CEO'd By Him Complete Series Box Set

by Nella Tyler

  As he pulled out of my driveway, I suddenly wondered if what I was doing was appropriate. Dressing up, going out to eat with a client and having him drive me.

  Wasn’t I supposed to be wining and dining him, not the other way around? Even worse – why hadn’t I thought about it before?

  I usually think of everything.

  “Cammie?” Kris’s voice punctured my thoughts, and I looked over at him. He was glancing at me, raising an eyebrow. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  “Oh, gosh, I didn’t, I’m sorry.” I knotted my hands in my dress.

  Stop freaking out; you’re making it worse!

  “Asking if there’s any food you don’t particularly like…” He hesitated. “I realized I didn’t check with you, so I went with an old Birmingham favorite. Hope that’s okay.”

  For the first time since I met Kris Boldin, he sounded unsure, and I had to purse my lips to keep from laughing. I didn’t think it was possible for him to be anything less than confident and it was pretty damn adorable.

  “Kris, anywhere is fine, really. It was extremely nice of you to take me out of the office,” I said. Silently I prayed it wouldn’t be too expensive. My bank funds were pretty low since I’d been paying stuff down. Well, I could always charge the meal, even though I hated doing that.

  “Nice.” Kris let out a small chuckle. “Ahem, yes, nothing but pure intentions on my part.”

  Unable to help myself, I retorted, “Mhmm. You know, I am an Alabama girl. We may be demure and sweet, but we’re keen. So no funny business, sir.”

  As we pulled up to a red light, Kris turned to me, his face lit up, and he leaned over. “I’ve no doubt about that. Which is to say, why I’d never dream of leading you astray, Ms. Book.” His voice had dropped into a perfect imitation of a Southern accent, and I laughed. “Don’t you worry about it. Although the bad jokes and poor attempts at comedy are, unfortunately, incurable.”

  “Are you saying that I shouldn’t be laughing with you, but at you?” I teased, leaning in a little as well. “Or are you angling for a compliment that you are in fact funny?”

  Kris and I were inches apart, our breath mingling and an unreadable look appeared in his eyes. Suddenly the light turned green, and a cacophony of horns immediately blasted out.

  Immediately, both of us jumped back, Kris peeling off, glancing in the rearview mirror, while I rubbed the bottom of my lip back and forth with my index finger.

  Had I just…? Did we…? Were we…?

  No. No! Absolutely not. In fact, I wasn’t even going to go there.

  Glancing at the dress, I eyeballed it again, wondering if Anna had imbued it with some kind of witchcraft. I, Camilla Book, never acted like that or said things like that. It was just Kris’s banter rubbing off on me. And it had been a long week. So if anything, I was reading into things.

  I snuck a glance back at Kris. His face was expressionless, except for the small smile playing around his mouth. He must have sensed my gaze, because he looked at me sideways, teeth flashing in a devilish grin. I quickly looked away as a blush rushed up into my cheeks.

  Oh. Maybe I’m reading things pretty damn accurately after all.

  Before I could confuse myself further, we pulled up in front of the restaurant and I peeked out the window. Wait, I recognized that black and forest-green striped awning. Kris was already out of the car and was opening my door when I fully comprehended where we were.

  “Highlands?” I gasped at him as he opened my door, then deposited the key into the hand of a smartly dressed valet. “Kris, this is so high-end. This is too much! Are you sure?”

  “Frank’s place? I’m sure.” He tucked my arm into his and guided me in. I’d only ever walked by this restaurant; I’d never dreamed of going in. It was one of the top, if not the top restaurant in Birmingham. Celebrities ate here. “It’s not too much for you. And it’s comfortable and delicious.”

  “Ah, Mr. Boldin.” A host had appeared in front of us. “Right this way, sir.”

  We walked through a beautiful, airy room, filled with the low chatter of people, before entering a quiet nook tucked by the window. For a moment, Kris hesitated, an odd look passing over his face as he looked around at it. Suddenly it was like he was alone in the room, with the host and I a million miles away.

  Unable to help myself, a sharp ache going through my chest, I touched his sleeve. “Kris?”

