Page 6 of Christmas with My Ruthless CEO
There's a pause before his response appears:True. But I'm still not wearing plaid.
I tuck my phone away, still grinning. Three weeks until Christmas. Three weeks to transform Atticus Morgan from corporate shark to community partner. Three weeks of havinghim all to myself, away from the New York office and its endless demands.
Not that I'm counting the days or anything.
Because that would be ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as the way my heart skips when the afternoon sun slants through the glass walls, illuminating Atticus as he crosses the lobby, phone to his ear, looking every bit the powerful CEO even as he catches my eye and winks.
Completely ridiculous.
Later that afternoon, I'm organizing slope-groomer inspection schedules when the air shifts behind me. I don't need to turn to know it's Atticus, his subtle cologne gives him away, that and the particular quality of silence that seems to follow him, as if the world holds its breath in his presence.
"You're hovering," I say without looking up from my tablet.
"I'm observing," he corrects, coming to stand beside me. "There's a difference."
"Mmm-hmm." I glance up at him, noting the slight furrow between his brows. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong."
"Atticus." I put down my tablet and turn to face him fully. "I can read you like one of those financial reports you love so much. Something's bothering you."
He sighs, leaning against the edge of my desk. "The board is questioning the extent of our community involvement. They want to know if it's... strictly necessary."
"And by 'strictly necessary,' they mean 'will it affect the bottom line if we just bulldoze through local concerns?'"
His silence is answer enough.
"You know it is necessary," I say quietly. "Not just for PR, but because it's the right thing to do. Hope Peak isn't just picturesque scenery for your corporate retreat. It's home toreal people whose lives will be impacted by every decision you make."
"I know that." Frustration edges his voice. "But the board...”
"The board isn't here," I cut in, standing to meet his gaze directly. "You are. And you have to decide what kind of legacy you want to build, Atticus. One that extracts value or one that creates it, for everyone."
Something shifts in his expression, a resolution forming. "You're right."
"I usually am." I bump his shoulder with mine. "That's why you keep me around."
"Among other reasons." There's a warmth in his voice that catches me off guard.
I clear my throat, suddenly needing space from the intensity of his gaze. "We should head to the locker room. If we're going to make you look less Wall Street and more Main Street before the meeting."
He grimaces but follows as I lead the way to the ski-gear locker room at the edge of the open workspace. The room is empty this late in the afternoon, walls lined with sleek wooden lockers and benches.
I open my locker and pull out a navy blue sweater, holding it up against him. "This might fit. Jason from my hiking group left it at my place months ago and never claimed it."
"Jason?" Atticus's eyebrow raises. "Should I know about Jason?"
"Just a friend." I hand him the sweater, oddly pleased by his question. "Try it on."
He hesitates, then sets his phone on a nearby bench and begins loosening his tie. I should look away, give him privacy, but I find myself transfixed as he unbuttons his crisp white dress shirt, revealing the white t-shirt beneath. Even through the thin cotton, I can see the definition of his chest and shoulders,evidence of the pre-dawn workouts he never skips, even on vacation.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring.
"Nothing." I blink, forcing my gaze away. "Just making sure the sweater will fit."
"Right." There's a knowing tone in his voice that makes heat rise to my cheeks.
