The Charming CEO's Unexpected Love

My bedroom is a disaster. Clothes spill from my closet onto the floor like an avalanche. I throw hangers in the air, desperately searching for a suit that screams 'hire me!' I toss garments from one side to the other. A flurry of dresses and skirts are flung all around my bedroom, but I keep looking.

After trying on over a dozen outfits, I consider the final options - black slacks or a pink skirt? Will they judge me if I go with the pink? Despite my current boss's ridiculous opinion, I often pair my skirts with a brightly colored blouse or matching heels - just to annoy him. But for this interview, I opt for something more conservative; the cream-colored shoes are an understated accompaniment to the ensemble.

I reach for the black pencil skirt - my least favorite power outfit - and slip it up over my hips, following the pink silk blouse, still crisp with its original tag, and put it on. This shows off my style a bit without being overly fashionable. Bills are piling up; college debt has me in a stranglehold and I know that taking this job can help manage it. The accruing interest is killing me and if I don't get this job, I might not ever pay it off.

This job is the chance for me to rise above my current situation and make a better life for myself. It pays almost twice as much as my current job, yet I am still not sure if it is worth the hours. My hands tremble as I grab my keys to go bury the knot in my stomach with a cup of coffee. Forty-five minutes until the interview, and caffeine will help me be prepared for whatever crazy questions they throw at me.

The woman entering Starbucks holds the door open for me. I let her ahead of me in line. While I wait for my turn to order, I pull out my phone from my pocket and see the text from my best friend.

Sophie: Good luck today! Knock 'em dead. Or well... insert whatever kick ass analogy here. Call me later and let me know how it went or we could go out for drinks... ttyl

She has been my best friend since high school. Ride or die chick. That's what I like to call her. The girl has been there through all of my breakups, not that there have been many, and eaten tubs of ice cream with me while I drown my sorrows.

"Next, please," the barista says.

I step forward and order my usual. I put up the Starbucks app on my phone to pay, but when it read thirteen cents, a ton of bricks hit me. That's not enough for my drink. Shit. I remember swiping the card so many times in the past that I vow to keep it at home for safe keeping - yet somehow I forgot to put money back onto my gift card. As the barista stares expectantly at me, with a long line behind me, my face flushes.

"Give me just one second, I have to transfer money," I say, pulling up Apple pay.

My fingers move quickly across the screen, trying to beat the clock and finish transferring the money for my gift card balance. A gentle tap on my shoulder causes me to turn around to see a man staring at me.

"Let me pay for that - can you add mine too?"

Before I can protest, he motions to the barista and puts his card in the machine. In a daze, he pays for both of the coffees.

The man is impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit with a white dress shirt and a silver tie. He has thick, dark hair, with a touch of gray at the temples, and his eyes are crystal blue. His confidence exudes from every pore, giving him an air of authority that leaves me breathless and my cheeks red. Despite being at least fifteen years older than me, I can't resist staring. Yummy!

His broad shoulders fill his suit jacket, and I let my eyes wander over his chiseled jawline before stopping on his lips. His dress pants seem tailored to fit perfectly around his hips, and the thought of running my fingers through his tousled brown hair has me clenching my fists at my sides. The temptation to kiss him right there in line is overwhelming, but I quickly scurry away and join the pickup line.

Seconds later, he appears beside me as if magnetically drawn, focusing intently on his phone. When our eyes meet, his piercing blue gaze steals my breath, and all I can do is bite my lip nervously. He goes back to his phone, stealing all of his attention. I'm sure he is a busy man. He looks important.

"Why would you come here and order coffee if you don't have the money to pay for it?" His question is like a splash of cold water on my face. His voice, deep and melodic, with a hint of irritation. Put off by his directness, I look back up and meet a pair of blazing blue eyes. He is tense but his jawline is sharp, as if it has been chiseled from marble. He impatiently taps his foot against the ground that echoes throughout the cafe. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and raises an eyebrow.