The CEO Read online

  The CEO

  Hazel Parker

  Table of Contents

  The CEO

  The CEO © 2018 Hazel Parker

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  The CEO

  All’s fair in love and...business. Or is it?

  Sebastian Price wants two things: to build & expand his empire. A self-made billionaire and CEO of Price Holdings, he just brought on the rising-star corporate lawyer: Nora Thomas.

  Nora is ambitious, professional, and voluptuous. She’s also a cynic and strong-minded. As Sebastian’s employee, her loyalty is to his company first. But, when Sebastian invites her on a trip to Europe to look into some companies he’s considering acquiring, an undeniable chemistry erupts between them. They both deny it. At first…

  Will Sebastian confess that he is irrevocably falling for her?

  Will Nora tell Sebastian her secret?

  The CEO

  First dates and work functions. Nora Thomas hates both.

  But she loves being in a relationship. Loves being a lawyer.

  She delicately fingers the red petals on the two-dozen long-stemmed roses that she bought for herself under the guise of a fake boyfriend to keep the first year associates from asking her out. She has a personal policy not to date at work. The occasional roses keep her admirers at bay and also brighten her day.

  Nora wants a boyfriend. But she doesn’t want to invite heartbreak into her life. The memory of her last boyfriend boils her blood. The way he ended it right before graduation was unconscionable. Careless. Cold.

  She shakes her head to clear the memory.

  Today will be the day.

  She clicks to open the word processing application on her work computer.

  For the hundredth time in the three years that Nora has been practicing corporate and tax law at Magwitch & Jaggers LLP, she types up her resignation letter:

  Dear Cain Magwitch,

  Please accept this letter of resignation as formal notification that I am leaving my position as third-year associate with Magwitch & Jaggers LLP. My last day will be—

  This is the point where she always stops typing. Then she deletes the words and trashes the document and empties the trash on her work computer.

  She really does need this job.

  She jumps up, grabs her purse, marches through the money-green hallway, jabs the elevator button, and gets on. When the elevator deposits her to the highly polished green marble lobby, her high heels click-clack past the friendly security guards who always wave and say hello. She gives them half a smile—they haven’t done anything to hurt her—and storms out of the building. Luckily the sliding-glass doors are automatic, or she would’ve thrown them open in anger and frustration.

  Stepping into the Georgia sun, Nora tilts her face up to the sunrays and soaks in the little warmth she gets from the end-of-winter March sun. Soon spring will come: flowers will bloom, trees will blossom, and birds will sing.

  And maybe, she’ll meet someone. Where? How? She has no idea.

  Walking along Peachtree Street, she inhales the aroma of jerk chicken and cornbread emanating from the yellow, green, and black food truck on the corner. A lunch crowd of black or gray suits wait in line at the Jamaican food truck. Nora looks over the menu and decides that comfort food is in order. She’s trying to decide between the oxtail with rice and peas and the jerk chicken with cornbread when a black limousine pulls up along Peachtree Street and stops beside her.

  “Miss Nora Thomas?” A man dressed in black gets out and approaches her.

  Nora turns to her right to look at the tall man dressed in an outfit that reminds her of her parents’ chauffeur's uniform: long black coat, black pants, black driving cap, black sunglasses.

  She does a quick mental scan of her clients—all large international companies that wouldn’t send anyone to personally speak to her. Plus, this guy smells of cigars. Either he smokes, or his boss does. What does he want?

  “Yes?” She chooses a firm tone. In case he serves her papers for some legal disagreement that she’s unaware of. Did she piss off a neighbor by playing her music too loudly while working out at night?

  The chauffeur pulls out a large gold envelope. Nora stares at it. He holds it out to her. She isn’t sure what she should do. She’s heard of young women being set up for drug smuggling by strangers, but this envelope isn’t discreet, and neither is the man in black or the black limousine.

  The lunch line moves before her. She takes a step forward. The driver moves alongside her, keeping a respectful distance. Cautiously, she takes the gold envelope. Turns it over and slips her finger underneath the gold seal with the letters S.P. stamped into it.

  What is S.P.?

  Who is S.P.?

  She lifts the flap. Inside is another gold envelope. The shiny material reflects the sunlight. Carefully, Nora slides it out, lifts the flap sealed by another S.P. sticker, and pulls out a thick cream-colored paper that reminds her of her college friends’ wedding invitations. The size of the paper reminds her of a large hardcover novel. It’s thick and luxurious with intricate gold designs framing the message.

  Nora runs her hand along the expensive paper. She can feel the fibers and can tell that it’s handmade. Who sent this to her? She reads the gold embossed message:

  Dear Nora Thomas,

  You have been chosen to interview for a senior associate position with Price Holdings in Atlanta, Georgia. The time and date will be contingent upon your acceptance. Please notify the courier of your decision.

