from the bar and goes to pay for our meal. I take a deep breath as he leaves the room and try to shake out my nerves. On top of being sore from our fuck session, I’m tense all over.

This is going to end up not working
, I tell myself.
I’m going to end up heartbroken and all alone, my faith in men shattered.

I don’t want to believe this. I want there to be something between me and Logan, as there’s so much more to him than sex. But there’s a reason why he doesn’t want to become more involved, and I need to just accept that.

I need to just tell him that after tonight, this is over. There’s no reason to string this along if it’s never going to turn into anything. I’ll just end up a messed up basket case.

“What can I do to ease your mind?” he asks me as he sets the bags down on the counter and takes out one white takeout box at a time. The smell fills the room and although my mouth is watering, I don’t have an appetite. He takes my hand in his and I feel like just melting in his arms and telling him,
Tell me that you feel the same way.
Without that, I’m not sure I can, or should, move forward.

But I can’t say the words, because I know I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. Logan knows how I feel and if he wanted to put me at ease, he could just simply say that he feels the same as me, even if only to get me to shut up. The fact that he hasn’t shows that this is as far as he wants it to go.

“Outside of assuring me that you won’t leave me for feeling like I want more out of this relationship,” I say over the lump in my throat, “nothing.”

I wait for him to tell me that he won’t abandon me if I get too attached, but he sits there silently with that apprehensive look again. It’s like he’s afraid, but of what? I’m the one with more to lose here while he’s a goddamn billionaire that can have any woman he wants and I’m just his little fuckdoll that he can choose when and where to have.

Anger burns my sides and I snatch my hands out of his. Why the fuck am I still sitting here? He’s all but telling me that this won’t ever be anything more than just sex, and I’m just being stupid by thinking it will ever be anything but.

“I think I should go,” I say and swallow the lump in my throat and slip off the stool to my feet to leave, but Logan holds me in place.

“Don’t go,” Logan says simply.

“Why? I mean nothing to you.” I’m surprised by the hurt in my voice. He
shouldn’t
care about me. This was just supposed to be fun and games. No strings attached. It’s not his fault that I’ve reneged on the contract and am wanting more out of this.

Logan looks like he’s about to say something, something that he’s been badly wanting to say, but he swallows it back. “That’s not true at all, Rose.”

“Then why?” I ask. “Why can’t you… say that… that this is going somewhere?”

Logan stares at me for a long time and I wait with bated breath. “We just need to give it time,” he says finally. “I just don’t think you fully know what you’re getting into.”

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“What do you mean by that?” I ask warily. “I know exactly what we’re doing. And I know where it’s headed. Or in your case,
not
headed.”

Logan looks at me, and I see pain in his eyes. “I understand,” he says finally in a grave voice.

It shatters my heart that he can’t give an inch. Especially when I just opened up to him like that.

He takes my hand and pulls me close, and I’m enveloped by the heat of his hot body. I don’t want to move away. I want the comfort. I need it.

“You just need to relax, and live in the moment. I want you. I don’t want you to leave. Not yet.” The pained look in his eyes is replaced by a desire that’s hard to resist.

“But what-” I begin to protest, but he kisses me on the lips to smother it.

“Just give in, Rose,” he whispers, slowly bringing his lips down to my neck and nibbling softly.

Every cell in my body is telling me to push him off me and demand that he tell me why he’d rather pretend this situation is going to get any better, but I’m overcome by his advance. I tilt my head back and my lips part into a soft groan as his hands move up my thigh.

“We don’t need tomorrow,” he murmurs, delivering another scorching hot kiss to my neck while undoing my skirt, “just tonight.”

I
take
another look at my phone as the driver pulls up to Charlotte’s new place, the temporary housing I arranged for her. It’s been nearly two weeks. And more than half the time, she’s stayed at my place. She’s staying here tonight. Her decision, not mine. I’m glad she’s the one who brought it up. She can’t come back with me tonight, but luckily I didn’t have to tell her.

She’s typing away on her laptop as we drive to her place. Busy with her new ventures in the marketing research department. She’s doing well. I glance up at her as the faint sound of her tapping on the keys stops. She leans back and reads whatever it is she wrote out, or maybe something else, I’m not sure.