  He immediately smiled at both of us. “Sorry about that. And thank you, Clive.”

  Clive’s gaze was all sympathy as he pulled out our chairs. “Of course, Mr. Boldin.”

  I wondered what had caused that, but I didn’t want to press. Instead, I pretended to gaze around the room and then I really did. “What a gorgeous place! And it smells like heaven.”

  “Two for one,” Kris said, his voice all mischief and jollity again. “I never go anywhere unless ambiance and aroma are rated five stars.”

  Now looking at the menu, I asked in wonder, “Is this French and Southern cuisine combined? I’ve never had anything like that before.”

  Kris grinned. “Sharp as they come. Yes, it is. The chef was a bit audacious in his undertaking, but it worked. That’s probably why he keeps winning awards.”

  “Do you know him? The chef, I mean.” I asked.

  He winced. “Ah, is it way too priggish if I say yes? My dad jumped on this place back in the day, so yeah, he’s an old family friend. I think Dad even shot a commercial for Frank.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Not priggish at all.” I wanted to squeeze his hand, but I resisted. “I actually was going to ask you what the chef would recommend. Or what you would recommend. It all looks so good. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Is this a test?” Kris drawled at me. “Is it going to turn out you’re some kind of foodie with a persnickety palate, and I’m walking directly into your trap?”

  “Absolutely not. If it were a trap, it’d be craftier,” I retorted. A surprised laugh popped out of Kris, and he rested his chin on his hands, those blue eyes taking me in. “What is it?” I finally asked after several moments of silence, while my nerves keyed up another level.

  “Cammie, you – you make every word count. Perfectly pithy, Polonius would have been pleased to know you – ‘brevity is the soul of wit...’” Kris ducked his head. “Sorry, I talk too much. And sometimes I get carried away.”

  “I see. So, quoting Hamlet, Mr. Boldin?” I teased. “Who’s out to impress whom?”

  His eyebrows raised and he leaned forward. “Oh, so it is working.”

  Butterflies waltzed through my veins, and the rest of the restaurant faded away. I tried to remain professional and poised, but I found myself leaning forward too, watching as Kris’s eyes flicked down to my lips and then slowly rise up again.

  “Cammie, you–” Kris began to say, his voice growing rough around the edges.

  “Compliments of Chef Stitt, Mr. Boldin,” interrupted the voice of a server, who suddenly appeared at the edge of our table. With him came the rush of noise of the restaurant and I drew back, flushing.

  Damn Kris Boldin and his sexy wit.

  In keeping up, you inevitably got far too caught up.

  After pouring us each a glass of white wine, the server took our orders. I couldn’t even remember what I’d picked once he walked away. Eager to keep things from drifting towards flirting again, I hastily asked Kris a question about Shakespeare. I needed something safe to talk about, although I was certain he could figure out a way to make turnips poetic.

  Kris was happy to oblige, although I had a feeling he saw right through it. However, I found out that his father had plied him with literature all through his life. And since they traveled so much, with Kris in the company of adults half the time, he’d developed a shrewd ear and a playful, precocious eloquence. One that he’d only recently come to truly embrace. His father had always encouraged it though – even giving him speeches to read and speak out loud.

  “Sometimes I still feel like I’
m growing into it,” Kris admitted to me over our appetizers. “I’ve had some people say I sound like an old, fusty professor or a pointy-nosed theater critic.”

  “Mm,” I said. “They sound jealous. You have something almost everyone wants – a way with words. It gives you the upper hand in a lot of situations since we’re social creatures.”

  Kris grinned slowly. “I like the way you think, Cammie. I may have to you around more often, then, if that’s the case. You could even point that out to the haters.”

  “Oh, no,” I waved my fork. “I’m sure you’d be better at handling those situations than me. While I appreciate your kindness, Kris, I’m usually a mouse. And most of the time, I like being quiet. Except with you.” Then I froze, unable to believe I said that. Damn this man for being too easy to talk to. Hastily I looked up at him, reaching out to touch his hand. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Sorry.”

