Mr. Hotshot CEO Page 16

  Courtney frowns at the menu. “I bet the croissants are good here. Maybe we should get a croissant. Except you can get a croissant anywhere... Sorry for being so slow at this. I’ll get the chocolate-raspberry tart, and you can get the chocolate cake with salted caramel, and I promise not to steal more than half.”

  “Why don’t we get three things to share?”

  We choose a strawberry éclair for our third pastry, and we also order a pot of tea. When our food arrives, she takes a few pictures—for our scrapbook, she says—before trying a bite of the tart.

  “This is the greatest thing ever.” She moans in pleasure.

  After tomorrow, I won’t get to hear that sound again. My chest constricts.

  “Well, it’s the greatest thing ever except for...you know.” She does something weird with her left eye.

  “Were you trying to wink?”

  “Obviously.” She does it again. It’s adorable, but it looks more like she has a bug in her eye than a sexy wink.

  “I hate to tell you this,” I say, “but you’re very bad at winking. Have you ever looked in the mirror while doing it?”

  “No, but I’m going to right now.”

  Before I can protest and say it can wait, she’s gotten up from her chair and started toward the washroom. I resist the urge to finish all the pastries in her absence.

  She comes back with a sober look on her face. “You’re right. I can’t wink. I tried with my right eye, too, and it was even worse.”

  “Let me see.”

  “No way. It’s embarrassing.”

  “If you show me, you can have the rest of the chocolate-raspberry tart.”

  Apparently, this is enough of an incentive, and Courtney does something funny with her right eye, then bursts into laughter.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it?” she asks between laughs.

  “Yeah, it kind of is.” Since she’s laughing, I can’t help but laugh, too.

  This is something Old Julian never would have done: just sitting in a pâtisserie with a woman, eating dessert and drinking tea and laughing together. Before Courtney, I never would have taken a spontaneous trip to Montreal, and I would have checked my phone at least twice since we sat down. I wouldn’t have been able to lose myself in the moment.

  That’s when it hits me.

  I’m different from who I was before, so maybe I can have a relationship.

  When I first decided to go along with my family’s plan, I thought I’d have a break, then be refreshed when I went back to my life of non-stop work. I didn’t expect the time off to actually change me.

  But I don’t want to work fourteen-hour days anymore. Although a part of me is eager to get back to the office, I hate the idea of doing nothing but work now. Sure, I’d like Fong Investments to grow and become even more of a success, but not at the expense of me having no life whatsoever. I want to have time to read on my rooftop patio, wander around the city, eat pistachio gelato...

  And I want Courtney to be with me.

  I wonder if this was part of my family’s plan when they ordered me to take two weeks off work. Maybe they thought it would not only give me a break but make me realize I need a better work-life balance. Work-life balance isn’t something I thought about before—I was too busy working to think about it. And if my workaholic tendencies put a serious strain on a relationship, that’s a serious problem and I should seek professional help rather than just resigning myself to never having a significant other.

  Unlike my past relationships, I’m emotionally invested in this. I haven’t been holding myself back with Courtney. Is it because I haven’t had to worry about work in the past two weeks, or is it because of her?

  I think it’s because of her. She’s special. I feel a sense of peace and enjoyment with her that I’ve never felt with another girlfriend; I feel like I’m more than a workaholic CEO in her presence, more than the responsible son who gets things done.

  The idea that I could really be with Courtney still feels new and fragile and hard to believe, but it might be possible after all.

  * * *

  Full of pastries, we begin walking up Mont Royal, the small mountain within the city. It’s a lovely late-summer day, the blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds. When we get to the top, Courtney takes lots of pictures, once again saying it’s for our scrapbook. Then we hike along a trail through the woods. At one point, I pull her to the side of the trail, wrap my arms around her from behind, and kiss my way up her neck. At first she laughs, and then she sighs...and then my lips meet hers. We’re trying to get closer, closer, closer...

