falling for you CEO

over her soul. Fascinated by the contradiction, I can't look away. Dressed in a black skirt, black blouse and black heels, she parades through the entrance of the bar with three other women. Her companions are wearing brightly colored dresses, laughing and talking as they enter, but the brunette is silent. She scans the room, assessing the place and the people in it. Her smile is small and cold, as if she's already bored. She catches me looking at her, but quickly looks away. When she looks back again, I look straight at her and lick my lips. She raises her eyebrows.

Then she flips her hair over her shoulder, lifts her chin and looks away, dismissing me. Smart girl. She knows a monster when she sees one. Shay "Wouldn't it be amazing if this existed in real life? An eight-foot-tall blue alien with two huge dicks who is totally obsessed with me? Yes please!" Angel laughs and takes another sip of her margarita. "Only if he's also a billionaire," Chelsea says, laughing into her martini. Jen shakes her head in disbelief. "You guys and your monstrous books. I just don't understand the appeal." Angel snorts. "Excuse me, Judgy McJudgerson, but you're in no position to be snobbish about other people's literary choices. May I remind you that your favorite TV show is a cartoon? Jen rolls her eyes." First of all, monster smut is not literature. Second of all, BoJack Horseman is one of the most brilliant..." "Dark comedies ever written, blah, blah, blah, yes, you've told us a thousand times," Angel cuts in. "It's still a cartoon." The argument continues, but I've already hung up. The four of us are sitting at a round table in the middle of the room. We are surrounded by beautiful people on all sides. The couple at the table behind me is discussing Tahoe or Tulum over their next vacation spot . Two young models pass by, taking selfies as they go. Customers jostle for position at the bar, trying to catch the eye of the handsome bartender who I recognize as an extra from the television series Succession . And sitting at the only table next to the bar, the stranger with the hair The dark men are still looking at me. It's strange how such a handsome man can give off such an unpleasant vibe. He's a black hole there, extinguishing all the light around him. It seems like he would refuse to smile even if someone put a loaded gun in in his head and order him to do it. He's probably thinking the same thing about me. Chelsea sighs. "Shay, seriously! Stop frowning. This is scaring all the hot guys." "Not all of them," Angel observes, looking toward Mr. Dark and Stormy. Chelsea turns in her seat and squints. "Who, that guy in the booth?" "Yes. He's been fucking Shay since we got here. I chide, "Chelsea, for God's sake, don't look at him." "Why the hell not? He's fine." She sends him a wide smile. The look he sends her back is so icy it could break a stone. With a low whistle, she turns to us. "Wow. Ten for face, zero for personality." "Maybe his dog died," says Angel. Chelsea looks at me and jokingly suggests, "Maybe you should go over there and cheer him up." "Very funny." "It wasn't a joke." "Give me one good reason why I would like to talk to that man." "Because it's my birthday and I want you to do it." She smiles and takes another sip of her drink. My heart sinks. She always smiles like that when she's about to dig in her heels. The last thing I want right now is to be on the wrong side of her stubbornness. "He does not want to talk to me." "I bet his dick does that." "If his dick has the same personality as its owner, I'm not interested." "Give it a break, girl. No one is asking you to marry him. Just go there and talk to him! "So I can be publicly humiliated when he throws his drink in my face and tells me to get lost? No thanks." "I bet you a hundred dollars he doesn't throw his drink in his face." "No." "Please?" "No." "Please?" "No." "Come on. If you don't do it for yourself, do it for me." "This is blackmail." She widens her eyes innocently. "Remind me again whose birthday it is?" When I make a sour face but don't respond, she's going to kill me. Leaning forward, she smiles. "If you go talk to that guy, I promise I'll stop calling Chet an idiot. In fact, I will never say anything mean about him again." I pause to examine her expression. She looks serious, but Chelsea is slippery. She will conveniently forget this conversation in the morning if it suits her. "Okay, you're on. But you have to record yourself saying it and send it to the group text." "Why?" "Permanent evidence. If you break the agreement, you will have to buy me, Jen and Angel new iPhones." Jen and Angel scream with laughter, but Chelsea's eyes widen in horror. "What?" My smile is relentless. "Deal or no deal, birthday boy?" "That's about three thousand!" Knowing she'll agree eventually, and sooner if I act like I don't care, I shrug and take a sip of my whiskey. Displeased, she