Chief Executive Officer: The Executive Series

By KJ Holliday

A fun, sexy love story that swaps the narrative of most modern-day office romances.

 

Caroline Westbrook, the second-generation CEO of her family's Fortune 500 Company, wanted nothing more than to make Westbrook, LLC uber profitable. When her boyfriend dumps her because she works too much, she isn't all that surprised. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last.

 

Enter Colton Bowman, who waltzes into her office late on a Friday night like he owns the place. The disaster of both of their days begins with a drink, and ends with him tossing up her skirts over the side of her desk in the early hours of the morning.

 

Neither of them expected their night together would leave them wanting more, or that a chance encounter in the company break room a few weeks later would prompt Caroline to do something stupid. She'd just gotten out of a relationship, and didn't have any desire to jump into another one, but that didn't stop her from seeking Colton out and tumbling them into a series of sexual encounters that left them both sweaty and satisfied.

 

Figuring out what she really wants outside of work, while also navigating the intricacies of a potential relationship in modern day Corporate America, proves to be anything but business as usual.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Apr 27, 2021
• ISBN: 9781953335319

Book preview

Chapter 1

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Once word gets out, we’re going to see a noticeable decrease to our stock prices. Losing the Michaelson account hit us a lot harder than we thought it would.

Caroline Westbrook’s brow scrunched as the news filtered through the receiver. The message itself wasn’t unexpected. In all honesty, she’d been preparing for this conversation since she’d gotten the initial phone call three days ago. She knew this was bad. The kind of bad that made people run for the hills, hunker down, and wait until the storm passed. Yet she still found herself furiously scribbling down the information on the sticky pad on her desk, as if her inelegant documentation would somehow change the outcome.

Her mind raced down zigzagging paths, calculating the decrease in retained earnings while listening to her chief financial officer lament. She pressed her pen hard against the pad, drawing a rough down arrow next to her lilting script. Do you have the adjusted projections for next quarter drawn up yet? she asked, leaning back in her chair. The pen sat poised between her right thumb and middle finger, bouncing idly against the polished wood of her desk.

We do. I’ve gone ahead and added a preliminary cause and effect analysis, as well. I’m just about to finish up the last bit and send it over. The man’s nasally voice dribbled through the phone, grating on the already frazzled edges of her nerves. She took a deep breath, doing her best to wipe away the fragments of her irritation and focus on the task at hand. Will Wilder’s voice might put those around him immediately to sleep, but he was a genius when it came to financial analysis. Right now, she was in desperate need of those skills.

Send me an email with what you have, and I’ll take a look, she said, her voice layered with the breezy, professional tone she adopted whenever she was at work. We’ll schedule a meeting for early next week to discuss how we plan to recover next quarter. Pass the news along to the other directors we’re going to crowdsource ways to reduce both short- and long-term costs.

I’ll have it to you by the end of the day.

Caroline’s gaze flew to the corner of her computer’s desktop, searching for the time. White numbers stared back at her, mocking her. Although the end of the day was five o’clock, it wouldn’t be the end of hers.

I’ll expect it within the next fifteen minutes then, Mr. Wilder.

She didn’t bother with a farewell, simply moved the receiver from its place by her ear and dropped it in its cradle. A sigh escaped her, and she scrubbed at her forehead. With the addition of her head of finance’s cost concerns, she would have seven reports she’d have to pour over, revise, and reject or approve by Monday.

It was going to be a long weekend, to say the least.

She turned toward the massive expanse of glass of her office wall and took in the cityscape, glinting brightly in the afternoon sun. With a calming inhalation, she did her best to settle her thoughts. She knew this sight. Over the years, the skyline had changed. Buildings and businesses had disappeared. New endeavors erected in their place; a glorious parallel to the cutthroat fickleness of the corporate world. Standing here, overlooking Eleventh Street, she could easily close her eyes and give a detailed description of what lay before her. If she leaned to the right and squinted just so, she could barely catch a glimpse of the very tip of the Washington Monument. When the sun was setting on the other side of the building, the sky turned one of the most violently beautiful shades of blood orange.

Her first memory was in this office. She could still picture it, a giggling child of five hiding underneath her father’s massive desk as he chatted on the phone to this person or that.

Twenty-seven years had changed many things, but Westbrook, LLC persevered.