  By the time we reach the large cross at the other end of the mountaintop, gray clouds are rolling in. The image of the cross against the darkening sky seems ominous, and I shiver despite the warm air.

  It feels like something bad is going to happen.

  But what? I’m on vacation with a pretty girl, and it’s going well.

  I push that odd feeling aside.

  As we descend the mountain, it starts to sprinkle. We walk faster in the hopes of reaching the hotel before it pours, but the rain quickly becomes heavier. I didn’t even think to check the weather earlier. It looked like such a nice day.

  There’s a crack of thunder in the distance. Courtney starts running, laughing as though it was her plan to get caught in the rain all along. I easily match her stride, and soon we’re running together through the rain, getting absolutely soaked, but it’s okay.

  It’s fine. It’s great.

  The weather is still warm, so I’m not cold, even though my clothes are drenched. Courtney’s T-shirt clings attractively to her chest.

  Suddenly, I realize she isn’t beside me anymore, and I stop and turn back. She’s several paces behind me, bent over with her hands on her legs.

  “Sorry,” she says as I approach. “I’m not in the greatest shape.”

  When she straightens up, she slides her fingers through my wet hair and kisses me. Her mouth is warmer and sweeter than the rain and I don’t want to let go. Ever.

  I love her.

  The feeling consumes me. I love Courtney, and it feels different from every time this has happened to me before.

  I have no choice: I need to make this work.

  I pull back and look into her eyes.

  “Julian?”

  Even though I know what I want, what I need, I can’t get the words out.

  I’ve had many tough phone calls and business meetings, but none of them caused the anxiety that revealing my feelings to Courtney does.

  When we were at Chris’s Coffee Shop, she told me she wasn’t interested in a relationship. Then again, she also told me she wasn’t interested in a casual fling, and look what happened.

  But there was nothing casual about it from the start, was there? I asked her to move in with me—temporarily, but still—within a few minutes of learning her name. That’s not like me; I’m usually more cautious. Everything has been different with her, and it feels like some part of me knew she was special from the very beginning.

  She told me about her struggles with mental illness, but I’m not afraid of her depression. I want her no matter what, and I’ll find a way to solve her problems.

  No, my fear is that she’ll turn me down. After all, she said she didn’t do relationships. I have reason to think she shares my feelings, but I can’t be certain, and if she turns me down now, it would ruin what we have left of the weekend. I don’t want to do that.

  I can’t bring myself to tell her yet. I’ll wait just a little longer.

  “Julian?” she says again.

  “It’s nothing. Nothing at all.”

  And I kiss her once more.

  * * *

  It stops raining when we arrive at the hotel, the storm perfectly timed for us to get soaked. When we get back to our room, we spend an hour sitting in bed in our white bathrobes, wet clothes in a pile on the floor and cups of tea in our hands. Then Courtney goes to the washroom to get ready for dinner, saying she wants her
outfit to be a surprise. I haven’t seen the dress she bought with Naomi, nor have I seen her new shoes.

  I put on a gray suit and sit on the bed. I tap my foot on the carpeted floor as I wait for her. We’re not late. It’s only five and our reservation isn’t until seven, though we plan to have a drink at a cocktail bar first. But I’m impatient to see her all dressed up.

  I pick up my phone and pull up a stupid game. I play a few rounds before the door clicks open and Courtney emerges from the washroom.

  She’s wearing a black dress that clings to her chest almost as much as the wet T-shirt, and the skirt flares out and ends just below her knees. It’s stunning. It’s like the dress was made just for her, to enhance all of her features. She’s radiant and sexy as hell, and I do not want to wait until the end of the evening to be inside her.

  “New plan,” I say, my voice rough. “We’ll have the cocktails after dinner. But now...” I reach for the zipper at the side of the dress and press myself against her back.

  “I just put this on. You can’t take it off already.”

  “Watch me.”