snorts. "Okay, fine. You're connected. But you have to stay there and talk to him for at least ten minutes." I look his way. He looks at me, his gaze intense and unwavering. Storm clouds roil over his head. The idea of ​​addressing all that negative energy and trying to start a conversation is scary, but if it makes Chelsea stop with your smear campaign against my ex, it's worth it. I've been putting up with this for three months and I'm tired. "I'll try, but I can't guarantee anything. It seems like he bites. Angel laughs. "If you're lucky, he does." "Okay, you win. Here goes nothing." I sigh heavily and drink the rest of my whiskey. Rising from my chair, I smooth my skirt with my damp palms, then walk across the room with my chin high and my shoulders square, feigning a confidence I don't feel. Dark and Stormy watches me approach with all the heat of a hired assassin. The moment I stop next to his desk, I decide to tell him the truth instead of a cute opening line. In my current state of mind, I doubt I could come up with one anyway. "Hello. I don't want to be here. He looks me up and down, his gaze slowly traveling down my figure. After a moment, he says in a hostile tone, "But here you are." We stare at each other in a silent strangely tense, as if we're both waiting for the other to say something and we think whatever it is, it's going to be horrible. Finally, I say, "It's my girlfriend's birthday." A crease forms between her dark eyebrows. "I don't understand the connection between that and you standing there." "She promised me she would stop talking bad about my ex if I would talk to you." He thinks about it for a moment. "This is blackmail." "When it comes to Chelsea getting what she wants, all means of coercion are in play." He looks past me. "Which one is Chelsea?" "The blonde." "She seems harm

I can also see the color of his eyes, an unfathomable dark blue that could be beautiful if it weren't for its hardness. With his tone low and his gaze penetrating, he finally says: - And you look like a diamond that some clown discarded so he could play with dirt. How long were you and this clown together? Startled, I blink. "Wait. I'm trying to get up from the floor." "What do you mean?" "Is it really so obvious that I was dumped? How horrible. "It's your whole vibe. You're like one of those shelter dogs." "Pardon me?" "You know.

He barks loudly and acts harshly, but only because he is afraid of being kicked again. And your man didn't break up with you. He set you free. He did you a favor. Take all the energy you are wasting on relationship grief and focus it on yourself. A queen doesn't need the love of the village idiot." A breathless laugh of disbelief escapes me. I can't decide if this guy is a mind reader, a genius, or just an idiot. I also can't decide if he's complimenting me or not. At the same time he called me a queen, he compared me to an abused animal. Furthermore, his entire behavior suggests that he thinks I'm a lost cause who shouldn't be allowed to vote. "And here I thought Chelsea was the one talking bad. We haven't even reached two minutes of conversation and you've already called my ex a clown and an idiot. "That's being generous. Because any man who lets a woman like you go is nothing but a bitch. Captivated by this strange person and his even stranger way of speaking, I lean my body toward his and focus my attention on him more fully. "You do not know me. I could be the bitch. Maybe I pushed him away because he was too needy." He shakes his head, a sudden movement that makes a strand of dark hair fall out of place. It sits on your forehead, with a youthful charm. "There is no such thing as too much need. The wrong person will never be able to meet your needs. Stop giving grace to people who make you feel like the problem. And stop clinging to who he pretended to be. He lied." Our gazes clash, but they hold. A frisson of electricity passes between us, charging the air. Despite his prickly personality, the man is undeniably attractive. After a moment, he looks away. He takes a He sips his drink and sets the glass on the table. A muscle flexes in his angular jaw. When he speaks again, his voice is husky. "I also recently went through a breakup." The pain that fuels that statement is stunning. He's put an entire saga of lost love into this. He looks even more devastated than I do. I find it – and him – fascinating. "May I ask what happened?" He closes his eyes and exhales. "I surrendered to the reality that I was not her hero. I was the villain. Therefore, our story could never have a happy ending." My heart beats so fast. Too fast. I resist the urge to reach out and touch him. Surprisingly, this hapless stranger with angry eyes and a broken heart coursing through his veins is someone who might be able to understand what I'm going through. God knows my friends haven't shown me any sympathy. If I hear, "Just move on!" Once again, I'm