  As I was about to draw my hand back, Kris caught it and squeezed it. Evening had fallen, and the room was full of dancing candlelight now. It threw shadows across his face, carving out his had jaw and full lips. “Why would I take offense, Cammie? Sounds to me like I’ve been given quite a compliment. Wish I knew what I did to deserve it.” To my surprise, he lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. My bones went weak, and my heart throbbed. “That way I could keep doing it.”

  “Kris,” I breathed in surprise, as he gave me a smile I hadn’t seen before and then gently let go of my hand. Something was tugging between us, building and growing. “I–”

  “Dinner is served!” announced the server cheerfully and we both jumped.

  Instantly I hid my hands as Kris glanced up at him. “Sure you’re not really Banquo, Brian?”

  Brian, the server, was a wiry, freckled youth. He raised his thick ginger eyebrows in alarm. “Pardon? Did… Wait, what?”

  “Nothing, my young friend. Thank you.” Kris said, winking at me.

  After we had begun to eat, I steered the conversation away from Shakespeare, worrying the Bard was encouraging the flirting. Although I found out that Kris had spent a year interning at the Globe Theater and had even been an understudy for Macbeth. All of which made perfect sense.

  In comparison, I couldn’t help but think about my own childhood, which had none of the color and magic of Kris’ – only homely, comfortable days that defined Cropwell.

  At that point, though, Kris seemed to feel he’d taken up too much of the conversation and began asking me questions. I tried to answer honestly, but also skated over most of the details so as to focus on the good.

  At the end of our meal, Kris’s gaze was more serious, and I winced, wondering if he’d read between the lines. “You know,” he said abruptly, “I’ll be the first to tell you I can be an idiot. But I hope you know I’m not enough of an idiot to not see the grace and beauty of a small-town girl striking out into the big city – quiet, fiery and determined. You’ve scaled quite the mountain.”

  “Oh, Kris. No, no it’s nothing. If anything I’ve just started scaling the mountain. It’s real estate, not a fortune 500 company. I mean, look at you, a young, famous CEO. You’ve done well.”

  “Luck of the draw,” he said absently, his eyes growing stormy and distant for a moment.

  Feeling awkward, I diverted the subject to music, asking if he’d ever been to the outdoor blues bar or if he liked any of the parks around the city. He seemed to realize what I was doing and gave me a smile, jumping back into the conversation. Once our desert had been brought, mouthwatering cinnamon tarts, I’d turned to get my purse and gasped.

  The folder I’d almost forgotten about earlier had been forgotten. Again. Oh no. What kind of a realtor was I to forget about talking about houses? I wanted to groan or tear my hair out. The kind of realtor too wrapped in conversation – too wrapped up in Kris.

  “What’s that?” Kris asked, and I cringed.

  Turning back to him, I pulled it out and held it up. “Houses. Kris, I can’t believe it, I’m sorry. I didn’t bring up one single house. This is unforgivable on my part.” Please don’t fire me.

  “It’s my fault,” he said, waving me off. “Trust me, if there’s anyone who can get you off track and talking about the comedic stylings of the Bard and blues, it’s me.” He paused. “Although, you were the one to bring up the blues.” Then he smiled gently. “Cammie, I’m joking. It’s no big deal.”

  Clutching the folder, I looked down at it, trying to come up with the right words without sounding like a hysterical lunatic. No, Kris, this is my job! It’s a very big deal.

  Oh, God, maybe I shouldn’t have taken him as a client.

  Kris was saying something, and I forced myself to listen. “I know this is last minute, but how about this – if you don’t mind me taking up more of your free time…” I looked up at him. “Come over tomorrow night. Show me the houses, and I’ll cook you dinner – the penalty for talking too much. It’s my worst and best quality, as you’ve probably realized. I’ll try to exercise restraint tomorrow.”

  “Kris, you don’t have to do that,” I murmured, shoulders slumping. I was free, but going to his home seemed to throw another unknown into this already bizarrely tangled situation.

  “Not free?” Kris asked casually, but a small dent had appeared between his brows.

  “No, it’s not that. I’m free, of course,” I said, then cringed at how lame I sounded. “It’s just – haven’t I wasted too much of your time?”

