Mr. Hotshot CEO Read online

  “Don’t worry,” I say to Jeremy. “I’ll take good care of your sister. You have my word. I don’t blame you for being concerned. If I had a sister, I’d probably feel the same.”

  He nods in acknowledgement.

  I mean it. I would never do anything to hurt her.

  “I still think Courtney deserves a new wardrobe for this trip,” Naomi says.

  “Naomi!” Courtney says. “Stop trying to make Julian throw money at me.”

  I withdraw a credit card from my wallet. “Here. Buy a nice dress for when we go out in Montreal.”

  She doesn’t take the card. “I don’t need to recreate scenes from movies just to please my sister.”

  I look at her for a moment, trying to figure out what she really wants, if it really would make her happy to shop for a new dress.

  I press the credit card into her hand. “Just one dress, and a pair of shoes to go with it.” I brush her hair back from her ear and whisper, “Something that makes you feel sexy.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m coming on this shopping trip,” Naomi announces.

  “Of course you are,” Courtney says. “I have no idea where to go.”

  I touch her shoulder. “You can also get the mani-pedi you were talking about the other day. You and your sister, if you want.”

  Naomi turns to me. “I think you should stick around for more than a week. Not because you’re rich and can pay for my manicures—”

  “Hey,” Will says. “I can pay for manicures.”

  “Ooh! Do you want to come with me? I think it would be so much fun to go to the nail salon together.”

  “Absolutely not.” He folds his arms over his chest.

  “Julian volunteered to go with me, actually,” Courtney says.

  “Did he?” Jeremy lifts his eyebrows.

  Right. I did. To be honest, Courtney could get me to do pretty much anything. Better for her to go to the salon with her sister, though.

  Lydia comes downstairs with Heather and hands her back to Courtney, who kisses the baby’s forehead. Heather sticks her arm out and nearly pokes me in the eye, then decides she’s more interested in Courtney’s nose.

  “Remember,” Courtney says to Heather. “I’m Aunt Courtney. Your fun auntie.”

  I can’t help it. Seeing Courtney with a baby sets off some unexpected feelings inside me.

  My mother and grandmother would be pleased.

  Chapter 19

  Courtney

  “Try this one!” Naomi thrusts a black cocktail dress in my direction.

  I glance at the price tag. “It’s three hundred dollars.”

  She gives me a look.

  Right. Julian wouldn’t mind me spending three hundred dollars on a dress. It’s pocket change to him.

  He told me the pin number for his “emergency” credit card. I wonder what his limit is. It’s probably something ridiculous. I asked him how much I was allowed to spend, and he wouldn’t give me a number, but after I bugged him enough, he said a thousand dollars for the dress and shoes...and jewelry, if I want it. So three hundred dollars is fine.

  My sister and I are at a dress boutique on Queen Street. We’ve already been to a couple stores, but I didn’t find anything I liked.

  I examine the black cocktail dress. “Okay. I’ll try it.”

  “Wait. This one’s better.” She shoves another black dress into my hands. It has off-the-shoulder sleeves and flares out at the bottom.

  I head to the change room with the two black dresses. The first one is too tight.

  This is what I hate about clothes shopping. It makes me feel self-conscious about my appearance and my weight, though I’m not as bothered by that today as I often am when I’m shopping. I just remind myself of how Julian responds to my body, and it’s easy to restore my confidence.

  The next dress is significantly better. I leave the change room to show Naomi.

  “I love it,” she says.

  When I spin around, the skirt flies up more than expected. I quickly shove it down. “So do I. I’m going to get it.”

  After leaving the dress boutique, we head to a shoe store and get me some strappy black shoes. Then we meet Lydia at a nail salon on Yonge Street.

  I show her the dress, and she tells me it’s lovely. Then she pulls out her phone. “I wonder how Jeremy is doing with Heather.”

  This is her first time away from Heather for more than an hour. She’s getting her nails done, and then she’s heading right back home. Naomi invited her to come dress shopping, too, but she said no.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Naomi says.