Her father had started his business in their tiny garage in Woodbridge, Virginia, when she was barely a year old. There, in the cramped, overcrowded garage he had put his blood, sweat, and tears into cultivating something out of the nothing they had. What was once a mom and pop consulting firm quickly grew into one of the most influential corporations in Washington, DC. Today, Westbrook had their hand in a variety of markets, ranging from advertising powerhouses to portfolio management. It was a company built on dreams and the hard work of those who believed those dreams could be made real. Each of the 137 employees currently retained by the company was invaluable, and Caroline would know.

When she was thirteen, she knew without a shadow of a doubt she was meant to follow in her father’s footsteps. She had told her mother one day after cheerleading practice, her hair braided into loose pigtails and one massive sock falling down her ankle, she was going to be the next CEO of Westbrook. Her mother had laughed, patted her on the head, and then moved to start dinner, chalking up her daughter’s insistence to the fancy of youth. It was her father who had looked at her with a twinkle in his eye and asked her if she was serious.

I can do it. Her chirping voice had echoed across the tile of their kitchen.

I know you can. It will take a great deal of work, pumpkin, but if you work hard enough, you can accomplish anything you set your mind to.

She’d built her entire future upon those words. The next summer when the final school bell clanged and the halls emptied, things were different. While most kids her age were sneaking out and spending their free days escaping the DC sun near a body of water, Caroline was working 7:00-3:30 sorting mail. The reception desk came next, followed by being an office assistant for every department the company had. By the time she’d finished her bachelor’s degree, she knew every office at Westbrook like the back of her hand. Without blinking an eye, she could recite the revenue index for the past five years and forecast the sales pipeline for the next two. She interned directly for her father after finishing her studies at the University of Virginia until she graduated from Princeton with her MBA. A year later, and after a total of thirteen years working at Westbrook, she had been named acting CEO.

She’d been called a multitude of names over the years: some good, some bad. Driven, crazy, talented, bossy, obsessive, a workaholic, and neurotic ... just to name a few. But without a doubt, until today, she had never before been called boring.

The disinterested drawl of her executive assistant slammed her back to the present. Two more showed up. Caroline turned from the sprawling cityscape to look at the beautiful brunette standing in front of her in heels that could rival the buildings outside.

Thank you. She reached out, grabbed the two folders, and placed them atop the ever-growing stack on her desk.

That looks like a drag. If I were you, I’d run out of here and find something entertaining to do with your man this weekend.

A pinprick of pain shot through her. The statement, though innocently delivered, had served to remind her of exactly what had occupied her thoughts just moments before. She made it a point to keep her voice calm and casual as she replied, We’re not really seeing each other anymore.

No? The dark-haired woman plopped down in the chair across the desk, one eyebrow raised expectantly. Silence held between them for a beat, then two, until Kat continued, Good. I never liked the guy in the first place.

She couldn’t resist her answering snort. Good to know.

I hope he wept when you dumped his sorry ass, Katherine—or Kat, as the few people she deemed close enough to call friends referred to her—said impishly. From her seat on the other side of the desk, Kat started to examine her fingernails.

Actually, he kind of broke up with me ... Caroline trailed off, averting her eyes to the open day planner on her desk. She knew if her gaze were to meet with the intuitive woman’s across from her, she’d instantly start divulging everything. As her best friend, it was inevitable Caroline would eventually tell Kat what happened. She just needed another moment first. Sure, Tony had been a bit of a jerk at times. And she wasn’t certain she really liked him all that much in the first place, but she had been dumped. Regardless of the specific details of the split, it was a huge haymaker to her confidence and her pride. It, well ... it still hurt.

Kind of? Kat’s voice was hard, skeptical and intent on answers. It was a tone she knew well. She couldn’t count the number of times over the years she’d heard it employed.

Caroline had met Katherine her first year at Princeton. They had both been pulling an all-nighter studying for a macroeconomics midterm when an over-entitled frat guy got a little mouthy. One minute she was ignoring the asshole—hoping he’d get the picture neither of the girls quietly working was interested—the next she was staring at a petite brunette making a man twice her size cower with only the force of her words.

They had been friends ever since.

Kat wasn’t only a spitfire. She was also shrewd, highly intelligent, a brilliant businesswoman, a fiercely loyal friend, and, more often than not, the rock anchoring her to what little remained of her sanity.

Do you want me to kill him?

Caroline let out a short, strained laugh, wiping a hand over her face. In those shoes? Hell no. He isn’t worth the effort.

Damn right, he’s not. He’s nearly thirty and still wears Polos in public. You can do way better.