going to scream. I lower my voice. "And so you finished?" "Yes." "But you didn't want to." "No." "Were you still in love with her when you broke up?" He nods. Then he opens his eyes and looks at me with so much desire that I'm momentarily speechless. "What's your name?" It takes me a second to remember. " Shayna. But call me Shay. "I'm Coleton. Call me Cole." "Hello, Cole." "Hi, Shay. How long do you think it's been since you sat down? Your nervousness makes me smile. "Maybe ninety seconds." "It looks like it's going to take longer. Eight more minutes of this is going to make me want to jump off the nearest cliff." "Out of curiosity, do you look like this all the time?" "Which way?" I take a moment to search for the right words. "Aggressively ambivalent." He raises his eyebrows. "What do you think I'm ambivalent about?" I don't respond, instead reaching for his glass. I take a sip, keeping his gaze over the rim. He drinks whiskey too. Interesting. I place the glass back in front of him without saying anything, but he understands the point. I mean. "Do you think I'm attracted to you?" "I think you'll be relieved when I'm gone." "Maybe it's because you're boring." "Is that it?" His gaze could melt steel. He doesn't like to be challenged. I get the impression that he rarely does and that this is an unwelcome development for him. He says flatly, "No." "Thank you for not lying. ." "Don't thank me yet. It's because you're annoying." It makes me laugh. It scares both of us. We sit with the echoes of the sound dying in the air until another uncomfortable silence falls. Yet neither of us breaks eye contact. Emboldened by the alcohol and its unexpected authenticity, I say, "So you find me attractive." His gaze is deadly. "Out of curiosity, do you look like this all the time?" Appreciating how he's throwing my words back at me, I smile again. "Which way?" "Aggressively aggravating." "Depends on who you ask." "What does your ex have to say about the matter?" A pang of pain grips my chest. I lick my lips and look away. "I never pissed you off. I was too busy tending to your every need." He studies my profile. I know he wants to ask more, but he doesn't. But his silence is active. He's paying close attention to me, my expression and body language. After spending so much time with a narcissist obsessed with By itself, that kind of involvement seems decadent. Chet has always made me feel like a thirsty little plant that's been left to roast in the desert sun. Looking around the elegant room, I say quietly, "It's funny. I know I'm a smart person, but when it came to my ex, I threw my brain out the window. I saw all the red flags. There were so many he might as well have been a circus." "But he was so charming." I turn my focus to Cole, who is nodding. "Yeah. How did you know?" "Narcissists are always charming." "Wow." "What?" "I was literally thinking he was a narcissist." "The only kind of man who would abandon a woman like you has a personality disorder." When I look into his eyes, what I find is a reflection of myself, full of pain and desire and loneliness. I'm not sure I like him. But I trust him. Courtesy of my ex, I know all the ways a liar can be hide. This man isn't hiding anything. He doesn't seem capable of it. Maybe that's why he's sitting alone in a crowded room, looking out at the rest of humanity, and he looks at me like he wants to make me dinner but would rather "About what?" "About wanting to be here. I'm glad you came. Thanks for letting me stay." "You're not welcome." Another smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I've probably smiled more since I sat down with him than I have in the last three months. "Has anyone ever told you you're weird?" He shrugs. "Just everyone." "Doesn't that bother you?" "Have you ever watched one of those documentaries about serial killers? Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, those kinds of people?" "Yes. Why?" "The first thing the neighbors always say when they find out they live next door to a guy who cuts people up and eats them is, 'He seemed so normal.'" "So you're telling me you're not going to dismember me for your weekend barbecue?" "I'm telling you that the more normal someone seems, the more skeletons they have buried in their backyard. Which you already know. "What do you mean?" "I'll bet my house that your clown ex looked like the most well-adjusted man

his assumptions is unnerving. But only because it makes me feel so naked. Then I put it on. A feeling I haven't felt in a long time. "Yes. But he never considered himself that way. It takes a kind-hearted man to recognize when he is the monster in someone else's story. The courage it takes to break his own heart to save someone else's proves that he's not really a monster. He is a hero. He just wants to think of himself as the villain so he never gets hurt again." The silence stretches until it becomes tense and vibrant.

