Page 36 of Lesbian CEO
“You’re here tonight. Did you come with anyone?”
“Yes,” I tell him. Okay, we’re starting with something easy. “I’m here with Jessica Mortimer. She’s the CEO of Northington Tech. Previously, she was the VP, but she recently purchased the company.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” Brett smiles. It’s a disarming smile, I realize. He’s trying to put me at ease. Unfortunately, it’s working. We’ve only chatted for a minute and already, Brett seems like the kind of person I could tell my whole life story to. I can’t do that, I realize. Anything I say can be printed in the newspaper, twisted, and used for evil. I don’t want that because suddenly, it’s very important to me that I not only make a good impression when it comes to my own company, but that I make a good impression when it comes to Jessica’s.
“Do you cover a lot of local business stories?” I ask, turning the tables on Brett. He seems surprised for only a second, but he pivots beautifully.
“Absolutely,” he nods. “Our paper is very interested in making sure we’re covering local events in a way that is fair and reasonable. We want to highlight what’s happening both in Ashbury and around the globe. Make sense?”
“Oh, it does. So what made you decide to become a reporter?”
Somehow, this question really seems to catch Brett off-guard. For a second, I think it’s going to quickly turn things back on me, but he catches himself and smiles.
“My dad was a reporter. Best there ever was.”
“That’s cool. Did he ever take you on assignments?”
“All the time,” Brett says. “He taught me everything he knew.”
From the way he talks about his dad in the past tense, I realize that Brett’s father isn’t retired. He’s passed away, just like my dad. The realization stings as I think about my own dad and all of the time we didn’t get to spend together. When you lose a parent, it hurts forever. I’m convinced that the pain never goes away. At this point, I don’t even know if it ever gets better.
“Tell me more about your relationship with Miss Mortimer,” Brett says, suddenly all business again. He seems to realize that we got off track. I wait for just a second as my eyes slide around the many bodies in the ballroom. There’s soft music playing in the background, but this isn’t a party. There’s no dancing. The music is low enough that people can chat comfortably, and they are. The mayor is here, as well as many other public officials, yet Brett is here talking to me. Not them.
“We’re friends,” I tell him. I remember the story. We spun a narrative, as Piper put it, and presented ourselves as a united front. We didn’t tell the world that we’re former lovers. We aren’t pretending to be in a relationship or anything else like it. We’re just friends.
Only, the way she was touching me in her bedroom didn’t feel like something a friend would do. The way she kissed me didn’t feel like something you’d do with a friend. It felt much better than that, and I want there to be more.
Since we got to the event, the two of us have stayed carefully close to each other, but not so close that we’re making fuck-me-eyes at each other. That’s something I don’t trust myself with right now. The truth is that I’m so turned on I think I’m going to melt if she doesn’t sneak off with me and hide away.
I want to bang her in a damn closet.
Shit.
“Friends?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you two meet?”
“A few years ago,” I tell him. This isn’t something we discussed, but it’s a safe enough answer. Generally speaking, people didn’t realize we were partners and not just friends unless they spent a significant amount of time with us. Jessica is cautious with public displays of affection. Even then, she was careful, but I didn’t think it was because she was ashamed of being queer. I always just figured it was because she didn’t want to give people anything to talk about.
“And do you have any idea who has been Tweeting about Jessica trying to sideswipe your company?”
“Excuse me?”
He said “Tweeting” in the present-tense, as though it wasn’t just the one message. When Jessica and I met with Piper, there was only one message we needed to worry about, and even then, it was only because the message went totally viral. Right now, I get the feeling that there’s more to this situation than either of us could have guessed, and possibly, more than either of us knew.
Brett instantly realizes I don’t know. He gestures to my phone.
“Do a quick search for #mortimermeddles and you’ll find it.”
“What?”
“That’s the hashtag everyone’s using,” he shrugs.
“Mortimer isn’t trying to steal my company,” I say. I resist the urge to pull up my phone and start scrolling. I don’t want to let Brett know that I’m completely out of the loop, suddenly, because it was something we worked so hard to stay in front of. After all, that’s why I’m here. We’re trying to calm people down. We’re trying to hide the truth.
What better way than by pretending everything is totally normal?