The Executive, page 10
Pick up the damn phone!—Prescot
Are you okay?—Prescot
You’re an asshole to make me worry like this, you know?—Prescot
Do I need to do a wellness check?—Prescot
Text me back!—Prescot
Fuck. Last thing I needed was her acting out that threat. I typed a quick response before getting up and gathering my stuff. The driver was due in a few short minutes, and I needed to get going.
Fuck offf. I’l see yuo at airport—Devereux
It only took a few seconds for her to respond. Drunken A S S H O L E—Prescot
Two hours later I was seated in first class, starting the flight off with another drink before tilting the seat back, throwing on the blanket, and shutting my eyes.
The flight from Boston to Seattle was a long one. I was happy I only had to do it a few times a year. While I’d been able to get some decent sleep, I awoke to a splitting headache. Thankfully I didn’t have any checked luggage and was able to head straight to the car waiting for me.
As I made my way through baggage claim, I nearly stopped in my tracks. Ivy stood, her hair down for the first time in weeks, looking so enticing. There was a pull to take her into my arms and find comfort in her body. It was hard to resist in my state, but I managed.
“Welcome back, Mr. Devereux,” she said with a surprising smile.
I said nothing, but kept on walking. “Where’s Austin?”
“He’s waiting outside the doors.”
Just outside stood the towering man in a black suit at the bumper of an equally black Lincoln Continental.
“Good morning, Mr. Devereux,” Austin said as he reached for my bag.
“Morning.”
“Sunglasses?” he asked.
I nodded, and he pulled out a pair from his coat pocket.
“Thank you,” I said as I took them and pulled them on. The overcast sky was like knives stabbing my brain, and my eyes rejoiced in the dimming of the light.
“Does your head hurt?” Miss Prescot asked as she climbed in and slid over for me to climb in next.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said before digging into her purse.
I turned and glared at her. “You’re happy my head hurts?”
“Yes, after what you did last night.” She poured a few pills into her palm, then held out her hand along with a bottle of water.
“What’s that?”
“Something to help with your stupidity.”
“Stupidity?”
“Getting so drunk you called your assistant in the middle of the night asking if people can come back from the edge? Yeah, stupid level of drinking had to occur.”
I tossed the pills into my mouth and downed the entire bottle of water before sagging back into the seat and closing my eyes.
“I’m too old to drink that much.”
“No, but you are old enough to know how to drink that much, and failed.”
“What does that mean?”
“You didn’t have any water probably. And no food for a while. Just kept drinking, I’m guessing.”
“Guessing, or you called the hotel?”
“Both. A sweet guy named Caleb at the front desk confirmed my suspicion.”
I let out a groan as the rustling of plastic rang in my ears. Austin handed a bag back to Ivy, who pulled out a Styrofoam container along with another bottle of water. When she opened the container, the smell of bacon filled my senses and my stomach gave a rumble.
“Bacon, breakfast potatoes, and a sausage and cheese sandwich,” Ivy said as she prepared the container and fork.
“What’s this?”
“Breakfast. Get something heavy in you to settle all the booze you poured in. Now, do you need me to feed it to you as well?”
I took the container from her. “I’m not an invalid.”
“I was thinking child, but whatever,” she shot back.
I glared at her as I took a bite of the sandwich. A couple of bites in, and my attitude changed. She was right, and I was already starting to feel better.
“Home or work, boss?” Austin asked as we finally made it out of SeaTac.
“Where else?” I countered.
“Well, considering you look like something the cat dragged in, I pushed your schedule back to the afternoon,” Ivy said as she grabbed a potato from the container.
I wanted to argue with her, but my body was grateful for a break to recover.
“Thank you, but still, the office. I can rest there and get cleaned up.”
She was taking far greater care of me than I deserved, and the ache in my chest as I looked at her grew even more.
Days seemed to go by in a flash, a blink, and then gone. With that said, every time Miss Prescot entered my office, time seemed to slow. I couldn’t help but look up when I heard her, watch the sway of her hips as she walked toward me.
It was the highlight of my day.
She was beautiful, and I hated that I couldn’t touch her like I wanted to.
“Lunch is here,” she said with a smile before placing the container in front of me.
I was so enamored with her that I didn’t even notice what she set in front of me.
“What is this?” I asked in disdain as I stared down at the overabundance of green sprinkled with a few other colors.
“A salad.”
I glared up at her. “Why?”
“Roughage, sir,” she said before spinning around, giving me a view of that pert ass as she headed out.
I sighed and stared at the salad, my mouth turning down in disgust. As soon as the door clicked behind her, I picked up the phone and called her.
“Yes?” she answered.
“I want my sandwich from Othello’s.”
“Eat the salad, sir.”
“Sandwich,” I stressed.
“Salad,” she said, matching my tone.
“Goddammit, Miss Prescot, get me the fucking sandwich.”
“Enjoy your salad,” she said, then hung up.
“Did she…” I stared at the phone before getting up, storming to the door, and throwing it open.
Miss Prescot jumped, as did the intern, whatever her name was.
“Sandwich,” I growled.
