Page 1 of The CEO I Hate

1

MIA

Bad news tastes better with butter. That’s science, not opinion.

“Eat your feelings” was a motto I lived by, coming in second only to “eat the rich” and way above “eat your vegetables.” Today, that doctrine was doing the heavy lifting.

I stood in front of the Beans & Brews pastry case like a woman choosing her weapon. Croissant? Comforting, but too subtle. Lemon curd Danish? Tempting, but too cheerful.

My gaze slid to the double chocolate chip cookie.

Thick, obscene, and roughly the size of my sadness. It stared back at me like it knew I was one emotional wobble away from self-destruction.

Perfect.

When I’d originally set out for Beans & Brews this morning, I’d only planned to grab a coffee. Because I’d been in a good mood. A great mood, even!

The sun was shining,andI was ahead of my self-imposed deadline for the next episode of my viral webcomic. But then my phone rang, and I’d made the vital mistake of answering it.

Who even answers their phone nowadays? It definitely shouldn’t be me because the only calls I ever got were either from my parents or from my agent, both of which were practically a guarantee of them telling me horrible, terrible, no good, very bad things.

The long, twisty line shifted, and I shifted with it, drawing closer to that glorious display case and the giant cookie that practically had my name on it.

“Hey!” Kelsey, one of the baristas, called when she spotted me in line. Like so many people in this city, she was waiting for her big acting break. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

I was usually a frequent flier at Beans & Brews. I liked to curl up at the table in the back corner and write or draw. North Hollywood was booming with coffee shops, but the vibes in this place were unmatched.

Kelsey drew closer, a plastic bin on her hip filled with the dirty dishes. “You look like someone stole your favorite grandma. Bad news?”

“Got a pass on that script I’d told you about. My agent called to inform me first thing.”

“Damn. He couldn’t have waited until after coffee?”

“I know, right?”

I sighed. I should have known better than to get my hopes up, but W6 Studios had shown a lot of interest, and I’d broken my own rule: Don’t set yourself up for the pain of rejection. “I’m here to bury my sorrows under a lot of empty calories.”

“That’s fair.” She shifted the plastic bin to her other hip. “I’d better jump behind the counter and help out…but just so you know, if I was some rich studio exec, I’d snap you up in a second, with or without a script, just based on how amazing your writing is inHeart and Hustle.”

“That’s sweet. Thanks, hon,” I said, mustering a smile for her as she walked away. It fell as soon as she turned. I was beyond grateful for all the love my webcomic got…butHeart and Hustledidn’t pay the bills.

Six years out of college and the closest I’d gotten to an actual, legit TV writing gig was being staffed on a show that was immediately canceled. Was this all I had waiting for me? Another string ofalmostsandmaybe next times?

A tall figure cut into the line just ahead of me, interrupting my gloomy thoughts.

Because no. Just no. I might have to take it on the chin when it came to people judging my writing, but I was more than ready to be judgy as hell of a line cutter.

“Really?” I said with as much attitude as I could muster. “How the hell did you miss the fact that there’s a line ten people deep?” But clearly this jerk—he was either furiously texting someone or writing the world’s most aggressive email—had eyes for nothing but his phone. “Too busy to wait in line like the rest of us mortals?”

No response.

I glared at the back of his brown hair, eyes drifting down to take in the tailored cut of his suit that probably cost more than I made in a month. Scratch that…more than I made in six months.

Guys in suits like that might think they owned the world—but I knew for a fact this shop was owned by a sweet eighty-year-old named Gary who was addicted to crossword puzzles. This asshole in Armani had no right to be acting all high and mighty here.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, Fancy-Pants!”

He made a low, irritated grunt but didn’t even bother to turn around or lift his head away from his phone!