She looks so beautiful though. Her hair is down from the ponytail it was in and it flows in soft curls over her shoulder. There’s still a faint blush to her cheeks from our earlier adventure in the office. She’s becoming a bad habit of mine. Although Trent seems to think I’m more amicable now that
something’s changed.
He obviously knows judging by the way he smiles when she knocks on my door.

I look back at my phone. There are other people who know, too.

I should tell her about the photo and the message. There’s nothing in the photo that’s scandalous, nothing that’s harmful. Just a picture of the two of us leaving Parker-Moore. She’s walking beside me as we approach the limo out front. Anger rises within me. I don’t like her being watched. I don’t like her having a target on her back.

She deserves to know. But I don’t want to give her a reason to stay away. She’s right to be cautious. But not for this reason. Not for some asshole who thinks I’m
screwing the secretary.
She’s not a secretary and her position here has nothing to do with this.

It’s an innocent enough photo, but the message is what pisses me off. And the fact that someone thinks they can fuck with me. I just don’t know who. I will though. Maybe then I’ll tell her.

She seems to only just now notice that the limo has stopped. She shuts her laptop and slips it into her bag, unbuckling her seat belt and getting ready to leave me.

As she double checks that she has everything, including a dry cleaning bag of three of her outfits she’s left at my place, she gives me a small smile and grips everything in her hands.

“I’ll go with you,” I offer.

“No, don’t,” she says stubbornly, “I’ve got this.” She leans forward and plants a kiss on my lips and pulls back slowly. At the same time my phone beeps and vibrates in my hand with a text.

It catches me off guard. Maybe it’s my nerves. She seems to realize I’m off a little, but before she can think on it, I pull her closer to me, one hand on her lower back, the other on the back of her head and slip my tongue along the seam of her lips until she parts for me. The dry cleaner bags ruffle as she drops them to run her hand through my hair. Andrew starts to roll up the partition and I let out a small chuckle.

Charlotte backs away and leans down to grab her bags.

“I’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” She nods and slips out of the limo. It’s not until she’s in her building that I tell Andrew to head home.

“Thank you for that, Andrew.” His eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror and he smiles.

“No problem, sir.”

My home is only fifteen minutes away and I spend the time looking out of the window and watching the people walking along the busy streets of downtown. Couples holding hands and laughing, a few men and women in power suits and brightly colored pencil skirts talking on their cell phones and walking at a quick pace and brushing past the slower walkers.

The world keeps moving. No matter what happens, it’s merely small ripples for the most part.

I don’t even realize we've traveled up the hillside to my house on the cliff of the city, until Andrew clears his throat.

“We’re here, sir,” he says, looking back at me in the mirror.

“Thank you, Andrew.” I quickly grab my briefcase and make my way inside. Before I push the large maple door open, I turn to my right and see the doctor’s car parked in the circle driveway.

My heart sinks. I have these visits. I grit my teeth and try to forget everything else. This must be done.

Marilyn greets me at the entrance. The front entrance has a fresh citrus scent and there are fresh flowers in the vase on the entryway table. Signs of her work.

“Hello and goodbye, Mr. Parker,” she says with a small smile.

“Good night, Mrs. Doubet.” I leave the door open for her.

She says in a quieter voice, “The doctor is in the great room, waiting for you.”

I give her a tight smile and nod. I answer, “Thank you.”

She doesn’t respond, instead she ducks out and leaves to go back to her family or maybe somewhere else. I watch her leave and then close the door behind her, leaving my briefcase on the table.

I take off my suit jacket and unbutton my shirt as I walk straight to the great room.

It’s my favorite room in this house. It’s why I bought it. The back wall is lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The dark wood shelves and chair legs are freshly polished, shining from across the room and the faint of smell of citrus fills my lungs. There are two large tufted sofas and a grand fireplace made of slate. The thick red curtains covering the large windowpanes are always drawn back, giving the room a more open feel.

I haven’t lit the fireplace in God knows how long. As I walk across the room to the leather chair that the doctor’s pulled out for me, I realize I haven’t been in here since the last time he came for a visit. Two months.

It’s my favorite room, but on these days I hate this fucking room.

