Page 3 of Possessive CEO

He was so out of place here. Everyone else turned to look at him, but he was oblivious to their attention. His eyes narrowed to slits when he saw me and a muscle twitched in his jaw as he closed the distance between us.

As he got nearer, my heart pounded wildly in my chest and it drowned out the sounds. It felt like it was just him and me inside this small cafe. He towered over me and I had to tip my head back to look at him. He was even more ruggedly handsome and sexy up close.

Something hot and unfamiliar unfurled in my belly and I started rubbing my thighs together.

Good thing my years of working as a barista kicked in and I didn’t embarrass myself in front of him. When our hands accidentally touched, my skin turned feverish and I throbbed. Pulsed with need. My knees wobbled and I wanted nothing more than to launch myself to him and feel those massive arms around me.

A musky, masculine scent wafted up to my nose as I handed him his order, making my heartbeat erratic. My mind raced with possibilities, desperately trying to think of a way to make him notice me.

I’m sure my panties are soaking wet. Shit. Here I am, a 20-year-old acting like a teenager who just saw her crush.

Is it because he’s so good-looking? No. No. It’s more than that. But yes, he had a face and body that would give every model and Hollywood actor a run for their money. That’s the thing, though. Physically, he was hard to ignore, but that wouldn’t have done something to me. No, there’s something else. Something beyond that veneer. Something almost…animalistic? Feral? Like he’s the kind of guy who’d go all caveman if someone else touches his girl.

Yes. That’s it.

It’s the strength and danger emanating from him. I bet no one would ever cross him, no one would dare challenge him.

And maybe…

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him.

As someone who grew up without a father and a neglectful mother, I learned early on that the only one I could rely on was myself. If I didn’t have money and had no way of buying food, me and my little sister would have to sleep our hunger away. If I didn’t know how to defend myself, whatever money I had would get stolen right under my nose. If I didn’t land at least three jobs, money would run out after a week.

I never knew how it felt like to have someone share my problems with, have someone to take care of…me.

Whoever that guy—Ethan—is with, I hope she knows just how lucky she is. What I’d do to have him by my side. I can only imagine how freeing it is to be with him, who definitely doesn’t take shit from anyone.

Pathetic.

He’s probably forgotten all about me, and yet, here I am being jealous of a woman I do not know, a woman I’m not even sure exists. Because Ethan can have anyone, so there’s no way he’ll want someone like me.

* * *

“Two caramel macchiatosand one almond croissant for Sid!”

“One mocha frappuccino with double shot espresso for Tyler!”

“One matcha tea latte, one cookie crumble frappuccino, one chocolate cream cold brew, and bacon & egg sandwich for Sarah!”

God, I’m exhausted.

I stand behind the espresso machine, gazing longingly at the rows of chairs just a few steps from me. My feet ache, and my back protests against the unforgiving hours I’ve been spending on my feet. Of course, my one-size-too-small shoes don’t help. I won’t be surprised if I get home and find my toes already deformed.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my job as a barista. Yes, even with the lousy pay. I mean, the smell of freshly ground coffee never fails to wake me up. I actually enjoy the latte designs too. But I’d be lying if I say it’s not physically tiring.

I look over the tables and quickly scan the receipts if all the orders are complete. Yep, I can use a quick bathroom break. I walk slowly to the employees’ bathroom dragging my feet because they’re killing me.

It doesn’t take me five minutes to relieve myself, massage the arches of my feet, wash my hands, and fix my hair.

When I get to the counter, Mr. Jacques is there. The owner. My boss. A total prick. Absolute asshole.

He’s tapping his fingers on the counter and eyeing me over his smudged glasses. He’s sweating profusely and I’m particularly bothered by the sheen above his lips. How hard is it to wipe his sweat? He’s wearing a three-piece suit. Unlike Ethan’s, his doesn’t look good on him. Oh, I don’t doubt it’s expensive. But Mr. Jacques is one of those who can cheapen any designer clothes you give him. Must be his disgusting attitude.

Finally, he takes out a handkerchief and wipes his face. “Where you been?” he asks, voice loud enough for the customers to notice.

I feel my face heat up. This is his thing—embarrassing employees and reminding them that without him, they won’t have food on their table. “I just went for a bathroom break.”

“That long? What did you do? Take a shower or somethin’?” he scoffs and runs his hand along the side of his head, both of us pretending as if I don’t know he’s wearing someone else’s hair.

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