Handling the CEO

Handling the CEO Mirela Holt Copyright Copyright © 2023 by Mirela Holt All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. or U.K/E.U. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [email protected]. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. For privacy reasons, some names, locations, and dates may have been changed. Formatted by EJL Services ISBN e-book: 978-1-3999-3823-5 ISBN softcover: 978-1-7392559-0-9 Printed in the UK/EU Contents Author's note 1. Jon 2. DJ 3. Jon 4. DJ 5. Jon 6. DJ 7. Jon 8. Jon 9. DJ 10. Jon 11. DJ 12. DJ 13. Jon 14. DJ 15. Jon 16. DJ 17. Jon 18. DJ 19. Jon 20. Jon 21. DJ 22. Jon 23. DJ 24. Jon 25. DJ 26. Jon 27. Jon 28. DJ 29. DJ 30. Jon 31. DJ 32. Jon 33. DJ 34. Jon 35. DJ — Three months later Acknowledgments Author's note This book is dedicated to all who need a four-letter word (or more than one) and the thought of a good smutty book waiting for them at home to get them through the day. So please, if swearing and open door sex scenes are too much for you, stop here. That being said, be mindful this book also mentions drug usage, body image issues/body shaming, racial insults, minor instances of violence including against teenagers, death of spouse/parent. Alcohol usage is also present in the book. You can relax, this is not a dark romance so the triggers listed are not overwhelming the book, but I don't want you all reading something you would be uncomfortable with. XO, Mirela Jon “Jon, I have the best of news!” my Vice President enthusiastically yells over the line, so loud I have to pull my phone away from my head to keep my eardrum intact. “What is it, Mike? Have we got the tire guys back?” I ask hopefully as I attempt to return to the office, still surprised my assistant somehow forgot to send the car over to my lawyer’s place. The day was nowhere near ending, but my patience was well past its finish line by midday. First, a supplier backed away from a productive tire deal at the last minute. Then, my ex-girlfriend decided she wanted me back and started texting me non-stop. My favorite watch went on a fritz after banging it against my desk. To make matters worse, I now found myself walking back to my office instead of getting picked up by my driver. The weather in Kerrington is what you’d expect for a town on Florida’s Atlantic coast in February—not as humid as other times of the year but sunny and mild. The streets downtown are full of people for a Monday midday. I’m repeatedly bumped by someone, having to balance my coffee as I struggle to hold my phone. “No silly, I got something even better—Dahlia Jara is back on the market!” One could see the exclamation marks in my VP’s voice, and I imagined her doing a happy dance in her office chair. For a mother of three with 5 years until retirement, Michaela Jones—or Mike—often sounds like a teenager with some high school gossip she was just dying to tell everyone. Including me, unfortunately. “Who?” “Jeez—for someone who knows anyone who’s anyone in aerospace, you’d think that you would know the name of the creator of Hove. She is a top-notch programmer, probably best in the business,” she comments in a ‘disappointed schoolteacher’ tone. I almost trip over myself, my coffee dangerously close to spilling over the delivery guy in front of me. Hove, the best route calculator in the industry, saves an airline company millions of dollars! Even better, hiring her would be a big ‘fuck you very much’ to my rival, Lex Aviation, and their cunt of a CEO, Miranda Lexington. Our two private jet manufacturing businesses have been in competition for years, but only recently my suppliers have been targeted. Mike continues cheerfully, “She divorced her husband and doesn’t want to work in the same company with him, so she is moving back here to Florida. I’ll get a meeting set up between you two for next Tuesday. Try not to mess it up.” “That sounds great. And yes, as CEO with five thousand employees, I will attempt not to fuck up a basic interview with a programmer. Now, can you maybe hire me a new assistant also? Anya forgot to send the car over for me and I am walking back to the office.” My VP handles all the contract work, but even with my focusing on engineering and production, having an executive assistant who isn’t a complete moron is necessary. “You? Walking?” she laughs like it’s the funniest thing to ever happen. “Well, try not to break something vital. I must also remind you, you have lunch with the new tire suppliers at Giorgio’s, so maybe you should just walk that way instead. Shall I drive there to ensure one of us is there?” “Shit—I didn’t get a notification on my phone! Anya really needs to go, Mike. If I walk to the office now, I won’t make the restaurant! Fuck, I’m heading towards the meeting now. But would appreciate it if you were my back-up—just in case I don’t make it,” I grumble, ending the call. However, fate had other thoughts. I turned right abruptly, just as the delivery guy turned left with a giant parcel. It forced me to step towards the curve to avoid him, directly into a light post and I spill my coffee all over my shirt. Fuck, fuck again—now I have to stop and get a fresh shirt! Can’t show up to