The Arrogant Mrs CEO

A red car pulled to a stop in front of the shopping mall. Cindy Williams, a young woman of twenty-four, stepped out and, after closing the car door, walked toward the boutique.

The click of her red high heels echoed on the pavement as she hurried toward the store, eager to find the perfect outfit for her best friend's birthday party.

The sun beat down, and Cindy frowned, realizing she had left her umbrella in the car. Reluctant to walk back in the heat, she pressed on.

"Phew!" Cindy sighed as she entered the cool air of the shopping mall.

She pulled a handkerchief from her red purse and dabbed at her forehead before looking around the boutique.

Cindy wore a long white gown that clung to her figure, accentuating her simple, feminine shape. She drew attention, a vision of effortless beauty.

Zipping her purse closed, Cindy surveyed the shop. A saleswoman approached her.

"Welcome, ma'am. What can I help you find today?" the saleswoman asked.

"I'm looking for dresses suitable for a birthday party," Cindy replied.

"Certainly, madam. This way, please," the saleswoman gestured, leading Cindy toward the selection of women's wear.

Cindy followed, her gaze drifting over the clothes and the other shoppers.

She passed the gowns without touching them, her expression neutral.

The saleswoman presented the collection and asked, "What length of gown are you considering, madam? Long or short?"

Cindy glanced around again. "I'm not sure. What do you think would suit me? I usually wear white."

The saleswoman smiled. "The white gown you're wearing looks lovely on you. Perhaps another white gown, perhaps longer or shorter?"

Cindy sighed. "Hmm. White is my favorite, but I was thinking of something different, like blue, yellow, or green. What do you think?"

"Let me see what we have," the saleswoman replied.

Cindy stood aside as the saleswoman pulled out gowns in various colors – yellow, blue, red, and green. None of them seemed to catch Cindy's eye.

Cindy frowned, disliking all the options. Feeling she had wasted the saleswoman's time and not wanting to be rude, she spoke.

"Do you have any white suits? I love white suits as well. Could I see what you have? The party is tomorrow, and I need something new."

"Of course," the saleswoman replied, remembering her manager's emphasis on customer satisfaction, regardless of how many items a customer rejected.

"Would you like to wait here, madam, or would you prefer to come with me to see the white suits?" the saleswoman asked.

"I'll come with you," Cindy replied, following the saleswoman.

They walked to another section, and Cindy's eyes immediately landed on a stunning white suit displayed on a mannequin.

Cindy admired the golden collar design of the white suit coat, which fastened with only two front buttons, and the sleek, pencil-shaped white trousers.

"Wow!" gasped another woman standing nearby, also admiring the suit as she negotiated the price with a different saleswoman.

Cindy instantly loved the white suit. Without hesitation, she pointed to it and said to her saleswoman, "I want that suit. Please wrap it up for me. I'll take it."

The woman who had initially wanted to buy the suit, still haggling over the price, glared at Cindy, irritated. The suit was priced at $10,000, which was more than she could afford.

She noticed Cindy's nonchalant and somewhat arrogant demeanor and grimaced, turning back to her saleswoman.

"Do you have another white suit like this? I really want this one, it's just the price," the woman asked.

"No, madam, this is the last one. Are you purchasing it now, or not? We have another customer who wants it," the saleswoman asked politely, but the words stung.

The woman's eyes narrowed at Cindy. She opened her purse and mentally calculated the money she had available, including her debit card balance, but it wasn't enough.

Cindy turned to her saleswoman. "What's going on? Why is it taking so long to package this suit? Do you not want to sell it to me? Should I just leave it?"

"No, madam, please wait. This lady was interested in buying it before you requested it," the saleswoman explained gently.

Cindy finally met the other woman's gaze, then looked away. "Then I'm leaving. I can't stand here waiting for you to sort this out. Do you know who I am?"

The woman, frustrated by her lack of funds, looked at Cindy with disdain, disliking her arrogant behavior.

She snapped, "Who are *you*, anyway? Just because you're rich, you think you can push people around? Do *you* know who I am?"

Cindy's jaw dropped slightly as she looked at the woman, who appeared to be a bit older than her, but she didn't respond.

