Page 59 of The CEO Enemy
It’s the day before Schuster and Flint, the big retreat group that books with us every year, are set to arrive. After a hectic morning, I collapse with an exhausted sigh. I just finished meeting with maintenance about a couple of minor room repairs and informed Pauline regarding several various last-minute wishes and preferences, such as bedding, room amenities, temperature, decorations, and concierge services, and stopped by the front desk to let them know I had emailed an updated reservation list. We’ve had several unexpected last-minute additions—the new coordinator Mr. Grant sure likes to keep me busy—and we need to have extra special welcome packets (that include personalized handwritten notes) put together. One of our guest specials includes a delightful assortment of original NYC-style cheesecake bites sourced from that charming local bakery just around the corner, a hidden gem cherished by the locals. I call Sarah to ensure we have enough pieces on hand.
Sean walks in a moment later and slides an iced coffee toward me. “Here, you need this,” he says with a rare smile.
I take it graciously, saying “Thank you” before consuming a giant swig. The liquid is cool and invigorating, and the instantaneous shot of caffeine lifts my spirits. With a smile, I lean back in my seat and look at Sean. His lips curve at my reaction.
“Thanks. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me anything. You’ve been working like a boss,” he says, smiling. “The least I can do is get you coffee and maybe dinner if you’re up for it.”
Dinner? He’s asking me on another date? My heart leaps until I remember I can’t.
“Dinner sounds great,” I tell him, “but this is going to be another late night. We’ve had some last-minute requests from Mr. Grant that I need to supervise myself before they all arrive tomorrow.”
Sean leans against my desk and shrugs. “That’s fine, we can have it delivered. Personally, I could devour some sushi right now.”
I’m touched that he wants to stay, although I shouldn’t be surprised given how equally hard—equally boss, no doubt—he’s been working. It’s easy to see why he’s in the position that he’s in. He has an insane eye for detail, not to mention his willingness to roll up his sleeves and jump right in is admirable. Trust me, I’ve met plenty of CEOs over the years and can tell you that’s not a common occurrence.
Also, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to spend more private one-on-one time with Sean—and his lips. Ever since the charity auction, something has changed. He spends much more time at Westerlyn than he used to. Working these longer stretches of time with him has shown me a side I wasn’t prepared for, a softness I’m privy to. The way he’s been looking out for me and checking in to see how I’m doing shows how much he cares. It’s not just me he’s been sweet with. The other day, Emma had a family emergency, and he immediately called her a car and even followed up with her.
Why has everyone been warning me about him? After our “rough start,” and a few glitches here and there, he’s been nothing but rational, attentive, and even sweet.
The devil on my shoulder tells me it’s the calm before the storm.
The angel on my shoulder tells me it’s perfectly fine to allow myself to fall for Mr. CEO.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” I tell him, getting up to stretch my legs and pick up the folder I (lovingly) labeled “Operation Retreat Rescue” from one of the piles on my desk. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help, but I don’t want to take up another one of your evenings. We’ve been working late all week.”
“If you’re working, then I’m working,” he says firmly. As he speaks, my gaze involuntarily shifts to his lips, their every movement captivating me. “I’m not one to sit on the sidelines when there’s stuff that needs to be done.”
Those lips will be the death of me.
And not just those lips.
The words he said with those lips.
I want it to be everything, but only if you’re ready for everything.
I’ll wait.
As long as it takes.
Deafening echoes of déjà vu scream in my heart, but I tell myself this time it’s different. Because Sean isn’t Richard.
The problem is: I can’t trust myself to know. Nor can I scold myself.
Here’s the thing.
Everything was going fairly well. Then somewhere along the way, there was a switch. I’m not sure when it happened, how, or why—but it did. Probably somewhere between kissing me stupid and kissing me stupider.
I hated that I liked it.
Apparently, now that I’ve had an appetizer (multiple, in fact), my body wants the whole meal. Every time I feel he’s close, like right now, it’s like someone takes the dial of my body heat and cranks it up all the way. Not only do I sense the familiar spicy scent of his aftershave, but I can also feel the heat radiating off his body in waves. It’s intoxicatingly inviting.
I don’t even hear my desk phone start to ring.
It can ring and ring and ring, and I don’t care.
His green eyes stroke over me. “You want me to get it?” Sean rumbles.