  “What if she’s been crying the whole time?”

  We can’t stop Lydia from texting Jeremy, who replies with a picture of Heather sitting in his lap, no tears in sight. Then we pick our nail polish colors and are led to comfy chairs at the back, where we submerge our feet in warm water.

  “Oh my God,” Lydia groans. “This is so nice.”

  We’re quiet for a minute before Naomi turns to me and says, “So you’re sleeping with Julian. What’s he like in bed?”

  “I’m not answering that question,” I say, but I can’t help a smile from crossing my lips.

  It’s Tuesday now, so we’ve been sleeping together for almost a week. I’ve had more sex in the past week than I had in the ten years before it, and it’s pretty phenomenal sex.

  But I’m not saying that out loud in a nail salon.

  “Fine.” Naomi sticks up her nose. “Keep secrets from your favorite sister. See if I care.”

  “You’re my only sister.”

  “So tell your only sister what he looks like without a shirt, since he refuses to pose naked for a charity calendar.”

  “He, um, works out every day and hardly has any body fat. So, uh. He looks very good. Like he could be a model.”

  And I’m sleeping with him. It’s still hard to wrap my head around.

  “Lydia...” I trail off as I glance over at my sister-in-law and see that she’s asleep. I bet she’s seriously sleep-deprived, thanks to Heather.

  I’m a touch sleep-deprived too, since Julian and I were fooling around until midnight, and there was some sex in the middle of the night, too.

  “You really like him, don’t you?” Naomi says.

  I’m not sure how to reply. “He’s nice, and he’s essentially paying me to have fun.”

  I wonder what the other women in the nail salon think of me now.

  “Forget the money,” she says. “You’re falling for him, aren’t you?”

  Julian’s definitely gotten to me a little. I like him, and I’m getting a bit attached...but I’m not falling in love. Although it won’t be easy to go back to my regular life after this, I know I can do it. I have to do it.

  I shake my head.

  “Bullshit,” Naomi declares.

  Lydia awakes with a start. “Bullshit? What’s bullshit? Damn, that was a nice nap.”

  “You were out for all of three minutes,” I say. “Hardly a nap.”

  “I’ll take what I can get. What were you talking about?”

  “Naomi insists I’m falling in love with Julian. She said ‘bullshit’ when I denied it.”

  “Of course you’re falling in love with him,” Lydia says. “What woman wouldn’t? And didn’t he look cute with Heather?”

  “He did,” Naomi agrees. “You should make babies together.”

  “I’ve known him for less than two weeks,” I say. “We are not making babies together.”

  However...

  I once read a book where the heroine’s ovaries twitched whenever she saw her crush playing with a child, holding a baby, or washing dishes. I rolled my eyes and thought it was ridiculous, but my ovaries may have twitched when I saw him with my niece.

  I need to give my ovaries a stern talking-to.

  Naomi turns to the woman who’s massaging her feet. “My sister’s sleeping with a CEO. He doesn’t have a private jet, but he has a penthouse and a... Courtney, what k
ind of car does he drive?”

  “I have no idea. I presume he owns a car, but I’ve never seen him drive.”

  “Well, anyway, he’s so rich that he has a nice car drive him around all the time, and he gave my sister his credit card...”

  “What’s his name?” the woman asks. “If he’s a CEO, maybe I’ve heard of him.”

  “Julian Fong.”

  I shake my head in despair. Now the entire nail salon knows who I’m sleeping with. Multiple women are looking in our direction.

  The older woman on the chair across from me says, “I know his company. My husband has them handle his investments. And I just read in the paper that his family is funding a new cardiology wing at a hospital in Markham.”

  The woman next to me says, “I’ve seen pictures of him before, and...damn.”

  “Are you his mistress?” the older woman asks.

  “No, I’m just—”

  “Not that I’m judging. Nothing wrong with that, as long as he treats you right. In the romances novels I’ve read...”

