Page 1 of The CEO I Hate (The Lockhart Brothers #1)

MIA

B ad 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, and I 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 sc ript, just based on how amazing your writing is in Heart 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…but Heart and Hustle didn’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 of almosts and maybe 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!

God, I’d hate to be the person on the other end of that email. Frustration beat against my temples, and I reached out to poke him hard in the shoulder. He flinched but didn’t deign to turn around.

“Excuse me, Lord of the Line Cutters, is the world just one big VIP section to you?”

“Does harassing strangers count as cardio or are you just naturally exhausting?” he snapped, his focus still clearly locked on the screen.

What the frick?

“Hey, buddy, I’m not the one who just cut the entire line.

” I heard murmurs of agreement from the people behind me.

But the jerk’s only response was a dismissive noise.

Had he just scoffed at me? Hell to the freaking no!

“Maybe if you’d take your nose out of your phone for two seconds and have some basic human decency?—”

“Is this the part where you yell louder and hope it makes you relevant?”

Screw this guy! “Look,” I said, raising my voice, “it sucks that your PA couldn’t do your coffee run for you, but even toddlers know how lines work. So why don’t you try absorbing that concept instead of the blue light from your phone?”

A few people in line behind me started snickering. The sound emboldened me a little, but the little surge of triumph died a quick death when Fancy-Pants chose that exact moment to whirl around, huffing like an angry bull.

My blood iced over.

My entire body froze to the spot for a beat as recognition smacked me like a two-by-four. You’ve got to be kidding me .

I knew that brown hair. I knew those broad shoulders. I knew that stupidly perfect face with its chin dimple and square jaw and perpetual scowl. His dark brown eyes bored into mine, recognition dawning for him as well.

Liam freaking Lockhart.

Of all the freaking coffee shops in the city, my brother’s gorgeous-and-totally-off-limits best friend had to show up here? Today just kept getting better and better. And by that I meant disastrously worse.

“Mia?” he said when he finally realized who I was.

I straightened like I hadn’t been gearing up to throw a cookie at his head. “Oh, so now you see me?”

“Look, I get it, I just didn’t see you sta?—”

“What, standing here?” I crossed my arms. If Jake had been with him, I’d have reined in my rage for my brother’s sake…but what Jake didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and this was looking like the perfect outlet for my very bad morning. “Why is that? Entitlement blocking your view?”

His eyes narrowed. “I’d say it’s your attitude and not mine that’s taking all of the oxygen out of the room.”

“My attitude? You’re the one acting like you should have a red carpet and velvet ropes set out for you.”

“I didn’t realize there was a line captain I had to report to.”

“Can’t you buy some basic decency to go with all that Armani?” I shot back.

“You tell him, girl,” someone in the crowd called out behind me.

“Must be nice thinking you own the place,” someone else said .

Liam’s expression hardened. His jaw clenched like he was holding back words he knew he’d regret. “What is this, some kind of uprising?” he said, voice heavy with sarcasm. “It’s just a line, Mia. Don’t make such a federal case out of it.”

“If being a rude asshole was actually a crime, you’d be public enemy number one,” I shot back. “I’m thinking life sentence, no chance of parole.”

He rolled his eyes, like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Why does everything have to be so over the top with you?” he grumbled, low and rough.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, voice syrup-sweet. “Are we not all just humble extras in the Liam Lockhart Cinematic Universe?” His scowl deepened. “Actually, scratch that, pretty sure extras are treated with more respect.”

The irritation radiating off him was practically visible, like heat waves dancing over asphalt. So I went in for the kill.

“Pick your next words carefully,” I warned him. “Or else you’ll be seeing them again soon, coming out of Miles’s mouth.”

Miles, the scowling, grumbling, brooding, bad-boy character from my viral webcomic Heart and Hustle was a fan favorite and a source of great aggravation for Liam. We both knew exactly where Miles’s worst traits had come from.

Liam’s eyebrows drew together so tightly I thought a vein in his forehead might pop. His voice dropped half a register, and suddenly my spine forgot how to behave. “If Miles is supposed to be me, you might want to work on your accuracy. He’s a little too soft.”

I shrugged. “I dialed down the emotional repression for the sake of the plot. You’re welcome.”

He scoffed. “I’ve seen more depth in a cereal mascot. ”

I hid a smirk, loving his ongoing annoyance over Miles. Really, he barely had a reason to get worked up over it. Only a handful of people who read Heart and Hustle even knew Miles was based on someone real.

And even fewer people knew that person was Liam—CEO of VeriTV, billionaire, and the guy I’d had an unfortunate crush on for way too many years. Creating Miles’s character had been my own tiny taste of sweet, sweet revenge, and Liam definitely had it coming. Some might even call it creative justice.

That was me. I called it that.

“So you see the likeness?” I said, my voice back to that syrup-sweet tone.

He growled, but his eyes didn’t move from my lips. “Can we skip to the part where you realize this isn’t worth my time?”

God, why was he like this? “Did your assistant give you a double shot of asshole this morning?”

“You think this is funny?” His nostrils flared. Just a little. Not enough for most people to notice. But I wasn’t most people.

I narrowed my eyes. “No, I think what’s hilarious is the fact that you don’t know how a line works.”

The comments from the crowd started up again.

“Typical! Rich guys think rules don’t apply!”