Hot CEO: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Charlize Starr

  The space I rented over the phone is great. It’s an entire one-bedroom house for less than the price of the cramped studio apartment I was renting in the city, all charming and old-fashioned with cute wallpaper and a view of the mountains and a little front porch to sit on and relax. I’m in love with it already. And everywhere I go, the town itself seems alive, even now in the stillness of this early morning. I smile walking past every window, taking in all the little businesses and storefronts I hope to get to know inside and out and all the shop owners I can’t wait to make friends with. I’ve got the most delicious cup of coffee from a little diner down the road where I’d also had a warm, gooey cinnamon muffin and watched patrons and locals eating before they headed to work. The waitress had told me that my bottomless coffee refills included a complimentary to-go pour, something I can’t imagine happening in the city. It’s still warm and comforting in my hand as I make my way through town.

  I pause outside an old-fashioned chocolate shop, noticing the small sign in the window announcing that they’re hiring.

  My grandma had loved making chocolates. Some of my happiest memories are of standing in the kitchen with her, talking about my day at school or hearing stories from her youth while stirring that hot, sweet-smelling liquid before pouring it into little candy molds or dipping fruit or nuts into it. Working in a quaint little shop like this might be a great way to capture a little bit of that feeling again. I think I could be passionate about making chocolate if I could prepare it with all the love and care my grandma put into making it with me. Maybe seeing the look on my customers’ faces when they take their first bite, giving my seal of approval to a product I can say with all honesty that I’d recommend, is the missing ingredient from my work in advertising. I see that the shop opens in an hour, so I decide to head up to the small library in town to print out my resume. I hope I’ll be able to catch the owner this morning and get the details of my new life all sorted on my first day here.

  I turn back around from the shop window and proceed to collide squarely with something tall and sturdy.

  Or, rather, someone tall and sturdy.

  A man – an attractive man who is now wearing my coffee on his shirt and whose arm I’ve grabbed instinctively for support – is frowning down at me.

  “Oh, crap!” I blurt, regaining my balance. The man in front of me is ruggedly handsome with broad shoulders and serious sort of face. He’s carrying a paper bag filled with groceries, and though he’d put up an arm to catch my fall, he doesn’t look happy about it. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were there.”

  “Watch where you’re going,” he says, scowling down at the coffee spill on his shirt. I scoff a little at that. He could have just as easily avoided me. He could have stepped aside.

  “I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone,” I say, crossing my arms. “The sidewalks have been so empty this morning.”

  “Then maybe you should pay attention next time,” he says. His voice is rough and gravelly – as if he doesn’t use it much. I can’t help but think, Well, maybe if you’re this much of a jerk to everyone, then it makes sense. No one would want to talk to you. I feel my blood start to boil but shake my head, dismissing it. I’ve always had trouble backing down from a fight, so I have to consciously remind myself it’s not worth it to get into it with a stranger over something so trivial as coffee.

  “Let me pay for that,” I say, reaching for my purse to dig out a pen and paper.

  “Pay for what?” he asks, and his forehead wrinkled in confusion. It would be attractive if he weren’t still looking at me like I’d greatly inconvenienced him. Like somehow I’m the one being rude here.

  “Your shirt,” I say, clicking my pen open. “Send me your dry-cleaning bill.”

  “My dry-cleaning bill,” he repeats as if I’ve said something foolish. Really, what is this man’s problem? “I made the coffee stain, so I can

  pay to get it out. Then we’ll be even,” I say. I write my name and number down on a sticky note and hand it to him. “I’m Mia,” I add, sticking the paper onto a carton of eggs sticking out of his grocery bag when he doesn’t take it from my hand.

  “Jacob,” he says in a mutter that sounds more like a grunt. I frown again. No ‘thank you.’ No ‘you really don’t need to do that.’ No ‘well, then, nice to meet you, Mia.’ Nothing. Everyone else I’ve met so far in this town has been so sweet, so pleasant, like when I was a child, but this Jacob seems to have no manners at all.

  “Well, Jacob,” I say, putting an extra sickeningly-sweet note of cheer in my voice just to spite him. “Give me a call about the bill, will you?”

  He doesn’t respond again, and I’m tempted to really give him a piece of my mind about it all. But I look back at the chocolate shop window, getting a whiff of something sweet from inside, and I try to make my anger melt away with it. Don’t let some random grouchy man ruin your day, Mia, I tell myself. He’s just not worth it. I’m better than that, I remind myself. After all, I have so many more important things to focus on about my day than a man like him.

  Chapter Two - Jacob

  I’m being a colossal ass and I know it.

  This woman probably thinks I hate her, or that I honestly care that much about this shirt, or that I frequently snap at strangers on the street. It’s not any of that. I don’t even mean to yell at her – I just don’t want to be stopped here on Main Street for any longer than I have to be. The longer I’m here, standing on this sidewalk, the more likely I am to be seen – to be discovered. The whole reason I get groceries this early in the morning is to avoid situations like this. I’ve perfectly planned these rare trips into town every few weeks to occur at the least crowded possible time.

