Page 88 of The CEO I Hate

There were a few blog requests for interviews aboutHeart andHustle, so I responded to those while cramming the protein bar in my mouth. I kept scanning, my eyes locking on an email from Damien. The glob of chocolate protein in my mouth went down hard. He must have sent this while Lyle and I were talking through the scene.

I almost groaned, thinking about what the email might contain. He’d been attempting to hit on me a lot recently, and it was creeping me the hell out. How many ways could a girl say she was not interested? What did I have to do, stamp the words across my forehead?

The door swung open and—speak of the damn devil—Damien walked in, holding a salad bowl and some neon green juice.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, shooting me a sleazy grin.

“I did say I was staying to work,” I muttered.

“Must be my lucky day.”

Oh, for the love of…If he started back up with the shitty pickup lines, I was going to lose it. My eyes dropped back to my screen, but the hairs on my arms stood as Damien walked around the table, skipping over his chair to sit right next to me.

He touched my shoulder, and it took everything inside me not to recoil. “You have to be eating more than that,” he said, gesturing to my makeshift dinner.

A soft growl rumbled from the corner. I glanced over. Ash was still sprawled by the snack table, but his head was up now, ears forward, eyes locked on Damien. His tail was still, no wagging. Damien didn’t notice.

“Take my salad,” he insisted.

“Really, I’m fine. If I wanted something, I would have gone and bought it myself.”

“Hey,” he said, “you don’t have some crazy idea that you need to starve yourself to be attractive, do you? Because personally, I like a woman with some meat on her bones.”

His hand came up to pinch at my waist—and that right there was where I reached my limit. I’d tried being professional, I’d tried being a “team player,” I’d tried to go along to get along, but there was only so much I could take. I shot to my feet, the chair behind me knocking against the wall.

“Keep your hands off me,” I said, taking a step back.

Damien blinked at me, lip caught between his teeth, shaking his head slowly. “Oh, Mia. You’re the same feisty girl you always were. The way you’re always arguing with Lyle.” He stepped toward me; I stepped away. “You really know how to get a guy going, you know that?”

Ugh, had this guy totally slept through #MeToo? Did he think we were still living back in the golden age of guys getting away with being absolute, unmitigated pieces of slime to women in the workplace? And had it somehow escaped his notice that I had a higher rank here than him? Or did he still see me as the college junior I’d been back when I’d taken his screenwriting class?

That girl had done a lot of growing up since then. He, meanwhile, had regressed. He’d always been a creep, but at least his behavior had beenmostlyappropriate back then. There were some tasteless jokes, some stares that lingered a little too long, but he’d gone more for subtext and innuendo. Not these blatant passes, reeking of laughably unearned confidence. What the hell had I ever done to make him think I was interested in one single thing he had to offer?

“We have to look out for each other,” Damien said. “It’s a tough business. It’ll wear you down. I know all about that. About how frustrating it can be.” He came closer. “But you know what you need? A little stress relief.”

He reached for me, and I knocked his arm away. “I told you not to touch me, Damien.”

“Oh, c’mon, Mia. We’re old friends, right?” He flashed me another slimy smile. He reached out again, got his hand on my waist, his fingers clumsy and grasping.

“And I saidno!” I shoved at his chest as hard as I could.

Damien stumbled back a step?—

—and Ash exploded out of the corner with a bark that was all teeth and fury. He planted himself between us, growling low and deep, the fur along his back standing straight up.

Damien froze. “Jesus,” he muttered, backing up another step.

There was movement out of the corner of my eye, and I turned to see Liam standing in the doorway, as furious as a bull about to charge. I’d never seen him so angry.

“Pack your shit,” he spat at Damien. “You’re fucking done here.” He marched in, gritting his teeth so hard I could almost hear it. “And you can forget about ever doing any work with VeriTV again—on this project, on any other project, on mopping our damn floors. You’re not welcome here in any capacity.”

I took hold of the back of his shirt. I didn’t want him to do something stupid that might leave him open to a lawsuit or even assault charges. It turned out I didn’t need to worry though. He didn’t move in for a punch or anything like that. He just planted his feet and stared Damien down. “And forget about working with anyone we’re affiliated with.”

Damien blustered, choking out his words. “You can’t treat me this way.”

Liam scoffed. When he spoke, his voice was ice cold and full of contempt. “I can and I will. Good luck trying to pitch that show toanyone now. Within the hour, every producer on this side of the country will know better than to take a meeting with you.”

The door opened again. “Lyle will have a thing or two to say about this,” Damien said, gesturing as Lyle walked in, confused at the sight in front of him.

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