Page 30 of Mr. Hotshot CEO

The shower stops, and I picture her pushing aside the shower curtain, wrapping a towel around her wet, naked body...

Damn.

I hear the whir of the hair dryer and wonder how much longer she’s going to be. It’s eleven o’clock and I still haven’t reallydoneanything today. Vince would be proud.

But when Courtney finally emerges, wearing dark jeans and a flowing red tank top, she looks so beautiful that I immediately decide the past thirty-one minutes—yes, I timed her—were worth it.

Her suitcase is white with butterfly silhouettes. I carry it downstairs and give it to my driver, and Courtney takes my hand, pulling me toward Broadview. It’s strange holding hands with her, and just as I’m getting used to it, she lets go.

I start to ask her where we’re headed, then clamp my mouth shut, knowing it’ll be futile.

A few minutes later, I look to my left, expecting to see Courtney, but she’s not there. Nor is she to my right. No, she’s several meters behind me. I sigh and head back to her.

“You don’t need to walk like you’re late for a meeting,” she says, slowing her pace even more. Then she spreads out her arms. “Enjoy the fresh air. Smell the roses.”

“Right,” I say. “This part of Broadview isn’t particularly interesting.”

A mother and two young children, maybe five or six years old, pass us from behind.

Nobody ever passes me when I’m walking. Usually I walk at a fast clip, and I want to punch the people who walk slowly and block my path.

But now I’m the slow walker. I ball up my hands in frustration. “I can’t walk this slowly without wanting to punch myself.”

She chuckles and slows down even more. We’re barely moving forward at all.

I shouldn’t have made that comment.

“Do you always walk like this?” I ask in horror.

In response, Courtney does something even more horrifying. She stops so she can answer my question. My God, she appears to be one of those people who can’t walk and talk at the same time.

“Hmm.” She puts her finger to her mouth. “Well, if you really want to know, I learned to walk when I was thirteen months old and then when I was two—”

“Courtney!”

She smiles. “I was just walking slowly to see how you’d react.”

Damn her. But I can’t help returning her smile.

She starts moving again, at a reasonable pace this time. Not as fast as I would normally walk, but it’s a perfectly acceptable pace that doesn’t make me want to punch things.

I let her walk in front of me so I can stare at her ass. I might actually enjoy walking at a turtle’s pace if I always had this view.

* * *

We’re sitting on thegrass in Riverdale Park East, looking at the skyline of downtown Toronto to the southwest. I can see the office building where I would normally be at this time of day, even on a Saturday. I’ve never viewed the city from this angle before, and it’s rather nice. At the bottom of the hill, children are playing soccer and baseball.

Courtney lies back and pats the grass beside her. “Join me. We can find shapes in the clouds.”

I awkwardly lie back and stare at the sky. This doesn’t feel natural.

I wonder how the office is doing without me. Do they know why I’m gone? What has Priya told everyone? Are they slacking off because the boss isn’t there? And most importantly, how can I convince Courtney to give me my phone so I can check my work email? It’s not like I’m going to do actual work. I just want to check my email.

She takes out my phone and snaps a picture of me lying on my back, staring up at the sky and muttering a curse word under my breath.

“I’m sending the picture to Vince,” she says. “And to myself. You know what we should do? Make a scrapbook of your two-week holiday. Yes! We can take a scrapbooking class together.”

“I am not taking a scrapbooking class.”