Now we're not even trying to pretend that eye contact is anything but sexually charged. When the waiter comes to our table and asks if we need anything, we both say "Yes" at the same time, without looking away from each other. Many months later, after our hearts are bruised and bloodied, after all our tears have been shed and we are strangers once again, I will look back on this moment and realize that I was already lost. Cole She is beautiful, this woman with green eyes, a sharp intelligence and a weakness for men who need therapy. Beautiful, intelligent, and observant, which makes her the kind of danger I should be steering away from right now. My feet have other ideas. They refuse to move, even though I keep insisting that they take us as far away from it as possible. They're not my only body part, she's mesmerized. My dick, my heart and every nerve under my skin aches for her. In the awkward silence, the waiter clears his throat. "Another whiskey, sir?" "Make it two." I say this in a tone that he correctly understands as a dismissal. He retreats, leaving Shay and I alone in our tense little bubble. I say, "Don't romanticize me." "I'm not. It was simply an observation. The bad guys never think they're the bad guys. They're too busy pointing fingers and blaming everyone else for making them do what they did. Besides, I don't have any romance left in me." . Chet cured me of that. I curl my lip in disgust. "Chet? Even his name sounds clown." "Really? I think it's a beautiful name. Masculine." "Not masculine. Childish. I'm imagining a sporty blonde with perfect teeth and lots of product in his hair." She smiles. I wish I could take a picture of that smile. It could end wars. "That description is so accurate it's disturbing. Tell me more." "He works out every day. He gets fake tan. He calls everyone 'bro'. He never shuts up about his Rolex. He looks in the mirror when he has sex. He has one of those smug, arrogant faces that you want to punch the second you see. Shay blinks rapidly, shaking her head. "This is weird. Do you know him? "I know the type. Prep school frat boy, idiot. His laugh is so attractive and disarming that I have to clench my molars to stop kissing him. I can't remember the last time I had that kind of physical response to someone. Maybe never. There must be magnets under our skin, bringing us closer. "You and Chelsea would really get along." "Why that?" "She calls him an idiot." I pause to think. "Interesting view. But how the hell - and I mean this in the most respectful way possible - did a woman like you fall in love with a pussy like that? His laughter dies. She sits there looking dazed, which makes me feel like an idiot. "Sorry. That was out of line." "No, not at all. It occurred to me that I've never heard a man call another man a cunt before. It's strangely satisfying." "It's a very versatile word." We're staring at each other again. It's becoming a habit. I never want to stop. What the fuck is she doing to me? Because I'm so unstable, my words come out angrier than I intended. "So he cheated on you." "Oh my God ." "What?" "How do you know that?" She's visibly upset. The pulse in the side of her neck is throbbing. I want to press my lips against it. I want to bury my face in her hair. Instead, I look into her eyes and fight the desire that heats my entire body. "Just a guess." Her laugh is small and nervous. She runs a shaky hand through her hair and looks down at her lap. "It was good." We sit in silence for a moment as I watch her struggle to regain her composure. She's struggling with bad memories, something I know. Then, because I find her fascinating and want to know all her secrets, I say, "How did you find out?" "Her phone number. One day he left it on the counter by accident, open on this dating app. He was messaging all these different women. Asking for nudes. Organizing times to be together. I stupidly believed him when he said he was always on his cell phone because of work. "What kind of work did he do?" "He's a personal trainer." "Of course he is." "Don't look so disgusted." "It's not disgusting. It's contempt. I would like to find this fucking loser and see how loud he can scream. After a thoughtful silence, she says, "I can't decide if that's a warning sign or just a genuinely nice thing to say." "It's a red flag." "I'd like to think it's partly both." "It's not. I just threatened violence against a stranger and I meant it." "I know, but you did it out of protective instinct. It's almost chivalrous." I realize I'm looking at her, but I can't help it. She's being deliberately naive. Confusing antiheroes with good guys. She probably reads too many romance novels. "You need to better discern which men you should stay away from." "Hey, I'm only sitting here because I was blackmailed into this." "Here's a serious question for you. Have you ever thought that maybe you didn't get what you wanted because you deserve better? Now she's looking at me. What I said pissed her off, and she's about to use that sharp tongue of yours to tell me exactly what it is. "What I wanted was love. What's better than that? "Men don't abandon the women they love. They abandon the women they were using." That one hit her hard. A mix of pain and anger shines in her eyes. I say more gently, "There's something missing from him. You knew it. You just chose to ignore it. All I'm saying is don't make the same choice." with the next man." She responds: "Maybe there won't be a next man. Maybe I'm done with all of you. "There will be a next man." "What makes you so sure?" "Because even a complete stranger can see how worthy you are of being adored." Her lips part. Without blinking, she stares at me with her brows furrowed and her pretty face pale. Then she demands, "Who said that?" "Are you offended?" "No, I'm confused!" "Why?" "Because you act like you think I'm contagious, but you talk like a hero in a romance novel!" "I knew." "You knew what?" "You read novels." "So?" "So this shit is going to rot your brain." "Oh please, it's a fun, escapist fantasy. It's also feminist, because it encourages us to explore our own sexual pleasure. Are you afraid that women will have very high standards after reading about being loved by fictional men? "No I'm afraid their standards have dropped too low." "What the hell are you talking about?" "Christian Gray has multiple personality disorders caused by intense childhood trauma. Edward Cullen is a controlling stalker who wants to kill Bella by drinking her blood.Darcy is an arrogant jerk with crippling social anxiety and prejudice against the lower class. Yet all these flawed characters have inspired millions of women to think that broken men are someho