She closed her eyes and tried to buoy the flatline of her mood. It took a great deal of effort for her not to react to Kat’s sentiment. After almost every boyfriend she’d had, there was always the same answering chorus of reassurances from her friends and family. You can do better. He is obviously intimidated by your success. There has to be something wrong with him. If it was only one guy, one relationship, she could understand their logic. It’s not like she hadn’t said the same things to Katherine when her college boyfriend, Stephen-with-a-ph, had cheated on her and left her completely destroyed. As the number of her failed relationships began to climb, it became apparent the reason she was so unlucky in love might have something to do with the only common factor in all of her relationships: her.

What exactly did he say when he did it? Katherine angled, her eyes narrowing.

I’d love to say it was the same old, same old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ but it wasn’t. He was rambling for a bit, so I didn’t understand everything he said, but the gist of it was I’m too boring for his taste.

Kat scoffed as if the very idea was a personal remark to her own character. Apparently he’s never seen you at spring break.

A genuine laugh bubbled from Caroline’s lips. A fission of tension eased itself from the concrete set of her shoulders. Shut up.

I’m serious. ‘You’re too boring?’ That sounds made up. Like he was grasping at straws to take the easy way out. I knew he was going to be a sleazeball. I could tell by the way he gelled his hair.

A picture of her boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend, surfaced in her mind. Short dark hair, dark eyes, sharp features. His hair had been gelled a lot. It hadn’t looked awful, but it hadn’t looked great either. It was pretty bad, she agreed.

It was horrifying!

She let Kat’s enthusiasm spur her on. Half the time he took longer to get ready than I did.

Exactly! Kat exclaimed, playing the dutiful best friend like the role was made for her. If it wasn’t for his body, he’d have never even had a shot with you.

There was rarely a but when it came to matters of exes. The second they became one, they were hated, no buts about it. This one just happened to be an exception. Tony’s personality had been underwhelming, but his body though. He was built like a god, and he knew it. Every morning at six sharp he was in the gym. When they’d met, there had been an instant physical attraction. Admittedly, she didn’t wait as long as she should have to make sure she really liked him before taking the plunge into exclusivity. To her credit, she’d been pretty distracted. She swore the first time he took off his shirt there were angels sobbing from above. On the surface, he looked as if he had it all: a great job, a killer car, an unbelievably beautiful set of abs. There had just been one little problem.

Sarcasm dripped like venom from her tongue. Too bad he didn’t know what to do with it.

Right? It’s a national tragedy.

Caroline nodded in agreement. National tragedy might be an over-exaggeration of the situation, but only a slight one. Nothing could explain the disappointment she felt when a man that got her halfway to an orgasm just by looking at him, couldn’t figure out how to get her to home plate. Needless to say, she was left unsatisfied. Every. Single. Time. Maybe I should interview the next one? Kat continued.

I’m sure that won’t be awkward at all, Caroline said, thumbing through the stack of folders, mentally checking them off one by one.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Kat reach forward, snagging a nail file from the pen cup perched on the corner of her desk. I’ll start working on it on Monday. Question one: Do you go down? As she listened to her friend go on about her interview idea, Caroline reached for the stack of files she needed to review. With lazy movements, she shuffled through it, silently reminding herself of the work she still needed to do before she could leave. She immediately knew something was missing, even before she counted the individual folders. Her gaze flew once again to the clock. It was already 5:20, so whatever she was missing was already twenty minutes late.

Kat continued to expand her statement. Number two: How big is your dick? Number three: How do you feel about spanking?

Caroline broke in across her, Are you sure this is all of them?

Kat stopped filing momentarily. Yeah. This was everything that was delivered.

She scanned through them once more. Sales, reorganization schematics, inventory audit results, defense mobile contract redlines, Wilder had emailed his ... What all was due today? Her mind internally checked off each project until one was left.

Which one are you missing? Kat queried, resuming the task of sawing her fingernails into points.

The Annaweyerhaiser campaign. She tried to pinpoint the details of the proposal. She knew the customer requirements, the projected dollar value, and the specifics on who was handling the campaign. Sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and the distant echo of an unmistakable British accent instantly cropped up in her mind. That’s Bowman, right?

Yeah, I think so.

Huh, was Caroline’s only response.