“Doctor Wallace,” I greet as he hears me walk into the room and turns to face me. He’s an old man with a slight hunch to his back and thick glasses that cover his pale blue eyes. He doesn’t look quite like a doctor in slacks and a red polo that looks like it should be worn by a younger man.

I take the seat and slip my shirt off, tossing it onto a nearby end table.

He gives me a small smile and nods. I’m not one for small talk. He’s used to getting this over with quickly.

“Anything new since we last met?” he asks me as he puts the stethoscope to my back and then tells me to take in a deep breath.

“No changes.” I say the words, but internally I feel like a liar. She’s new. My Rose.

My fingers touch my lips and I remember the faint sounds of her moaning in my mouth.

It would be nice to have her home with me. But not tonight. She can’t be here for my appointments.

At the thought I take my phone out of my pocket, remembering the beep from the text earlier. It’s Trent. Doctor Wallace pulls away, giving me space to look at it.

My heart stills as I read through the message.

That fucking bastard. I stand instantly with barely contained rage.

Chadwick Patterson. That fucking prick. Trent traced the message, or had someone else do it for all I know. But he’s certain the message is from him.

He’s going to fucking regret it.

I think for a moment about how I can get back at him. This isn’t the first time that he’s tried to fuck with me. He’s pissed the division of Parker-Moore went to us. The Parkers. He was an heir to it in his head. As Moore’s bastard. But when that old man died, it was all left to my father. The business anyway. Patterson was given a chunk of inheritance, but not a damn bit of the business. So he quit. Made a fucking scene on his way out, too. He wasn’t happy with a job, he just wanted a stake in the business. He’s a fool and I’ve never paid much attention to his antics. But it’s one thing to fuck with me, and it’s another thing entirely to bring my Rose into this.

“Mr. Parker?” Doctor Wallace asks as I pace in front of the open windows.

I shake my head. “I need a moment.”

I see him take a seat from the corner of my eye. I pay him well. Damn good money. He can wait a moment longer.

He needs to have some sort of consequence happen to make it damn clear that he needs to back off. I’ll look over his businesses. I know there’s going to be a soft spot somewhere. I need to find it. I need to find a way to hit him where it hurts. As I scroll through the businesses listed on his company directory on my phone, I try to remember the conference and which talks he attended, who he was trying to negotiate with.

A smile creeps to my lips. I know he settled on a new business with Arrivol. Their manufacturing plant is in horrible condition and he placed a bid on the old Chrysler plant. I put two and two together and know exactly how to fuck him over. Worth a few billion at least.

I dial up Trent, knowing exactly what to do.

“You got my message,” he answers on the second ring.

“I did. And I want to fuck that bastard over where it hurts.”

“Calm down, Log-”

I cut him off, I don’t need to calm down. “I want the plant on Levington.” I stop walking and stand in front of the far window. It overlooks protected woods that are a part of the city park. It’s peaceful, elegant even. It’s everything I’m not.

“We can use that in the-”

“I don’t care what we use it for. Patterson
needs
it.”

“I’m sure it’s a silent bid,” Trent says after a long moment.

“I don’t care how much it’s going to cost to win that bid. If you have to overspend, do it.”

“By how much?” he asks.

I snort into the phone. “I don’t give a fuck if you spend another four million on the property. Patterson needs it or he’s fucked, so fuck him. Make sure he doesn’t get it. Is that clear?”

“Understood,” Trent starts to say something else, but I’m done talking. My blood is pumping with adrenaline and I can feel anger boiling beneath the surface.

I hang up the phone breathing heavily and squeezing the phone with rage.

“Mr. Parker,” Doctor Wallace says, snapping me back to the present.

I clear my throat and nod, setting the phone down and walking back over to the chair in the middle of the room.

“You should take it easy; stress isn’t-”

“I’m fine.” I cut him off and try to calm my racing heart.

“You’re not fine,” he says, walking over to the large bag he placed on the table. He looks back at me through his spectacles. “You need to keep that in mind, Mr. Parker.”

I take in a slow breath and nod.

For nearly three years it’s been on my mind every minute that I’m not working. I’ve never been able to ignore it. My heartbeat slows and I retake my seat.

Until her.

My Rose. Such a beautiful distraction.