“Salad.”
I looked to the intern. “Call Othello’s and get me the prime rib sandwich and fries.”
“Y-yes, sir,” she stammered as she began searching for their number.
“Don’t touch the phone, Stacey.”
“What is your problem?” I growled at Miss Prescot. “I’m your boss, remember. I tell you what to do, and you fucking do it.”
“And your doctor said you need to cut back on the salt, and since I know you aren’t eating well at home, you will be eating well at lunch.”
“Fuck him.”
“Stop being Mr. Grouchy. I’m not going to be responsible for you having a heart attack at thirty-six.”
“My heart is fine,” I argued. It really was. And the salt intake wasn’t as big of a deal as she was making it out to be.
“But your blood pressure isn’t.”
“I wonder why? Maybe it’s because someone thinks she can dictate conditions to me.” My blood pressure was a little high—that was all. Stress induced.
She stood and stepped toward me. Heat poured through me at her touch, her hands resting on my chest, confusing me to no end, her body pressed to mine. Her gaze locked with mine as she moved her hands up my neck and then back down across my chest, her eyes wide, pink lips plump and so close. All it would take is a few small inches and I could have her lips, her tongue, then her pussy.
“Eat the salad. Please?” she said in a breathy whisper.
One small move, one sentence, and she completely disarmed me.
I blinked at her in stunned silence, my brow scrunched, mouth open.
Somehow a few minutes later I was sitting at my desk, choking down the salad as I pondered what had just happened.
Ivy
It was a dangerous game I was playing, but I found it was the only way to calm Mr. Devereux down when he was on a rampage. The confusion on his face the first time I did it was almost laughable if it wasn’t for the fact that being so close, touching him, was like striking a match and setting off a blaze. Another minute, and we both would have been consumed and probably scarring Stacey for life.
In all my life, out of all the men I’d met, I had never had such a reaction to a man before. Even after months of working for him, the intensity was dizzying if I stayed close for too long.
Even Iris was calling me, begging me to just give in. At least that was her reasoning for her string of one-night stands—our twin connection made her do it.
I knew our connection was strong, but I wasn’t so sure about taking the blame for her being horny. Then again, she was the reason my wrist ached for a month in college when she broke hers.
“I’m stuffed,” Alex said as we loaded onto the elevator after lunch.
“It was your idea to eat six breadsticks and the entire bowl of pasta.”
“But it was sooooo good.”
I let out a laugh and shook my head. “You have a carb problem.”
She blew out a breath. “I so do. They are my weakness. They’re why I’m forty pounds overweight, but I don’t care.”
“You look great,” I said with a smile and she beamed back at me.
“Thanks.”
The car slowed down and lit up Alex’s floor.
“Have a great rest of the day. Don’t let your boss catch you hiding under your desk because you went into a carb coma.”
The doors slid open. “A nap sounds divine right now. Good luck with the Chandelier pitch today,” she said with a smile and a wave.
“Thanks,” I managed to get out before the doors closed again.
The meeting between Chandelier and DCS was months in the making. Circumstances beyond anyone’s control led to multiple meeting cancellations, but finally, after months of preparation and research, we were ready.
I knew Mike Deacon would be impressed with DCS just as I was, and I knew it was the support he needed to grow Chandelier the way he envisioned.
“Do you want me in there?” Stacey asked an hour later as she helped me arrange the portfolios around the table.
“It’s going to be different from a lot of his other meetings,” I said. She had been ghosting meetings for the last few months. There was initiative in her, but it was hiding below her apprehensive exterior. Always eager to learn, her shyness often got in the way when it came to interaction.
“I could sit in the sofa chair and observe.”
“That would be good.”
She smiled at that, happy to be a part of things, but not at the same time. I often wondered once her internship was up what she was going to do.
I finished up a few small tasks while waiting for Mr. Devereux to return from a meeting on the forty-seventh floor. The sound of the large glass door opening caught my ear and I looked up, expecting to see Mr. Devereux, but instead the silver fox known as Mike Deacon strode through.
“Ivy, my dear, it’s been too long,” he said as he approached.
“Hi, Mike,” I said with a smile as I stood to greet him.
He gave me that warm, blinding smile I remembered. “How are you?”
“Doing well. You?”
He took my hand and held it out as he looked me over. “You look well. DCS seems to be agreeing with you.”
“More than Kilgore.”
“Is Mr. Devereux part of that?” he asked.
I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “Mr. Devereux is definitely a different beast than Dante.”
“Less sleazy?” he asked in a whisper.
“And more imposing,” I said as I led him into Mr. Devereux’s office. “Can I get you anything to drink? We have a gourmet coffee bar, water, soda, and really about anything you might want.”
“Can that coffee bar make a latte?”
“Of course. Any flavoring?”
“Your sweetness is enough, but perhaps a splash of vanilla.”
Heat flooded my face. Mike’s flirtations were usually more subtle, and it was a bolder statement than I was used to.
“I’ll be right back. Mr. Devereux should be in any moment.”