The new Annaweyerhaiser campaign was a for-certain contract win. The company had partnered with Westbrook on individual product launches for over five years now. It was a low-risk campaign, which usually wouldn’t even warrant her attention, but the value of the proposal was well above the executive approval threshold. Normally, she’d give it a quick once-over, sign it, and send it on its way, but that was before the Michaelson debacle and before the presentation missed its deadline. Annaweyerhaiser wasn’t a client she wanted to risk making unhappy by delivering late presentations. They couldn’t afford any other significant contract hits or they’d be reporting a decrease in profit next quarter, as well. She was going to have to call a meeting on Monday to figure out what the hell was going on downstairs and if she’d have to have a conversation with the advertising team regarding their output.

So, are you going to let me take you out and get you shitfaced now that you’re newly single? A mischievous smile blossomed on Kat’s face.

Caroline eyed the folders on her desk once more. If she did them tonight, she could attempt to have some semblance of a weekend. There were plenty of other life responsibilities currently fighting for her attention. Her dirty laundry pile was starting to get seriously out of control, and if she didn’t tackle it soon, it was going to become an epidemic. Then again, getting drunk and forgetting everything about her life certainly sounded appealing.

Kat must have read the struggle waging war across her face. Fine. Don’t stay here too late, and if you need anything, call me.

She gave her friend an apologetic smile. Raincheck? Tomorrow?

I’m going to hold you to that, and if you stand me up, I swear to God I will lock you out of this building.

Caroline held her hands up to signal she wasn’t about to argue. Cross my heart and hope to die. She made a show of making an X across her chest to signify her promise.

Kat heaved herself out of her chair, throwing her the same stern glare she usually reserved for making interns cry. Night. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Talk to you tomorrow. She waved the brunette away. Once Kat had disappeared, she flipped open the sales forecast with a hard flick of her wrist. It was going to be a long night. She’d better settle in.

*****

It had only happened once or twice while working at Westbrook, LLC he hadn’t been able to meet his boss’s impossibly stringent deadlines.

To give himself credit, this time he’d almost met it. It was just four or five hours, on a Friday, later than he’d anticipated.

The sun had long ago sunk behind the mirrored shining surfaces of the office buildings outside. The other occupants of the building had left promptly at five o’clock, eager to get their weekend started. Everyone except him, of course. He’d spent the last four days pouring every waking moment into the new advertising campaign he’d been working on, hoping beyond hope his leadership would like it—this time.

Seven years of combined art and business school, and for what? For a project he didn’t like the first time around to get scrapped. Reworking wasn’t the problem; reworking was inevitable. It was the principle of the matter. Colton was good at his job. Damn good.

The thick leather portfolio was heavy in his hand as he pressed his finger against the round up button on the elevator bank. The tell-tale cranking and whirring of the car’s arrival signaled with a faint ping. Light poured into the dark as the doors parted and he took an easy step inside, letting the glow of the car swallow him. He used his long index finger to stab at the highest button on the panel. The top floor held the executive offices, which was where he should have dropped off the dastardly folder ages ago.

Westbrook had several different enterprises operating underneath its moniker. Each floor segregated the individual businesses from each other. Though he’d been employed at the prestigious company for nearly two years, he was hard-pressed to relay exactly what floors held what departments. It was the sixth floor he called home, and other than the top floor and the mailroom, he hadn’t had much of an opportunity to explore the other floors and their corresponding work.

The sixth floor housed the massive advertising team and all the high-tech machines and gadgetry needed for it to be successful. There were the normal things like copiers and fax machines, laminators, and the like. Then, there were the more expensive or unique items like 3D printers, canvases, oils, and pastels. It held anything and everything a person could need to accommodate a customer’s request.

It was the artist in him that had drawn him to Westbrook. John Westbrook had started the company when he was Colt’s age and watched it grow to rival the elite of the professional world. Westbrook had become renowned for its focus on creative and innovative marketing solutions. It was the kismet of a person’s career to work here, and without a doubt, Colton relished his role within the company. But just like anything worth having, it had not come easy.

With a smooth stop, the doors eased open and he stepped out into the muted darkness of the executive floor. He barely even thought as he walked purposefully down the aisle way through the lines of desks toward the sprawling back office. There was no particular reason to. The task was simple: drop off the folder, get out of this infernal suit, and hit the Local for a pint or two.

Which was the plan, or it was until he pulled open the overly frosted glass door emblazoned with WESTBROOK in golden letters. His would-be plans took a swift and immediate nosedive.

Scratch that, he’d have to keep the suit on. The likelihood he’d be job hunting tomorrow was very high because sitting behind the imposingly magnificent desk, in the dark of her office, was none other than the CEO herself.

Ms. Caroline Westbrook.

Chapter 2

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His first thought was he was dead.

His second thought was he was fired.