Cindy turned back to her saleswoman. "Because I've wasted so much of your time today, I'll give you ten seconds to get this suit ready for me, or I'll leave and buy it somewhere else. But before that, let me see your jewelry."

The woman hissed loudly as Cindy ignored her. She knew she couldn't afford the suit.

She looked pleadingly at the saleswoman. "Can I put down a deposit on this suit? I'll come back later to pay the rest."

"I'm sorry, madam, but we don't allow deposits or credit," the saleswoman replied.

"Why? Is it because of *her* that you won't sell me this beautiful suit?" the woman asked.

"No, madam. I would sell it to you if my manager allowed deposits. You can see our policy clearly stated on the sign by the entrance: 'NO CREDITS ALLOWED,'" the saleswoman explained kindly.

"Hmm... Alright, then I'll come back another time. Or could you speak to your manager about ordering another white suit with the same design and size? I'll be back," the woman said.

"Okay, madam. I will inform my manager," the second saleswoman replied, while Cindy returned and asked, "Is my suit ready or not?"

The frustrated woman hissed again and walked away angrily, subtly bumping into Cindy as she left the boutique.

Cindy was startled but sighed and turned back to the two salesladies. "How much is everything I've bought? The shoes, necklace, diamond earrings, bangles, and the suit?"

The initial saleswoman punched the numbers into her calculator, totaled the items, and said, "Fifty thousand dollars."

"Hmm, no discount?" Cindy asked as she prepared to pay with her debit card.

"No, madam. That's the fixed price," the saleswoman replied, smiling.

"It's okay, package everything up. I'll take it," Cindy said, and the saleslady quickly packed everything into a white shopping bag and handed it to her.

When Cindy walked out of the boutique, she clutched the white shopping bag containing her purchases. She struggled with the weight, unused to carrying heavy loads.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She clutched her red purse with her left hand, while the white bag strained her right.

Cindy muttered under her breath, frustrated by the throng of passersby blocking her path to the shopping mall parking lot. It was difficult to walk quickly.

The sun beat down as Cindy subtly bumped into people, navigating the crowded road. The mall was packed due to the weekend.

Her phone rang in her purse, but Cindy couldn't answer it, focused on pushing through the crowd toward the main road.

As Cindy struggled to turn toward the parking lot, which seemed miles away, a handsome young man named Peter Richard noticed her.

Peter had just finished helping an elderly woman carry her purchases to her Jeep.

Peter approached Cindy, seeing her obvious frustration.

"Hello, excuse me, young lady. May I help you with your bag? I make a living helping people with their loads," Peter offered.

Cindy paused, surprised by the tall young man blocking her way. She was taken aback by his handsomeness, her breath catching in her throat. But his disheveled appearance suggested his line of work was truly as he described.

"Really? How much do you charge for carrying bags?" Cindy asked nervously, a blush rising to her cheeks. She was astonished to see such a handsome man doing this kind of work.

The men Cindy had dated paled in comparison to Peter's looks. She waited for his response, but his sweaty body and dirty clothes assaulted her nostrils, causing her to subtly wrinkle her nose at his manly scent.

"Twenty cents, madam," Peter replied.

Peter was eager to help Cindy. Noticing his own perspiration, he wiped his forehead with his palm, lacking a handkerchief. Cindy found this repulsive.

"Gross! Please don't do that, it's irritating. Can't you afford a handkerchief? You want to touch my bag with that smelly hand?" Cindy asked, a look of distaste on her face.

Peter was taken aback by Cindy's harsh words. "No, madam. Let me use my shirt," he stammered.

Peter quickly turned his brown, sweaty shirt inside out to wipe his hand, and Cindy's frown deepened.

She exclaimed, "Phew! That's disgusting. Here's a hundred dollars, use it to buy new clothes. You stink. And please get out of my way. I can manage to carry by shopping bag by myself before you give me a disease."

Cindy threw the hundred-dollar bill to the ground, a sum Peter had never seen or touched, no matter how hard he worked.

Peter quickly bent and picked up the money before the breeze could carry it away or someone could steal it. He stood up and looked around for Cindy, but she was gone.

Clutching the money tightly, Peter murmured, "Wow! She's so pretty. I just hope to see her again." He brushed off her insults.