  And because of that, there is now coffee dripping down my shirt and a very pretty woman is looking at me as if she’d like to have a conversation, and all I can think about is getting back up to my cabin before I’m spotted. I know I should offer her more of an explanation, this Mia. I know I should say it’s not a big deal. I should say it was my fault too, or I should offer to buy her another coffee. But I don’t say any of that. I don’t even give her the courtesy to tell her the dry-cleaning offer is kind but unnecessary.

  “Well, Jacob,” Mia says, looking at me expectantly, “Give me a call about the bill.” It looks like it’s an effort to bite her tongue, to physically hold herself back from yelling at me, and I can’t say I blame her. I look at my grocery bag, at the slip of paper that’s affixed to it with her number on it, and then back down at my coffee-stained shirt.

  The last time I got anything dry cleaned, my life was completely different than it is now. I used to have clothes sent out without a second thought, sometimes with no thought at all because assistants would handle it all for me. Clean, pressed, expensive designer clothes used to fill my closets. I’d never had much use for most of them: the personally-tailored blazers sent by companies hoping to do business with us, the leather shoes sent hoping I’d tell a magazine interviewer where I’d gotten them. Still, the constant supply of clean, fresh goods had been something I’d taken for granted.

  But I suppose it’s amazing what you can learn to do without after several attempts on your life.

  The last thing I have time to do right now, all things considered, is stand on this street corner and tell Mia all about how, actually, I don’t need her dry-cleaning offer because I wash all my own clothes with a fifty-year-old washing machine I’d spent a week repairing back to working order all by myself. I don’t have time to explain anything at all about my situation to her. Not that I owe her anything. She’s a complete stranger, and one random stranger thinking I’m rude is better than my hideout being found. I consider just walking off, just turning around and ending this conversation, but –

  But.

  There is something in Mia’s face, a sparkle in her eye and the prodding, slightly disappointed look she’s giving me behind her frustration, that makes me unable to do so. There is something about her that makes me miss m
y old life all at once in a rush – or at least the freedom it granted to ask out a beautiful woman whenever I saw one. To get her number for so many reasons that aren’t related to dry cleaning.

  I pull the slip out of my grocery bag and slide it into the pocket of my jeans. “Right,” I say, nodding. It’s not much better than turning away, but it’s something.

  She gives me an annoyed face and sighs. “Well, I’m sure you need to get those groceries home and get that shirt off,” Mia says curtly, “and I happen to have a busy day of my own to get back to.”

  “Yeah,” I agree. I always used to be told I talked a lot – that I had a habit of telling rambling, drawn-out stories, that I loved to argue a point or engage in debate even a little too much. I guess I’m out of practice now. Or maybe I’ve just never been as good at the in-betweens, everything I say being either single-word answers or inappropriately wordy thoughts. Either way, it makes Mia narrow her eyes at me.

  “Goodbye,” she says in a huff, turning and walking away from me before I can say anything else as if she’s not expecting me to. She’s probably right about that. I watch her for a few seconds and then start on my way back up to my cabin.

  My eyes dart around as I walk, on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. I walk quickly, but not quickly enough to attract attention. Coming into town is always a risk, and this morning proves it. I’m not sure how to get around it, but I’m unsettled about it every time I do, holding my breath around every corner until I make it back up to my cabin and lock the door behind me.

  I’m not sure if being here is safe, even. If I’ve made the right choice making this place my hideout. I’ve got to be careful with everything that I do – even something as simple as running out for groceries.

  If I’m not careful… If I’m found out, it could cost me everything. It could cost me my life.

  Chapter Three - Mia

  It takes several nickels and a little fighting with the paper feed on the old printer in the library, but I get my resume printed and head back to the chocolate shop just after they open. I’m still determined to make this day a new start for my life, even if my run-in with that awful Jacob is still playing on loop in my memory. I can’t get his terrible attitude out of my head. I’ve known all sorts of men in the city, but I don’t know what sort of person behaves that way toward a complete stranger. What sort of man is that rude to a woman in a way that isn’t connected to sleazy pickup lines while trying to buy you a drink at the bar or not calling you about a second date?

  I hate that I can’t get his handsome face out of my head, either. I hate that a small part of me keeps thinking, in spite of everything, that he was the kind of attractive man I wouldn’t say no to if he tried to buy me a drink. If he’d been nicer if I’d met him under different circumstances.

  I know I should let it go, but it’s all still bothering me as I put on my best smile and step into the chocolate shop.

  “Hello there,” I call to the man behind the counter. “I’d like to talk to the owner about the job opening.”

  “That would be me,” the older gentleman says with a smile, stepping out to shake my hand. He’s got a red apron tied around his waist, and his eyes look warm and kind.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, shaking his hand. “I’m Mia.”

  “Well, well. Lovely to meet you, Mia,” he says. “You can call me Martin.”

  “Do you have time to talk now?” I say, smiling. “I brought my resume along with me.” The shop smells amazing, like warm, buttery chocolate and roasting candied nuts.

  “Now should work, I reckon,” Martin says, reaching for the resume I hand him and scanning over it. “Are you new in town, dear?”

  “As of yesterday,” I say, nodding. “I just moved.”