His third thought, or observation, was that Ms. Westbrook had definitely been crying. He froze as their eyes locked, one hand pushing the door into the darkness. She was the one who finally broke the contact. She hastily wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, sniffing a little and making a show of moving the immaculately stacked papers on her desk.

The presentation was due at the end of the day, Mr. Bowman.

His brain seemed incapable of formulating something appropriate to say. Without his permission, words tumbled clumsily from his lips. Technically, this is the end of my day.

One of her golden brows rose at his response, and he had to stop himself from thumping his own face in. What the bloody hell was he thinking? The quiet of the moment hung heavy until, finally, a small smile tilted at her lips and she motioned for the folder gripped tightly in his hand. Very well.

Colton stumbled forward, passing the presentation to his superior with unsteady movements. She opened it without hesitation and immediately began to peruse the contents with meticulous precision. He shuffled uncomfortably as he stood before her. Should he leave? Should he wait and get her feedback on the new material first? Should he hand in his sodding resignation now and save her the trouble? It would have been easier if he’d simply left the presentation on her assistant’s desk and went about his night. If he had, he would have avoided all of this, but then again how would he have known? The tint of her office windows was practically whited out, and without any lights on no one would expect she was just sitting inside by herself.

He lost track of himself in the silence. His mind whirled as he watched the woman seated before him and marveled at how young she was. He almost hadn’t believed she was going to be his boss when she’d sat across from him at that very desk and conducted his second interview. It was remarkable for anyone her age to hold an upper executive position. Yet she did, and in his opinion, she did it better than nearly anyone he’d heard of.

He’d quickly learned Caroline Westbrook was something akin to a business prodigy, one who also happened to be absolutely gorgeous. It wasn’t an outright beauty like Adriana at the front reception desk, but there was something about her. An inner strength, coupled with the cupid’s bow of her lips and the soft curves of her body. Even now, in the darkness of her office, her golden hair looked like it had been kissed by the sun.

At face value, she looked as incredible as she ran her company, but it was something else about her that caught his attention the very first time they’d met. He didn’t know how to properly explain it. It was just ... everything. Her face, her work ethic, her gift for management, her talent in predicting market trends, her fanatical eye for the smallest details. All of those seemingly small, insignificant factors knit together in a perfectly imperfect knot that made her come to life in the most beautiful way he’d ever seen.

So he may or may not fancy his boss. However, he also respected the hell out of her. He’d admit on the rare occasion they did interact in their day-to-day work, he may have found himself fantasizing about the millions of things he’d do to her given the opportunity, but he would never consider acting on them. They were professionals. It just wasn’t done.

Colton was ripped face-first from his musings by her melodic voice. This is very good. He shook himself to prompt his brain to catch up with what was currently going on. I’ll push this through to production.

He gave her a tight smile. Thank you. He couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t result in him embarrassing himself further, so he decided to save himself by making a move toward the door.

Can I ask you something? she inquired softly, stopping him dead in his tracks. He let himself analyze each of the individual features of her face in quick succession. She looked conflicted, as though she was torn on whether to continue or not. In the end, she must have settled on yes because she surprised him with one of the oddest questions he’d ever been asked. Do I look fun to you? He blinked, torn between wanting to answer with colorful enthusiasm and wondering why she’d ever need to ask. Taking his silence as answer enough, she quickly descended into disassembling, I’m sorry. That was entirely inappropriate ...

He stopped her firmly. I think you look like a great deal of fun. Her blue eyes were wide and unsure, and he found he rather disliked the combination. Sitting there behind her desk, enveloped by her massive chair, she looked innocent and vulnerable. Utterly unlike the strong, independent woman he had come to know during his employment. He wanted her to smile or frown. Anything other than sitting there looking quietly lost. If you’d like someone to talk to, I don’t have any plans this evening.

It was her turn to look surprised. She considered his words, and for a moment, he thought she might refuse him, thank him for the presentation, and send him on his way to an evening he’d most likely spend drinking a pint and reliving this very situation over and over again. Instead, she dipped her head to the side as if to say What the hell and motioned toward a cart in the corner. Would you mind pouring me a drink?

*****

The very tardy Colton Bowman, looking downright shocked by the turn of events, gave a quick nod and silently moved to the vintage cart littered with mismatched crystal decanters. The eclectic whimsy of the piece contrasted with the sleek modern design of the rest of the room. Her father tended to gravitate toward contemporary designs, and even though she’d occupied the office for well over two years, the tray was the only thing she could bring herself to change. The man, who was