  Kris burst out laughing. “Cammie, you… No. Not in the least. Actually, I think this is the best time I’ve had in months,” he said. Then he got up and pushed in his chair before extending his hand out. “Completely worthwhile, not wasted.”

  I let him pull me up. “Are you sure?” I asked softly, unable to meet his eyes.

  “Cammie,” he said, and I looked up at him. He tilted his head to the side. “I’m sure.”

  As we walked out of the restaurant, I realized I hadn’t paid, but when I tried to say something, Kris just shook his head. “No, no, it’s already all taken care of. But if you really worried about it, you’ll let me cook for you tomorrow.”

  “How is that fair?” I laughed.

  We were standing outside now, waiting for the valet. Kris had swept off his jacket and tucked it around my shoulders before I could utter a word. Now he was standing a little behind me, his mouth hovering by my ear and stirring the hair against my neck.

  “Trust me, it’s more than fair. So how about it? Tomorrow?”

  Glancing back at him, I felt like an old-time movie star as I nodded. “Tomorrow.”

  Kris let out a small sigh and grinned. At that moment, I realized he hadn’t been sure of me saying yes, and a strange, triumphant excitement bubbled up inside of me.

  The worry about the houses ebbed away, and instead, I felt oddly calm. Standing there with Kris, suddenly everything seemed possible and not improbable.

  Everything would work out.

  Chapter 13

  Kris

  Dragging over the second cardboard box I’d brought from my dad’s house to my apartment, I flipped open the top and exhaled in a huff. “What did you have against labeling, Dad?”

  I’d stopped there early this morning to pack away pictures and other things of his I wanted before filling my car with them, along with all other boxes, mostly filled papers I had to go through. And so far, I’d spent four hours digging through them – four hours of hellish, dusty torment.

  My back was aching from sitting on the floor. Around me, the boxes were heaped on the couches, strewn across hardwood and clogging the doorways. The apartment felt like a mix between being packed and unpacked. While I slept here most of the time, it was where most of my clothes were, I also had been sleeping at my dad’s, too. To say the least – it was unsettling, frustrating and exhausting – and I couldn’t wait to have a permanent place to live.

  A light knock came at the door, and my head flew up. Speak of the… Glancing at the time, I scrambled to my feet, wiping at my filthy
shirt and cursing myself for not checking the time. I’d wanted to take a shower and have everything ready for her.

  Pulling open the heavy front door of my loft, I saw Cammie waiting on the steps and a swooping feeling dove through my stomach. Last night had been gone by all too fast. I hadn’t had that much fun in a long time. It was a blur of laughter, candlelight and Cammie’s warm hazel eyes. She had this habit of dropping her eyes and looking back up through her curly lashes, an unconscious, demure, lady-like gesture. And every single time she did it, I’d found it harder and harder to think straight.

  “Hey, good evening,” I said as I opened the door and then glanced down at my shirt. “So, I owe you again. I’m sorry.”

  “Already?” Cammie smiled at me as she came in and her eyes carefully took in my loft, then me and raised her eyebrows. “Should I come back?”

  While last night she’d been gorgeous in her dress, today she was just as beautiful in blue top and jeans. Her hair was no longer loose and down, but held in two low pigtails. It was both cute and sexy at the same time. I wasn’t quite sure how she managed it, but it made my mouth go dry.

  Slightly dazed, I blurted out “No! No, no. Here, come in the kitchen and let me change, then I’ll make us both dinner. Trust me, I’m starving.”

  “Alright,” she said, trailing me. “But you have to let me help.”

  “Those are your terms?” I turned and walked backward, watching her. “You drive quite a bargain, Book.” Then I swung around and sighed at the disaster that was the living room. We could eat in the kitchen – there were stools along the bar – but I’d still wanted to clean up before Cammie got here. “Sorry about this.” I gestured. “There’s a lot going on, and I lost track of time.”

  “It’s fine.” Cammie set herself up at the kitchen counter.

  After hesitating another moment, I darted into my bedroom, which was half-packed, half-a-mess and quickly changed into jeans and a baggy Alabama U shirt. It wasn’t what I’d wanted to wear, but it would have to do. Along with cleaning, I’d also meant to do laundry.