Peter smiled and decided to call it a day. He went to the nearest bank to deposit the money. The female bank staff, who recognized him, stared as he walked in.

When Peter approached the teller who usually helped him save his meager earnings, she took the money and eyed him suspiciously, as if he had stolen it.

Peter wanted to save half and use half of the hundred dollars to buy food and new clothes, as his sweaty clothes were torn.

"What's the problem, miss? Is the money torn or fake?" Peter asked, still elated that Cindy had given him such a large sum without him even lifting a finger.

"Where did you get this money? Did you steal it?" the teller asked, unable to hide her suspicion, knowing Peter's poverty.

Peter retorted, "No! How can you accuse me of that? I come here every day to deposit my money, and you're accusing me of theft?"

Peter glared at the teller, who quickly looked down, noticing her colleagues and manager watching.

She muttered, "I'm just asking to be sure, Mr. Richard. Here is half the money you requested. The other half has been deposited into your account."

"Are you sure? Or are you lying? Let me see the receipt," Peter asked, aware that the teller had a crush on him but he wasn't interested.

The fair-skinned teller bit her lip before printing the receipt and handing it to Peter. "Here it is," she said.

Peter snatched the receipt and examined it, seeing that the money had indeed been deposited into his bank account. He smiled in satisfaction. "Thank you," he muttered.

Peter then left the bank with the remaining cash and bought new clothes from a vendor selling men's wear along the roadside: a black shorts, a yellow shirt, and black trousers.

Peter then went to a public bathroom to bathe, as he was homeless, and changed into his new clothes. He lived with his friends under a bridge.

"I just pray to meet more pretty young ladies like her again. It's the first time I've offered to help someone, and she gave me money without sexualizing me," Peter mused over Cindy's kindness, even though he didn't know her name, only that she had given him money without him helping her.

Peter sighed, and went to a nearby restaurant to order a meal, realizing night was approaching and he hadn't eaten since morning.

"Peter, is that you?" Peter heard a familiar voice and turned to see his friend Tom, who also lived under the bridge.

As they slept under the bridge at night, Peter moved away from Tom, who tried to touch him after he returned from the restaurant.

"It's me, Tom," Peter said, avoiding Tom's touch. "No hugging."

Tom smiled. "Tell me your secret, Peter. Where did you get the money for those beautiful clothes? Did you finally sleep with a woman and she paid you well? You're a handsome man, every woman wants you. How much per night did she pay you? Let me know if I should quit carrying loads and join you in this handsome sugar-boy business."

Peter stared at Tom with narrowed eyes and walked away to sit on a bench in an empty shop.

Tom gulped and stood in front of Peter. "What's wrong with what I asked, Peter? I was just guessing if you slept with a woman for money."

"I know, Tom. But I didn't sleep with any woman to get paid," Peter replied, looking at Tom.

"I don't believe you, Peter," Tom said, still standing in front of Peter.

Peter smiled, seeing the look of disbelief on Tom's face.

"It's okay if you don't believe me, but it's the truth, Tom. I didn't sleep with any woman for money," Peter said.

Tom crossed his arms, staring at Peter in awe as night fell.

"The truth is, I saw this beautiful young lady today, struggling with a shopping bag. I offered to help, but she refused, saying I stank. And guess what?" Peter looked at Tom, who stood speechless in front of the closed shops.

"She opened her red purse and threw a hundred-dollar bill at me, just like that. She said I should buy new clothes because I stink," Peter said, shaking his head at the memory.

"What? Just like that?" Tom asked, finally sitting beside Peter on the bench.

However, Peter shifted away again, surprising Tom, who laughed. "Wait, Peter. Just because you bought new clothes, you're avoiding me now? Really?"

Tom wasn't annoyed, and Peter laughed, standing up and looking back at Tom, who remained seated.

Peter said, "What did you expect, Tom? That I'd sit with you and let you soak me with sweat?"

Tom frowned, seeing Peter was serious.

Peter said, "I was just telling you I was insulted by this pretty young lady, and you thought it was a joke that she just gave me money. It's not."

Peter looked away, not sitting back down, and Tom said, "It's okay, Peter. I believe you now."

Tom knew Peter was handsome, fair-skinned, and attractive, and that many women both young and old shamelessly approached him for a relationship, wanting him as their boyfriend, but Peter always refused.

