Page 2 of Possessive CEO

I don’t even blink as I throw a 100-dollar bill in his face. “Now why don’t you just get coffee somewhere else?”

He blinks slowly as he takes me in. I’m taller and much bigger than him. If he says or does something stupid, he’ll end up on his ass five seconds flat.

“Y-yeah, yeah. Of course.”

He scurries out like the little rat he is and I reach out and slide another 100-dollar bill in the tip jar. Emily looks stunned. Can’t blame her.

Shrugging back into my coat, I smirk and tap the counter. “Till next time, Em.”

I don’t wait for her response. Instead, I head outside, sipping my scalding hot coffee and looking around. I wanted to get away from the city for a while to clear my head so I drove aimlessly without a destination in mind. More than an hour later, I found myself in this small, sleepy town. I wasn’t hungry, but I needed caffeine.

Stopping at this cafe was the best decision I’ve had in years. I just met the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. The way my body reacted to her… It’s as if she’s already mine. I mean, she is. She just doesn’t know it yet.

Something raw, almost primal, roars through my chest and all I want to do is toss her over my shoulder and bring her home.

But I can’t do that. Not yet.

Throwing the empty cup to the trash bin outside the door, I walk towards my truck. It’s a black Land Rover that’s not usually something billionaire CEOs like me drive. But hell, I’ve never been one to stick to rules and conventions. Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em all to hell. I’ve made enough money that I can do whatever I want.

And right now, what I want is to get closer to her, which means she has to quit this job and move to my building. I’ve got a couple of hours to figure it out. No sweat.

I don’t know what it is about Emily. Something about her unsettles me…unhinges me. I have never reacted like this to anyone. Women were distractions and I’ve always hated distractions. I didn’t have time for them and I didn’t care about them.

Leaning back against the black leather driver’s seat, I stretch out my legs and notice very few people milling about. It’s Tuesday morning. In the city, it would’ve been chaotic. I don’t doubt it is in the office.

My phone buzzes with a text but I ignore it. Fuck, I’m tired. I’ve carried the weight of growing my family’s empire since I was a kid. I grew up measuring how I speak, how I think, how I react, to that of a CEO. The long hours, the constant meetings, the never-ending stream of emails and phone calls—it all takes a toll on me. I feel burnt out and exhausted, like I'm running on fumes.

And then comes Emily.

I never have time for church or any kind of spiritual beliefs, and certainly don't believe in any of that new-age tarot crap or serendipity, or whatever lame word people use these days. I always thought that success and material wealth were the only things that mattered. But there's no way someone hasn't hand-delivered me a message via a literal angel.

An angel that says what I've been doing, the fortunes I've been chasing, and the male inclination to mark everything with my name means nothing. Nothing if I have no one to share it with and no offspring to carry the name I've worked so hard to put on skyscrapers and stadiums. And that having a family starts and ends with one person and one person only.

Her.

My priorities begin to shift the second I see her. I know what I have to do.

With a smirk, I dial the number of one of my most trusted contractors. He answers after one ring. “Hello, Mr. Erickson?”

“Dante. Are your hands full?”

“We have a couple of projects, but you know you’re always our priority.”

“I was counting on that,” I tell him as my eyes flick to Emily inside the cafe. She’s busy wiping the tables. Even from here, I can trace her delicious curves. I want to explore every dip, memorize every curve with my hands, mouth, and tongue.

“What did you have in mind?”

“How about a three-day project? No expenses spared. Hire as many as you want to get it done.”

“Okay, Mr. Erickson. I’m listening.”

2

EMILY

Ireturn behind the counter and start arranging the cups, eyes momentarily flicking outside. To the fully tinted truck. Ethan’s truck. I know because my whole body was aware of where he was even if my back was to him. I just tried extra hard not to be too obvious about it.

God, what’s going on? When he entered the door, filling the doorframe, I was sure I was dreaming. He couldn’t possibly be real. In a three-piece suit that looked like it cost more than I made in a year…or two, possibly three. He’s tall and broad. Strong, sharp jaw. Cold, gray eyes. Slicked back dark hair. Five o’clock shadow.

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