  “I don’t see this kind of resume every day,” Martin says, raising an eyebrow at me curiously.

  “Thank you very much,” I say.

  “When you walked in, I thought you were one of those college kids in for work over the break, but you’ve just got quite the baby face, haven’t you?” Martin says, still scanning my resume. I laugh. I think Martin might be of that age where everyone who is under forty and an adolescent looks like a college kid to him, but I’m flattered regardless.

  “I hear that sometimes,” I say.

  “Can I ask why you’d want to work somewhere like this after all these fancy jobs and titles? I’m afraid you might be a bit overqualified for the job,” Martin says.

  “I moved here because this town means a lot to me,” I tell him. “It’s where my grandparents got married, and they loved it here. My grandmother loved chocolate – making it almost as much as eating it,” I say, chuckling, “and I used to help her when I’d stay with them. So, this shop makes me think of her. It makes me feel like I’m in my grandma’s kitchen again, like a little girl. It makes me happy just being here in a way all those jobs never could.”

  “Chocolate does tend to have that effect on people,” Martin says, smiling fondly. “But you don’t think you’d be bored working here?”

  “Not for a single minute,” I say, grinning back at him, and I mean it.

  “Do you remember any of it? How to make the chocolate or any of the recipes she used?” Martin asks.

  “Not really,” I admit, “but I’m a fast learner, so I’m sure it’ll come back to me.”

  “And you don’t mind that it’s a bit of a pay cut, I’m sure?” Martin says, raising an eyebrow at me. “You must’ve been making much more in the advertising field.”

  “Not at all,” I say. The place I’m renting here is so cheap I can hardly believe it, and everything in town seems so much more affordable than the city already.”

  “Well, what I’m looking for right now is a weekday shift leader. I need someone to open the shop, to help run the back, answer the phones, send out orders, ring up customers, and supervise some of the high school kids who work the register. I’ll be here to help most days, but I need someone I can trust to be here without me. Does that still sound like something you’d be interested in?” Martin asks.

  “That sounds great,” I say. “I worked in a bookstore during high school, so I know how to run a cash register, and I’m excellent on the phone and with customers.”

  Martin chuckles again, and I wonder if I’m coming on too strong, too overenthusiastic. I know I tend to do that at times. “I’d ask you more standard interview things or have you fill out our paper application, but like I said, you’re overqualified, so I don’t think I need to,” he says. “I’d be looking for someone to start this week, so if you’re available, I think we might be able to work something out.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, breathing a little sigh of relief and reaching out to shake his hand again. “I’m available as soon as you need me.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Martin says. “Well, then. Welcome aboard.”

  “I’m really excited to be here,” I tell him because it’s true. This is how I’d hoped this day would be. Not Jacob and his one-word grunted answers but nice people, a slower pace, and a fresh new start. I think my grandparents would approve, loving the idea of me working in a chocolate shop like this with someone like Martin.

  “Let’s get you set up with some paperwork, and you can tell me all about your grandparents while you fill them out,” Martin says. “If they spent a lot of time here, it’s possible I knew them.”

  I spend the rest of the morning in the shop, filling out tax forms and contact information while telling Martin about my grandparents with that warm, sweet smell lingering in the air the whole time. The more it swirls around us, the more it pushes the unpleasant thoughts of Jacob and of my old life in the city out of my mind almost entirely.

  Chapter Four - Jacob

  Cutting the wood for my fire always makes me feel more focused and less stressed with every aim and swing. I’m chopping a little more than I need right now to let some of the tension of this morning out. I’ve always liked the outdoors –
always liked having physical outlets for when I get too in my head, excited by the challenge of roughing it up a little. Of course, that always used to be centered on trips with the Scouts as a kid and the occasional weekend bonding adventure with my father. I’d never really planned on doing it full-time like this.

  I think it’s helping, though. It’s clearing my head a bit already from the mess the last few years have been. Having to survive on so little, making and repairing so much by hand, and relying so fully on only myself has really helped me see a lot of things in a new light. I used to do a lot of running. I was always busy, rarely home. Life moved at such a fast pace with the business and the constant family pressure. Out here, I have no choice but to take life slowly. I have to make every choice with purpose. I think it’s good for me, even if there are a lot of people and experiences I miss greatly and the loneliness is already starting to get to me.

  It hasn’t helped me figure out my plan yet, but at least I have the space to do it. I always have to be on guard, and this morning had been too close, but overall, I think I’ve picked a good spot. It’s hard to hide out from your own brother – someone who shares so much in your life. But my brother Calvin always hated this cabin. He always hated the outdoors in general. When Dad and I would come up here for the weekend, he’d refuse to tag along and then get all angry about being left out of whatever fun we had together up here, so it’s always been a spot of contention for him.

  Calvin doesn’t stay in anything but five-star accommodations these days or travel less than first-class. He’d never dream of leaving behind the city life to come out here and find me, with his glitzy world of new nightclubs, new parties, and new women every night. Calvin has always been too dependent on other people and things for his happiness – the buzz and excitement of public life, getting the VIP treatment, and having other people know his name everywhere he goes. It would never even occur to him to look for me in these mountains.