  The chatter continues, and I try not to turn as red as a watermelon.

  “Okay, okay,” Naomi finally says. “I think this is embarrassing Courtney a little more than I’d intended. Let’s, um, talk about something else! Anyone seen any good movies lately?”

  Naomi eventually manages to drag the conversation away from me and Julian, but I continue to think about him.

  I’m not in love with him, but he makes my pesky ovaries twitch.

  And other parts of me, too, if I’m being honest.

  * * *

  When I get to Julian’s, he greets me at the door with a tie in his hand.

  “I have a surprise for you.” He turns me around so he can blindfold me with the tie.

  I giggle. “Does this surprise involve sex?”

  “That will come later, but for now...”

  He takes my hand. We head up a set of stairs, so I know we’re going to the rooftop patio, and soon I feel a light breeze on my skin. He guides me into a chair before pulling off the blindfold.

  In front of me is a table for two with salad, bread, olive oil, and a bottle of white wine chilling in an ice bucket. Julian sits down across from me. He’s wearing a purple dress shirt, the top button undone, and he looks incredibly sexy.

  And he prepared dinner for me. On his rooftop patio.

  It’s not quite dark yet, but the sun is sinking in the sky, and it’s just the two of us, high above the city.

  “Oh!” I exclaim. “This is amazing.”

  “You haven’t tasted it yet.”

  “Everything you do is amazing.”

  It’s true. Julian doesn’t do anything by half measures.

  The green salad has fresh figs, goat cheese, and a simple vinaigrette, and it does, indeed, taste delicious. I break off a piece of bread, dip it in the olive oil, and pop it into my mouth.

  “Oh my God,” I groan. “This is incredible. Did you bake it?”

  “I’m not that talented.”

  “I suspect you’ll prove otherwise in the bedroom tonight.”

  I haven’t talked freely about sex in years, but with Julian, it’s easy.

  And he really is that talented. In the bedroom...and elsewhere. I’m sure he could bake bread this delicious if he gave it a try. Lack of experience never seems to stop him; his lemon squares, for example, were divine.

  He takes my hand, his touch sending tingles to parts of my body that are not my ovaries, and examines my red nail polish. “How was your shopping trip?”

  “Successful. Don’t peek in the garment bag. I want it to be a surprise, but let me assure you, it’s very sexy.”

  He looks at me with a smoldering gaze. “Did you get shoes?”

  “I did. Also very sexy.”

  “Did you spend a lot of my money?”

  “Including the manicures and pedicures for three people? It was...” I do some quick math. “Close to eight hundred dollars.” I put a hand to my mouth. “Wow.”

  He laughs. “Courtney, it’s fine.”

  “You gave me your credit card and pin number. You must really trust me.”

  “I do.”

  We are quiet for a minute and focus on eating our salads. It’s a simple salad with only a few ingredients—but they are quality ingredients, plus Julian made it for me, and we are sitting outside as the sun sets.

  This is perfect. I don’t want to forget this moment. Ever.

  “Your reaction proves why I trust you with my credit card,” he says. “You would feel too guilty to spend a significant amount of money.”

  “Eight hundred dollars is a significant amount.”

  “It’s nothing. If it makes you happy...”

  “A seventy-five-cent pineapple bun can make me happy.”

  “And I like that about you.”

  He takes away our empty salad bowls and goes downstairs to get more food. I sip my wine and look around. It won’t be a dazzling sunset, but there are still a few brushstrokes of pale orange and pink in the sky, and I feel like it’s just for us.

  Our main course is sausage ragout over polenta.

  “Would you like some fresh pepper?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  He brings out the most enormous pepper grinder I have ever seen. Seriously, it’s gigantic. I wonder if he bought it just for this occasion. It puts Joey the Phallic Cactus to shame.

  “Fortunately,” I say, “I know you’re not compensating for anything.”

  We laugh together.