  Best,

  Sebastian Price

  “Is this for real?” Nora peers into the driver’s dark sunglasses. Why is he wearing them? It’s not that sunny outside. She takes a step forward in the line.

  “Yes, Miss Thomas.” He steps forward alongside her.

  “How did you find me?”

  She doesn’t like the idea of a company watching her every move. Even though her firm reads her employee emails and monitors all of her online communications.

  “Every Monday you get lunch at this food truck.” The chauffeur stifles a smile.

  Who is this guy?

  She takes in his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and athletic build beneath his tailored black coat. Tufts of blond hair curl around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Why is he so covered up? It’s not that cold.

  “Is Price Holdings following me?”

  The last thing she needs is a real John Grisham scenario where some exclusive firm courts her, offers her a massive salary and signing bonus, and then threatens her with death if she doesn’t do what she’s told.

  “No, Miss Thomas.” That pink mouth represses a grin—possibly a laugh. “Nearly all of the lawyers in this district lunch at the Jamaican food truck on Mondays. They have the best lunch specials.” With that, a grin spreads across the driver’s face.

  Nora frowns at his smile. Is he laughing at her? She takes another step forward. Now fourth in line, she’s thinking that she should go for the oxtail and rice and peas. She
hasn’t had it in a while, and she loves the carrots and lima beans in the stew. She inhales the aroma of home-cooked food. That’s exactly what she needs to get through the rest of this day. She can already hear Magwitch’s raspy voice giving orders through her speakerphone—he never calls, just presses the intercom button and barks orders—telling her who to train on tax law in the European Union.

  Her blood boils at giving her knowledge to some new associate who will get to fly business class to Spain or France or Germany and present all of Nora’s findings to whatever client they’re seeking to retain that day.

  She is tired of giving away her hard-earned knowledge to some associate who will get all the recognition. She’s not one to complain. But after three years? It’s not fair.

  “Can I have a few minutes to think about it?” She takes another step forward. Third in line.

  “Absolutely, Miss Thomas. We’d expect nothing less from you.” He mirrors her step forward.

  Even though she already knows that she’ll say yes to the interview, she learned in law school that position is everything. She learned to appear calm and collected at all times. Also not give her opponent—not that this man in black is her opponent—any clue about her next move. Better to keep him on his toes. Especially, since she doesn’t know his end game.

  “What does Price Holdings want from me, why me?” She takes another step forward. Now, second in line, her mouth waters at the thought of cleaning the savory meat from the oxtail bones.

  “Your expertise in corporate and tax law.”

  She wonders if he’s authorized to answer her questions. He certainly just answered her as if he is a decision-maker. She looks down at his hands—they’re in black gloves. She looks at his neck: a fading tan with light brown freckles and young skin. He can’t be more than...28? 29?

  Nora takes another step forward. Finally! She orders a large oxtail with rice and peas, a side of fried plantains, a small salad, and a large sorrel with lots of ice. Pays for it. Then watches the tall woman with long dreadlocks scoop a steaming portion of freshly cooked rice and peas and oxtail with gravy into a round aluminum dish. Her mouth waters. She can already taste the seasoned meat.

  “No jerk chicken today?” The guy grins.

  “Does your company pay you to spy on me?” She looks at him sharply.

  “Absolutely not.” He laughs.

  “Then how do you know what my usual order is?” She looks firmly at him. Who does he think he is? Laughing at her.

  “It’s our business to know what talented people like.”

  The compliment rolls around in her mind like gold coins clinking against each other. Nora wants to be recognized for her talents, her work ethic, her skills. She takes the paper bag from the older woman and nods for the mysterious man to follow her to the fountain where she rests her paper bag and the envelope. She sits down and re-reads the invitation again.

  She thinks about what her parents would say if they saw her chatting up a chauffeur. Her mom would tell her that she raised her better than that. Her dad would shake his head and walk away. Nora isn’t classist. She isn’t going to not speak to the man just because he drives for a living.

  She wonders if driving is his full-time job. In a split second her mind wonders what would happen if she went out on a date with a driver. She couldn’t tell her parents. Never. She could tell her best friends. Arabella would offer to fix her up with a billionaire—since that’s her job. Literally, she fixes bachelorettes up with billionaires. Nora always passes. If she wanted that lifestyle, then she’d ask her parents to set her up. Sasha would warn her against dating Mr. Right Now. She’s had her fair share of bad dates. Audrey, a hopeless romantic, would tell her to go for it. Love has no rules.

  Love may not have any rules, but Nora has tons. She doesn’t ask men out. The mysterious man in black would have to ask her out. She also doesn’t date men she works with. Since she’s about to accept a job interview with Price Holdings, then going out with the delivery guy—or whatever he is—isn’t the best way to start the process. She nips the buds of hope growing and grinds them into the background of her mind.

  “Okay, I accept.”