  She laughs. “No. It took me a long time to get dressed up for tonight. I won’t let you undo it all before we leave the hotel room.”

  “Fine,” I grumble. “If you insist.”

  She walks toward the door, swaying her hips and driving me crazy.

  Today has been almost like a dream, with room service and picture-perfect pastries and kissing in the rain.

  But I know it won’t all be like this. I know a relationship is more than sex and fancy dinners and jetting off to Montreal, and I want all of it with her. I want to be there when she’s down, I want to be there when homemade apple crumble and vanilla ice cream taste like ash in her mouth—it will pain me to see her like that, but I want to be there, and I want to help her.

  I care for her so very much.

  “Julian,” she says, once I’ve been quiet for a minute, “are you still ogling my ass?”

  Chapter 23

  Courtney

  I’d wanted to tease Julian and make him think about sex all evening, but I hadn’t realized it would do the same to me. Now I wish I’d agreed to skip cocktails and let him screw me before we left the hotel.

  Not that my cocktail wasn’t delicious. It had cherry and black pepper and vodka and some kind of herb and...hell, I don’t know. All I know is that it tasted marvelous.

  But we’ve been at the restaurant for almost two hours now. Dinner shows no sign of ending anytime soon, and he’s looking so damn gorgeous.

  I’ve always liked men in suits, and nobody wears a suit like Julian. It hints at large muscles underneath, and I want to grab those muscles and scrape my fingernails over them and lick them, just generally have my way with him.

  We’re at a special restaurant that only has a tasting menu. When I saw the price, I nearly had a heart attack, but then I plastered on a smile and said, “Sure, sounds good,” as though eating at fancy restaurants was just a regular occurrence for me. For the past two weeks, I suppose it has been, though none of the restaurants we went to in Toronto were quite like this.

  The food is delicious. I’m not sure what everything is, and the menu was full of words like “emulsion” and “deconstructed” and “foam,” but it’s all wonderful. The servings are small, however, and there are lots of courses to form a complete meal. I’m not quite full, but at this point I would be content to go back to the hotel, have sex, and order room service at midnight.

  The other problem is that because we’re at a nice restaurant and not alone in our room, I can’t lick the plates clean. I have to remember my manners. Whereas back at the hotel...

  Well, I’d be able to use my tongue as much as I like.

  When our second dessert arrives forty-five minutes later, I nearly shriek with delight before I’ve even tasted it. After this, we’re done!

  “Excited about something?” Julian murmurs, sliding his hand under the hem of my dress and up my knee.

  I try not to squirm as I shake my head.

  “Hmm.” He picks up his dessert fork, then puts it down and rests his chin on his hand. “There’s another cocktail bar that sounds quite good. What do you say we go there and have another drink before—”

  “No!” I say.

  Then I realize he was joking.

  He gives me a slow smile, and his gaze travels down my face, my neck, and comes to rest on my cleavage. There’s no way he wants to have another drink before he gets under my dress.

  Though I suppose going back to the hotel isn’t strictly necessary. I glance down the hall. There are two individual bathrooms, which are small but sufficient for...

  My cheeks burn.

  I was actually considering having sex in the bathroom of one of the most expensive restaurants in Montreal.

  I look down at my dessert. I have no idea what it is, but the plating is a work of art, and when I have a bite, chocolate and fruit explode in my mouth. It’s so creamy and rich and, God, I’m glad we didn’t leave early. Perhaps the dessert is even good enough to give me an orgasm.

  But it would be nowhere near as good as what Julian can do to me.

  As soon as he’s paid the bill, I jump up from the table and stumble on my new heels. Luckily, Julian is there to catch me so I don’t make too much of a scene.

  We walk back to the hotel—less than ten minutes—in silence, but my entire body is aware of him. I’m impatient as we wait for the elevator, hopping from one foot to the other. Finally, it comes, and we take it to the top floor. Once Julian steps off, he starts walking slowly with an exaggerated swagger.