  Perhaps he bought it just to make me laugh.

  “Parmesan?” he asks.

  I nod and he grates some on top of my food.

  The food is tasty like I knew it would be, and as the sky darkens, Julian lights a couple of candles in the middle of the table. He’s very good at planning a romantic night.

  You don’t deserve this, a little voice whispers inside my head.

  I push it away. It’s just one night. Why shouldn’t I have this?

  But it’s not just one night. I’ve spent a week and a half with Julian, and I’ve had a wonderful time. He’s an incredibly thoughtful man.

  Not to mention, I’m being paid for this. I’ll get a trip to New York and a trip to Montreal out of it.

  I don’t deserve it, but somehow, I have it anyway. It’s like a modern fairy tale, even though fairy tales don’t come true for people like me. There are some things I just can’t have because of who I am.

  I pick up a forkful of polenta and ragout. It no longer tastes right, and when I swallow, it’s almost painful. I try to smile as I reach for my wine glass, not wanting Julian to notice anything’s off.

  What kind of woman gets depressed in the middle of the most romantic dinner of her life? Something is seriously wrong with me.

  I don’t deserve this.

  It’s a good thing it’ll be over soon. Next week, I’ll be back to my regularly-scheduled life, back to my not-so-luxurious apartment.

  Back to not having Julian.

  I can’t have a relationship with anyone. It’s too much of a risk. A relationship could destroy me; it nearly did before. My sister took me to the hospital, and I had to stay there for a week. I had to quit school.

  But, God, I’m going to miss him. The thought of being without him causes a tightness in my chest. He’s been so good to me, and he deserves better. He deserves romantic nights on his rooftop patio with a better woman.

  The thought of that woman is so damn painful, it brings tears to my eyes.

  I struggle to feed myself another bite of dinner, and some of the ragout falls on my shirt. Great. Now I have tomato on my white shirt. I can’t even feed myself without making a mess like a toddler. I’m an idiot.

  “I’ll get Elena to take that out for you,” Julian says. “She can remove any stain.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  Depression washes over me like a giant wave, and I am swept up in it, unable to stop it. On some level, I know I’m not an idiot for get
ting my shirt dirty, and why shouldn’t I enjoy a nice meal with Julian?

  Still, I can’t stop thinking otherwise.

  Five minutes ago, I was fine, eating delicious food and laughing at the phallic pepper grinder like I didn’t have a care in the world.

  And now...this.

  Julian kneels on the floor beside me and takes my hand. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  I hate that he’s so observant. Or maybe he doesn’t have to be observant to see that I’m having a meltdown, because I can’t even hide how fucked up I am. I can’t do anything right.

  Shh. I hear my sister’s voice. You’re okay.

  Maybe I should call her.

  I have plans for when I get like this, which include calling Naomi, as well as a hot cup of tea, a blanket, a favorite book or movie—some combination of those things. I won’t be able to fully enjoy them when I’m in this state, but they’ll help ground me.

  “I need to be alone right now,” I say.

  I don’t look at Julian; I just get up and hurry down the stairs.

  Except apparently I can’t even run down the stairs without being a failure. I trip on the second-to-last stair and go flying.

  Chapter 20

  Julian

  I’m about to follow Courtney when I hear a loud bang and a shriek.

  I rush downstairs. When I see her lying at the bottom of the stairs, not moving, my chest constricts and it feels like I can’t breathe. But somehow, my feet get me to her side, and I continue to get oxygen into my lungs.

  She’s moaning in pain. At least she’s conscious. I didn’t see what happened—I have no idea how bad her fall was—but she looks awful.

  I pull out my phone. “Honey, it’s okay,” I say, trying to sound calmer than I feel. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  She immediately sits up, a terrified look on her face. “The last thing I want to do is deal with paramedics and police officers. Don’t call. Please.”

  Her pleading tone catches me off guard.

  “It would make everything worse,” she says. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re badly hurt.”