  “Mr. Price will be thrilled.” The man in black retrieves a long gold envelope from the inside of his coat. He presents it to Nora with two hands and a slight bow.

  She takes it. Runs her finger underneath another gold seal with the letters S.P. on it and opens it to reveal another heavy cream-colored handmade paper with gold letters and designs embossed in it.

  “As you can see, the time and date and the location of the interview are all there. If you have any questions, then you can call or email the contact information provided.” She reads the second letter:

  Dear Nora Thomas,

  I am thrilled that you have accepted my invitation to interview for a senior associate position with Price Holdings, Inc. The interview will take place tomorrow afternoon in Savannah, Georgia. My team will await you.

  A helicopter will be sent for you.

  My company will also have its annual party. This year the theme is a masquerade. A mask will be provided for you. Please dress appropriately.

  Best,

  Sebastian Price

  “A masquerade?” Nora looks up to question the tall, athletic man dressed in black. But he’s already taking long strides back to the limo parked by the food truck. He disappears and drives off.

  Nora sighs.

  Then her stomach grumbles. She forsakes all of the etiquette classes her mother sent her too and rips open the paper bag. Opening the dish, Nora dips her fork into the gravy-soaked rice and peas and stabs a piece of oxtail. In about ten minutes she’s halfway through her delicious lunch.

  As she watches other lawyers in her department filing in and out of the building for lunch, a sense of relief washes over her.

  She has a plan.

  She sees herself typing up the rest of the resignation letter when she gets back into the office. She sees herself emailing it to the firm’s partners, Cain Magwitch & Gregory Jaggers. She sees herself packing up her photos, her flowers, and her artificial plants. Packing her laptop and personal law books into a box and walking out of that crappy green office forever.

  Should she quit before she gets the new job? Should she wait until the interview to see if she even wants the new job? Should she give two weeks’ notice? Probably. But she doesn’t want to wait. She doesn’t want to be reasonable. She’s tired of being a yes-woman. She wants to do the brave thing. For once. For herself.

  But when she gets back to her office, and Magwitch commands her through the phone intercom system to come to the fishbowl office to train the new associates who will be going to Europe next week, Nora stands up, swallows her anger, and strides through with the knowledge that she may soon be able to quit. Maybe even tomorrow.

  *****

  The next morning Nora awakes with knots in her stomach. She’s sweating. She’s excited. She’s nervous. She’s sick.

  Well, not really sick. But she feels sick at the thought of calling in sick. Something she hasn’t done in the three years that she has worked at the firm. Not even when she had strep throat, which she got on a Friday, took antibiotics on Saturday and Sunday, and returned to the office on Monday no longer contagious. She decides not to call in sick. Instead, she emails something vague and true:

  Dear Magwitch,

  I’ll be out of the office today. I’ll be checking my emails, and I’ll reply when I can.

  Best,

  Nora Thomas

  Of Counsel Magwitch & Jaggers LLP

  Feeling proud of her evasive email, Nora showers and dresses in a tailored black suit with a white silk blouse that ties in a large bow at her neck. She stands before her floor-to-ceiling mirror that leans in the corner of her midtown condo in Atlantic Station and brushes her dark auburn hair until it falls in soft waves past her shoulders. The scent of the floral shampoo reminds her of her roses from her nonexistent boyfriend.

  Tha
t longing feeling for a boyfriend returns. She’d love to have someone to talk to about her day when she gets home. She’d love to try that new Thai restaurant downtown on date night or go sailing together near Tybee Island off the coast of Georgia.

  But she doesn’t have the willpower to go on more first dates. She feels like she’s been on hundreds of first dates. There was the Georgia-born entertainment lawyer in the bespoke suit who asked her if she could cook and keep her house clean. She said yes, but not for him. There was the Sunday school teacher who asked her if she would go to church with him. She said no because she didn’t like feeling pressured to perform her religion for others. Then there was the college professor who asked her if she was a republican or a democrat. When she declined to discuss politics, he ranted about the current administration and the date ended quickly. She finished her dinner in the welcomed silence. While she likes a good debate, she learned from Arabella never to discuss religion, politics, or sex on the first date.

  Arabella picks up her cell phone and searches for a sympathetic ear. She decides on Arabella.

  “Arabella, I got a job interview.”

  “Congratulations! Where?”

  “With Price Holdings.”

  “Wait. What?” Arabella takes her off speakerphone. “Price Holdings? With self-made billionaire—and incredibly sexy—Sebastian Price?” Her voice goes up an octave at the end of each question.

  “Yes. What do you know about him?” Nora brushes her hair into a bun on the crown of her head like a ballerina’s, but not as tight.

  “Girl, he is the most successful CEO of our generation.”

  “That’s dramatic.”

  “No. It’s true.”

  “Have you met him? Is he a client?” She looks at her bun from the left and the right and then pulls it out.