  “Julian!” I squeak. “Stop it.”

  Although I’m annoyed because I want him to hurry to the room and have sex with me, I’m also amused. When I first met Julian, I wouldn’t have imagined him being playful like this.

  But once we get to the room, he’s all business. He presses me against the door, pins my hands over my head, and takes my mouth in his. His kiss is wild, desperate.

  “I can’t believe you made me wait all night,” he says.

  He’s already sliding up my skirt and pushing aside my panties. His finger plunges inside me, and I squirm against him. He’s still holding my arms above my head with his other hand.

  “I can’t believe it either,” I say on a gasp. “It was a mistake.”

  “An awful, awful mistake. Don’t you worry, we’ll make up for it now.”

  His mouth is on mine again, his fingers between my legs. I am so wet for him, and I want more. I want to feel him inside me; I want to be full of him. I want all I can get.

  He tilts his head away from me. His lips are parted, eyes dark and focused intently on mine. This face has become so dear to me in the past two weeks, but our time together is almost over.

  I banish that thought from my mind.

  “I can’t wait any longer,” he says.

  I breathe heavily. “Neither can I.”

  He spins me around so I’m facing the door and presses the length of his body against mine. His erection is hard against my lower back, and oh God, I want him even more now. Then he’s gone and I miss his heat, but my skin prickles as I realize he’s opening his pants. He can’t wait until we get to bed. He’s going to fuck me right here, against the door, both of us fully clothed.

  He rolls on a condom before shoving aside my panties again and rubbing the tip of his cock against me.

  “Yes,” I moan, pressing back against him. “Yes.”

  He pushes inside, and I start shaking. He’s in me, and it feels so right and good.

  His thrusts are fast and deep. It’s nothing like the first time, when we were wrapped up in bed together and he was so tender with me. This time, it’s rough and needy, but that’s exactly what I want right now. So many different things are perfect with him.

  I clutch the door handle, needing to anchor myself. Julian is fucking me harder, grabbing my ass, filling me with such intense sensation—I never knew it could be like this
. My orgasm builds, and when it crashes over me, I hardly know what’s happening. I think I might be falling, but I know he’s got me.

  He growls and shakes as he finishes inside me. When he pulls out, he wraps his arms around me, and we slide to the floor together and don’t say anything for a long time.

  Eventually, he pulls me to my feet.

  “Let’s go to bed,” he says.

  * * *

  We have sex again in bed. This time, we’re naked and our touches are less frantic. Instead, it’s slow and romantic.

  Afterward, he falls sleep, the lamp beside the bed still on, and I prop my head up on my hand and look down at him.

  We’ve had our fling, and he’s been a wonderful lover. He’s wonderful in every way, in fact. But on Monday, I’ll go back to my regular life. No more penthouses and expensive hotels and tasting menus.

  That’s okay. I don’t need luxury; I like my ordinary little apartment.

  But I’ll miss seeing Julian Fong every day. I’ll miss him so much.

  I let out a choked little cry.

  I’m screwed.

  I told myself I could handle the end, but now, I don’t think I can, and if I’m honest with myself, I was aware of that all along. I knew Julian would get to me, but I wanted him so badly that I was able to lie to myself so I could have what I craved.

  Or maybe it would have been like this even if I hadn’t slept with him. We were still living together, spending so much time together.

  I am so, so screwed.

  My heart lurches in my chest. It wasn’t supposed to get involved, but it did.

  This is the last thing I need, especially when I can feel the impending doom of depression coming my way. Dealing with heartbreak on top of that...well, last time it almost killed me.

  That’s not an exaggeration. I was in the hospital on suicide watch. I couldn’t take care of myself; I could barely even breathe. I just wished everything would end, wished I could crawl into a dark cave and disappear from my own life.

  This won’t technically be a breakup, because Julian and I were never officially in a relationship, but it’s heartbreak nonetheless. He’ll go back to his regular life, and I’ll go back to mine.