Chapter 3 The New CEO

Claire's POV

I'd rushed home earlier, practically attacked the shower, scrubbing myself relentlessly. Three, four times, as if I could physically scour away the lingering scent of last night, the memory of his touch, pretending none of it had ever happened. After forcing down some breakfast at a quiet cafe, I headed towards the office, my phone in hand. A text from Ethan, of course.

[Claire, I'm so sorry I hurt you last night. But I don't want to break up with you, and I do love you. If I wanted to end things, I wouldn't have cheated. Can you ever forgive me?]

My jaw dropped. The sheer audacity! How could anyone be so utterly shameless? Was every man truly just a collection of base urges, with no heart or conscience involved? A bitter, humorless laugh escaped me. I had no intention of replying.

I was halfway to the company when my phone rang. It was my mother, Susan.

"Oh, darling, it's your Uncle John's sixtieth birthday today. They're having a banquet at the Conrad Hotel. You simply must come."

"No, Mom. I really don't want to." I knew, with a sinking certainty, that if I went to that banquet, I would inevitably run into my father and his mistress.

Even as an adult, the wound still festered. I couldn't forgive him for betraying my mother, for abandoning my sister and me. Years ago, when Mom was critically ill and we desperately needed money for her treatment, I'd gone to his doorstep, practically begging on my knees. He'd refused to see me, instead sending his mistress to chase me away like a stray dog. I'd had to take out exorbitant loans to save my mother, whose part-time jobs offered no health insurance. Mom's condition was stable now, but she still required expensive imported medication and regular check-ups.

"Your Uncle John and Aunt Carter have always been so kind to you, Claire. They specifically asked for you."

I sighed. When my father had left, I was barely ten. Without Uncle John and Aunt Carter's unwavering support, our lives would have been even more desolate. During Mom's darkest days, they'd quietly slipped me money, always ensuring we had enough. They had truly been our anchors.

"Okay," I finally conceded, my shoulders slumping. "I'll go."

"Please don't cause any trouble when you see your father," Susan pleaded, her voice laced with anxiety.

"He won't cause me trouble, and I certainly won't cause him any," I said, the words edged with a cold certainty.

I remembered my mother, kneeling, pleading with him then. Just to not divorce her, to keep their family intact, she would even overlook his infidelity. But my bastard father had been merciless. He not only divorced her, but somehow managed to hide all his assets, leaving her with nothing and providing only a paltry child support sum for my sister and me. My mother tried to fight in court, but he cried poverty to the judge, and we lost everything. After that, only the three of us knew the true meaning of hardship.

"Mom, there's something else. Ethan and I broke up."

"What? But Ethan was such a sweet boy! I thought he was going to propose!"

"I don't want to get into it over the phone, Mom. I need to get to work. We'll talk later." I hung up before she could probe further.

I arrived at the office just in time, not a minute late.

As I settled at my desk, my colleague, Joey Farmiga, sauntered over, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Oh, honey, did you finally get lucky with Ethan last night?" she purred, leaning conspiratorially against my desk.

"How on earth did you know I had sex last night?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

She grinned. "I can practically smell it on you, that unmistakable after-sex glow."

I sniffed discreetly at my arm, detecting nothing but my shower gel. "Your nose must be superhumanly sensitive."

Joey nudged my shoulder. "Come on, spill! Details about your first time!"

Joey and I had that kind of relationship; we shared everything-gossip, triumphs, and the occasional disaster.

I gave her a wry, humorless smile. "Last night, I spent a hundred and fifty dollars on a stranger to help me forget Ethan even exists."

Joey's jaw literally dropped. "Wait-what? I thought last night was supposed to be your big proposal night?"

I exhaled slowly, the weight of the confession heavy on my chest. "I found Ethan in bed with Emma."

Joey's expression darkened, her eyes blazing. "That conniving bitch!"

"Shhh!" I whispered, glancing nervously around the buzzing office.

Her tone dropped, but the fire in her eyes remained. "Honestly, you're better off. At least you found out now instead of after he put a ring on your finger."

I managed a small, tired smile. "That's what I keep telling myself."

"Still," she said, folding her arms, a playful glint returning, "$150? He better have been good."

I chuckled softly, a genuine sound this time. "Let's just say it was. memorable."

We often bantered like this, pretending to be worldly and fearless. But deep down, beneath the bravado, our hearts were far more guarded than we cared to admit.

"Oh, by the way," Joey suddenly announced, her voice buzzing with excitement, "Huge news! Our company has a new CEO!"

My mood, however, remained as calm as a still lake. "I'm just a financial assistant," I shrugged indifferently. "It doesn't make a difference to me who the boss is."

"Are you kidding? I heard he's the heir to the Watson Group! Young, insanely handsome, but apparently cold as ice. They say countless women have tried to get into his bed, but he dismisses them all. Right now, every woman in this company is practically salivating to catch a glimpse of this 'legendary' CEO!" Joey's excitement was palpable.

"Too high maintenance, too much drama. We can't afford that kind of headache," I said, still unfazed. I had no illusions about that kind of unattainable man.

Before our conversation could continue, our supervisor, Gary, materialized at my desk, his expression unreadable.

"Claire, come with me. All department heads and their assistants are requested in the main conference room. The new CEO is about to make his official introduction."

Joey caught my eye, raising her brows mischievously, mouthing: Take pictures!

The conference room was already packed when we arrived. Being just an assistant, I discreetly found a seat in the back corner, not particularly invested in the impending spectacle. My mind drifted back to the man from this morning, his exquisite face contorted in a terrifying display of anger when I'd thrown those $150 bills onto his bed. I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a nervous laugh.

I'd definitely gone too far, I admitted to myself. But the utter contempt in his eyes, the way he'd reached for his wallet as if I were some cheap, easily disposable thing. I'd only given him a taste of his own medicine!

A sudden burst of polite applause snapped me back to reality. The room had fallen into a respectful hush as a tall, undeniably handsome man in a flawlessly tailored black suit entered, flanked by a phalanx of executives.

My breath hitched. I stared at that face for several long, disbelieving seconds, shock rendering me utterly speechless. My jaw literally dropped open.

Why... was HE here?

Something had to be terribly wrong with my eyes. I rubbed them fiercely, uncertain if I was dreaming, if this was some cruel, waking nightmare.

But when I looked again, there was no mistaking it. Standing at the front of the room, being introduced as our new CEO, was the very man I'd spent the night with. The man I'd thrown money at and insulted just hours ago.

Last night, I spent $150 to sleep with the new boss.

Oh my God. Is it still not too late to run away?