Tom had even seen women offering Peter money to sleep with them, but Peter rejected it, saying he couldn't sleep with a woman for money, which Tom couldn't understand.

They were poor and couldn't afford rent. Tom knew Peter was a graduate from a federal university, but because Peter couldn't find a good job, his former friends, who were fraudsters, had rejected him. Furthermore, Peter didn't want to return to his village empty-handed.

Tom knew that if he were the one getting offers from different women for a one-night stand, he would accept. He was suffering daily and wasn't a graduate like Peter, because the city was hard.

Tom sat and stared at Peter, then shook his head. "You're a lucky man, Peter. But most men in your shoes would be using these women who are offering their services freely. They'd sleep with them, take their money, and dump them. It's not like the women are asking you to marry them. You're really missing out, man. Honestly, if I were you, and getting these proposals, I would've left this slum long ago," Tom said.

"Hmm," Peter sighed, walking back to the bench and sitting beside Tom. He stared at the busy road and the exotic cars.

"Well, that's you, Tom, not me. I can't sleep with a woman for money. Before I left the village, my mom advised me not to fall for any woman offering to be my sugar mama. Mom always said I'd lose my respect as a man if I let a woman work and feed me while I relax. No matter what I do, I'll never progress if I'm being tossed around by a woman."

"Shut up, Peter! How about now that you're not with a woman? Aren't you being tossed around every day already? Imagine a lady just gave you a hundred dollars without you doing anything. Why would she give you that much money if she didn't admire you? Look, no woman just gives money to a man like that, never!" Tom exclaimed, and Peter sighed.

"It's alright, Tom. I saw in her eyes that she admired me at first, but when she sensed I stank, she threw the cash at me. So maybe you're right. If I was ugly, she wouldn't have helped me," Peter agreed sadly.

"That's what I'm saying, Peter. Explore these ladies now that you have the chance. Before you die of poverty. Chai! If you see another lady disturbing you or asking you for a night, please link me to her, Peter, and let me become her puppet," Tom begged.

"No," Peter said, shaking his head.

"Seriously, Peter, if you don't help me with this, we're no longer friends," Tom glared at Peter, who stared back in shock.

"You can't be serious, Tom. So you want me to be duping the ladies and becoming a prostitute? What's the difference between you and my former friends who were fraudsters?" Peter questioned, but Tom shook his head. "This isn't fraud, Peter. The ladies have agreed to help you and move you out of poverty. You'll be warming her bed, too. It's different from fraud, where you didn't offer any services, but only scammed her. In this, you're being paid for the service you render," Tom emphasized, but Peter still shook his head. "No. I can't do that."

"Oh, Peter! I can't believe I'm advising an English graduate on something so simple," Tom said frustratedly, standing up.

Peter said, "I can't become a male prostitute, Tom. Never! This conversation is over. If you want to cut me off, fine! I don't care, and I'll never be a woman's puppet. If I see another woman looking for a male prostitute, I'll recommend you, bye, but count me out."

Peter stood up and started walking away, leaving Tom speechless.

"Okay, Peter. That's fine. I'll be expecting my first contract job of sleeping with a woman!" Tom shouted after Peter.

Peter shook his head and paused.

"Are you serious about becoming a male prostitute?" Peter asked, walking back to Tom.

"What do you expect, man? I'm not a graduate like you, and I'm from a poor family. This year, I'll be thirty, and yet no wife, no car, no house, and you're getting proposals from pretty women."

"Just note that if you see any woman who proposes to you, tell her you have a handsome, dark-skinned friend with a big dick who will service her however she wants, and you can contract me. I'm ready to start immediately," Tom said.

"What!" Peter exclaimed, laughing in shock.

"You can't be serious?" Peter said, but Tom ignored him and climbed onto the pavement.

Tom still wanted to run errands, even though it was night, carrying people's loads to their cars.

"I'm serious, Peter. Just one night with a rich woman will change my life forever. That's what some young ladies do here, servicing a rich man for money. Life isn't fair, Peter, and we must strive to survive. So I'll be expecting the contract. I have to run now, before it gets too late. Let me see if I can get some extra cash," Tom said, and Peter replied, "Okay."