Page 3 of Selfish Suit (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #1)

THE CEO

DOMINIC

N o one has ever dared to talk to me that way.

I’m still staring at the door, knowing—just knowing—that as quickly as Miss UberEats returned to retrieve my generous tip, she’ll return and apologize.

And give me my food back.

The only reason I didn’t chase her down the hall was because I was too taken aback by her words, too taken aback by how stunningly beautiful she was.

Even in a simple pink hoodie and jeans, her hazel eyes (with all their judgment) and her long, wavy auburn hair caught my attention.

Not to mention her plump pink lips.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, but the only person who walks through the door is my janitorial manager.

“Should I call 9-1-1 for you, Mr. Sutton?” He waves a hand in front of my face. “Your face is really red, and it looks like a vein is about to pop out of your neck.”

“I’m fine.” I shake my head. “I was just… Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Do you think I’m the worst CEO in Manhattan?”

“Um, no, but … I’ve only ever worked for you, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Am I selfish?”

He blinks.

“It’s a yes or no question, Charles.”

“My name is Clarkson,” he says. “But uh…” He looks at his phone and then steps backward to the door.

“Answer my question,” I demand.

“Oh nooo! There’s an emergency situation in the boiler room.” He doesn’t sound convincing at all. “Gotta go.”

He leaves the room even faster than Miss UberEats did.

There’s no way that woman actually works for me…

Livid, I walk over to the conference table and open my laptop. I log into the employee listing and search for “Ivy.”

35 employees.

I click through them one by one, expanding their profiles that show their picture, and stop when I reach her profile. Her employee badge photo doesn’t do her any justice, but sexy as hell or not, she deserves to be dealt with.

I click on her record, not expecting to see any reason to fire her, but… there are hundreds.

What the…

According to her file, she’s chronically late, problematic, and in the words of her supervisor, “so defiant in meetings I wonder why we still let her stay here…”

She’s missed the opportunity to move to the paid level three times, which is far longer than my intern program typically allows.

There must be something I’m missing.

Before I dive too deeply, I reopen the UberEats app and am faced with a pop-up message.

How was your driver? Rate Ivy on a scale of 1 to 5!

Negative fifty…

I hit “Rate Later” and look at another restaurant. This time it lets me pick thirty minutes from now as the delivery time, and I give it another try.

While I wait, I email my top two Human Resources advisors and demand that they call me the moment they see my messages.

In the middle of reaching out to other staff members, a guy walks into my boardroom.

“Uber Delivery for a D.S.?” he says. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” I say, standing.

He’s two minutes early.

Okay. I’m definitely getting Miss UberEats back…

Later that evening, after doing a lot more research, I call the Director of Interns, Alicia Fierro.

It rings once.

It rings twice.

“Who the hell is this?” she answers. “And why are you calling me so late?”

“ Dominic Sutton .”

“Oh, okay.” She snorts. “Who are you really, before I hang up?”

“Miss Fierro, I’ve been looking at one intern’s personnel file, and I’m quite confused about what I’m seeing.”

She sucks in a deep breath. “I… uh—which intern, sir?”

“Ivy Locke.”

The line goes so quiet that I check to see if she’s gone through with her threat to hang up on me.

“Hello?” I say.

“Um, yes, sir?”

“Can you explain to me why Miss Locke hasn’t been fired?”

“I probably could…”

“Could you start now?”

“She’s saved our ass on six campaigns, one of them as recent as last month’s, so—we figure that putting up with a few bad behaviors isn’t that bad.”

“I could’ve sworn my policy was zero tolerance.”

“We would’ve lost the Ferrari deal if we’d let her go…”

I blink. This is the first I’m hearing of this. “How so?”

“Uhm—eh…”

“I don’t need to hear any more strange sounds from your mouth,” I say. “I’d prefer to hear words, or I’ll be discussing your employment status next.”

“She comes up with the best marketing ideas, and even though she messed up our presentation to Ferrari by jumping onstage and interrupting, they wanted to hear what she had to say. And then they agreed to sign only if we used her ideas.”

“Why is this the first I’m hearing about any of this?”

“We’re not allowed to talk to you directly, sir.”

“It’s not mentioned in any of the email notes,” I say. “You could’ve mentioned it there, correct?”

“Maybe, but the last time I deviated from your template, you sent me a mean email.”

“I’ve never sent a mean email.”

“It said, ‘Stop fucking with my shit or I’ll fire you.’”

“I stand corrected,” I say, making a mental note to apologize for that later. “Did Miss Locke receive the percentage bonus for making an impression on the Ferrari account?”

Her weird sounds come over the line again, and I start to hang up.

“She’s still on the unpaid level,” she says.

“How is that possible?”

“Company policy.” She pauses. “No one who is late more than three times in thirty days gets paid. No one who looks like they’ve had a good night’s sleep instead of staying up working gets paid. No one who?—”

“I’ll be in touch.” I end the call and pull up the Ferrari campaign on my big screen.

As I fast-forward through the presentation, Braxton strolls into the room with part of my first order in hand. The bread basket…

“Where did you get that?” I ask.

“A delivery girl gave it to me hours ago when I came in downstairs.” He takes a bite. “Said she was allergic to garlic, but they cost twenty bucks, and she didn’t want them to go to waste because of a jerk customer… Where are your bread rolls?”

“You’re eating them.”

He laughs and tosses me the basket.

As I’m taking one out, I spot a mass of auburn curls rushing past the screen, so I hit pause, rewind a few seconds, and hit play.

“No, no, no,” the woman—Miss Ivy Locke—says. “I can’t let my team gaslight you into thinking this is a good campaign.”

She turns around to face the camera, flipping through cards.

“You’ll have to excuse our intern,” a guy says. “She’s not used to being allowed to sit in on campaign presentations.”

“No, I don’t usually come since they’re decent. But this is terrible, and the client deserves better.”

Braxton crosses his arms, looking as confused as I am.

Onscreen, Ivy hands out a different folder and gives a short presentation, outlining the changes she suggests for the campaign. She guarantees that this firm is the only firm that should handle their business because “we’ll always be honest with you… even when it’s inconvenient.”

The room is silent for several moments, until the CEO of Ferrari stands up and smiles.

“You’re hired. Tell us where to sign.”

I hit pause and look over at Braxton. “Did you know about this?”

“Does it look like I knew?” He scoffs. “I think we promoted the wrong executive to chair.”

“She’s an intern.”

“Well, is she still here or has she quit already?”

“The turnover rate here isn’t that bad.”

“It’s eighty percent.”

“It could still be worse.” I set down the remote. “She still works here, but she’s not loyal. She has other job prospects.”

“Well, we need to figure out what they’re offering and get her to stay here with us. Who is it? Someone at Pandora? Goldman Sachs?”

“UberEats.” I cut him off. “She’s cheating on us with UberEats.”

He blinks. “Please tell me you’re going to make this right and talk to her about being employed full time here?”

“Of course.” I lean back in my seat. “I have something far better than that in mind actually…”