I headed into the small break room, and began prepping the machine. It’d taken some getting used to in the beginning, and had given me a few good steam burns, but we’d come to an understanding. The fridge was thankfully normally stocked with milk for Mr. Devereux’s coffee concoction.
I made one for the boss as well, because any time was coffee time for him. The man drank way too many of them. Then again, I wasn’t one to talk. Every morning I picked one up on my trip to the office, and then when I arrived, I usually picked up another.
“Morning, Ivy,” Dan called from the doorway.
“Morning, Mr. Stanton. Ready for the meeting?”
“Absolutely. Any chance I could get one of those?” he said, giving me his best attempt at a dazzling smile.
“I suppose I could,” I said with a roll of my eyes. It was just for dramatic effect.
“How is his mood today?” he asked.
“It’s Chandelier. He better be chipper.”
“Then that better be strong,” he said, pointing to the cups.
“Mike Deacon is already in there. Scoot.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Once done, I loaded all three cups, plus one for myself, onto a small tray and headed out. I set it down on my desk to pick up my tablet and my phone, when I heard my name.
“Ivy is quite magnificent, isn’t she?” I overhead Mike say.
It was a line that made me stop in my tracks, my heart thumping in my chest. Mr. Devereux must have returned while I was busy with the drinks. The small seconds waiting for his response seemed to pass like hours.
“Yes, she is,” Mr. Devereux replied. His tone was stiff, which was odd, because he’d been in a decent mood before he ran downstairs.
“He really lucked out,” Dan said.
“May I ask if you know if she’s dating anyone?” I heard Mike ask. It seemed an oddly personal thing to ask, especially at a business meeting.
“She’s not available,” Mr. Devereux snapped. My brow furrowed in confusion. Why would he say that?
“That wasn’t what I was asking, Lincoln.”
“I understood the question, Mike.” There was an edge to his tone that confused me.
“She’s very alluring. I completely understand,” Mike said. His words made my face heat up.
“Understand what?” I knew that tone, Mr. Devereux was gearing up.
“Your possessiveness.”
I thought I heard something like “the fuck” but I couldn’t be sure because there was a sudden sound of movement, almost like a scuffle. Dan called out Mr. Devereux’s name before I heard him growl, “What the hell, Lincoln? What is going on with you?”
There was silence, and I took that as my opportunity to head in while I tried to figure out why things had become so quiet.
“Coffee?” I asked as I stepped in.
Three sets of eyes turned to me, but only one caught my attention. Mr. Devereux’s eyes held a fire, a blaze that sent a chill through me. I passed out the coffee and his fingers lingered against mine a little too long, and I looked to find him staring at me.
I didn’t know what happened, but the air between us was charged and alight after months of simmering, of keeping it in check. My special way of calming him hadn’t even approached the level that vibrated in the space between us.
After setting the tray down, I took my seat next to Mr. Devereux and looked around the table, noticing the awkward tension that filled the space between the three men. Dan’s eyes were wide as he looked between Mr. Devereux and Mike before catching mine and mouthing something. I thought it was “what’s going on” but I couldn’t be sure, so I shrugged in response.
A couple of sips and Mr. Devereux began to relax, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Mike, and the odd tension began to slip away.
“He’s a bit of a coffee tyrant,” Dan whispered across the table to Mike, who chuckled.
“Dan,” Mr. Devereux said, narrowing his eyes.
“There’s a reason I don’t schedule any meetings with you before nine,” Dan admitted as he took another sip.
“Hmm,” was his response as he continued to drink. “Well, he’s not exactly wrong.”
Whatever had transpired was pushed back and replaced by a mutual appreciation for coffee. I heaved an internal sigh and mouthed “thank you” to Dan, who smiled. After years of working with Mr. Devereux, Dan had gained an understanding of not only his moods, but how to dispel them. I had my own tricks, but one thing was for certain—coffee made everything better.
“Coffee is quite magical,” Mike said. “And this is quite good.”
“What do you normally serve to clients?” Mr. Devereux asked, almost as a peace question.
“We have a few varieties, some dependent on the customer, but I don’t think we have this.”
“Black Spell Brew is exactly like their name. I don’t exactly mean to endorse them because they are a client, but this coffee is really the best.”
Mike raised his cup. “Agreed.”
Coffee seemed to be the topic to smooth over whatever strife had taken over, and the meeting continued.
Watching him talk to Mike, Mr. Devereux was charming. While he wasn’t an account salesman, he knew the products better than most CEOs. For larger accounts, such as Chandelier, he liked to handle their setup personally. That way he was able to tailor the experience and garner an understanding of their needs. After all, Chandelier was all about a tailored experience.
It was obvious Mr. Devereux liked delving into the customer’s needs, because he got so animated as he talked about how to make new and different systems work. There was so much energy pouring out of him as he spoke, new ideas coming to him as he scribbled notes.
By Mike’s surprised expression, he was sensing how DCS was run completely different than Kilgore.
“I’ll be honest. I might not have considered DCS, especially after the way Dante spoke of you, Lincoln. He gave off a horrible impression,” Mike confessed as the meeting wound down.
