CEO Not Welcome

1. Selling the Dream

Chapter one

Selling the Dream

Brody

There’s a run in her stockings. It teases a glimpse of her untanned calf underneath, almost the same color as the beige nylon.

Yikes. Matching them to your skin is one thing.

Matching them to your personality? That’s next level.

Lara’s personality and the property listing folder she keeps waving around—all beige.

Or is it Laura? Lacy? Lydia? Fuck if I know .

The real estate agent holds my attention for all of ten seconds before I zone out.

She’s still going on about something, probably the “charm” of the place. Her voice droning on playing on a loop to test my patience. But all I can focus on is how her blazer looks ready to strangle her. Death by caramel blazer. What a way to go. Honestly? I’m rooting for the blazer.

“You could say the reception hall’s the heart of Bluepeak.” Her arms stretching wide to show off the obnoxiously massive space. “The lodge. The town.”

She’s waiting for me to be impressed.

Most men probably fall over themselves for a big grin and a hair flip. Too bad for her, my give-a-shit meter’s broken today.

I shove my hands in my pockets, nodding approvingly out of pure habit.

My gaze sweeps over the bare rafters, the brass hooks I watched them install over two decades ago.

Longer than any of my relationships. Impressive.

Those hooks have held up everything from garish party balloons to silk drapings for all the rich assholes who book this place.

Probably where they left their dignity too.

Today, endless strings of fairy lights are looped through them, as if the ostentatious chandelier hanging dead center wasn’t enough.

“What you’re seeing is the everyday set-up.”

She disappears behind one of the eight wooden columns stretching to the plank ceiling, working overtime to sell that rustic, small-town grandeur vibe.

The realtor’s still talking. Does this woman ever shut up? I’m convinced she has no idea how little I care.

“The festival’s coming up, so the lodge manager has put a hold on formal gatherings.”

I have a call with Japan in a couple of hours, and those few minutes hold more weight than this tour of the lodge. A circle jerk. That’s what my father would’ve called it. Obligatory before we sign on the dotted line.

“We have cozy seating areas over here and of course this beautiful fireplace to provide visitors with the small-town charm they love.”

Small-town charm? Sure, if you’re into nosy neighbors and zero privacy. Perfect for tourists chasing their Hallmark movie fantasy. Cue the fake snow and cheesy romance.

The memory creeps in before I can block it, and my eyes land on the massive hearthstone fireplace at the end of the hall. Last time I was here, I was thirteen. Maybe younger. Small enough to wedge myself inside that thing and win hide-and-seek.

A laugh tries to sneak out, but I smother it with a deep breath and walk over to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Starlight festival grounds, with Crystal Heart Lake stretching out beyond that.

Mason lost his shit that day when I kicked his ass hiding in the fireplace.

Older than me by two years, he had a reputation to uphold.

Apparently, getting your ass handed to you by your younger brother in a game is grounds for a full meltdown.

It took doing his math homework for a week to get back in his good books.

Crystal Heart, with its spattering of towering pines on the island that gave it its name, blurs in my line of sight.

My focus shifts to the reflection in the glass.

Not a scraggly teen anymore. The mop of curls is gone, replaced by the clean, corporate version of myself.

Good businessmen keep it tidy. Look the part.

Fake interest. Pay taxes . At least now I look like the guy who gets shit done.

Not the twelve-year-old disaster who bartered his pudding cup for mercy. Progress.

“Keep the suits designer. Dark blue or gunmetal. Makes your eyes pop.” That pearl of wisdom came from my mom when I was first starting out in New York. Then Dad chimed in, “And for God’s sake, stop wearing band T-shirts if you ever want to get laid.”

For today’s special occasion, I’m in a bespoke Brioni in navy with hairline pinstripes. Because nothing screams “fuck off” like an $8,000 suit. These days, it’s all about the uniform. Power. Control. Looking like I could buy your entire existence with the change in my pocket.

Classy, right?

“You won’t be sorry with this purchase,” Lara, wait, is it Lara? appears beside me like a beige ghost. I didn’t hear her heels creeping across the hardwood. Ninja realtors are a thing now?

“Bluepeak boasts year-round appeal, farm-to-table cuisine, and a local art scene that tourists absolutely go gaga for.”

Gaga. Did she just say ‘ gaga ’? I stare at her, wondering if my ears are broken or if she really said that out loud. Babe, I’d rather slam my dick in a car door than listen to anyone romanticize rustic charm for their social media. She has to be kidding, right?

I turn to face her, hands still in my pockets, a tight smile on my lips. Time to play along. Time to pretend I give a shit.

“It’s a prime piece of land. I can’t argue with that.”

She looks pleased. Almost glowing. Probably thinks she has this in the bag.

“I knew you’d love it. And the community will embrace someone of your stature taking over one of their most beloved places.”

They’ll either throw me a goddamn parade or burn me at the stake.

“Tell me, Lara.” I lock eyes with her. “How would the community feel about a new tech museum and data center?”

As expected, her eyes glaze over. I swear I saw the wheels in her head come to a grinding halt. The look of someone who has no clue what the fuck I’m talking about.

Her pressed-on smile falters .

“E-excuse me?” she stammers.

Ah, confusion. My favorite flavor of negotiation.

I give her a tight-lipped grin. Let’s throw her another curveball, just for fun.

“And what about a sprawling hotel in place of these… summer camp cabins they have going on here?” I gesture toward the horizon. I’m enjoying this a little too much, despite my earlier resolve to keep things professional. Professionalism’s boring as fuck.

She seems flustered, glancing out the window to soak in all that pristine, unspoiled beauty.

Don’t fall in love, sweetheart. Give me six months, a demolition crew, and this whole place will be unrecognizable.

I’ve been eyeballing this property ever since I found out the area’s prime for tourists.

Bottom line? It’ll make us a shitload of money.

“Uh, you’re thinking of… a large hotel?” She’s gripping her folder so tightly, her knuckles go white. She might snap it in half.

That actually gets my attention. I walk over to the glass French doors leading out of the reception hall and onto the freshly cut grass that stretches the entire length of Crystal Heart Lake.

“May I?” My hand’s on the doorknob, my expression pure politeness. Look, I’m an asshole, not a caveman. I don’t need her permission, or want it, but I’ll play nice while it counts.

She gives a stiff nod, trailing behind me, her smile tight, as though she's desperately clinging to professionalism.

“You were saying…”

I wasn’t saying anything, but figure I’ll put her out of her misery.

“I’m actually from here,” I begin, falling into a lazy stroll toward the embankment.

Her eyebrows shoot up, but she doesn’t say anything.

Surprised, huh? Yeah, I don’t exactly scream Peak local. Nobody around here could spell Brioni, much less afford one.

“We moved when I was in my early teens. Dad landed some big tech deal, and suddenly we were city people.”

“In New York?”

“One and the same.” I take in a slow, thoughtful inhale of the cleanest air I’ve breathed in months. So crisp, it bites at my insides going down. Great. Now I’m emotionally bonding with the atmosphere.

“But there’s only so much of the city one man can take, if you know what I mean. That’s why we based Stirling Tech HQ out here.”

“ Escape .” She nods, understanding.

Not quite. I flash her a wry grin. “More like the kind of quiet I need to bring my next vision to life.”

There it is. Realization dawns across her face. The gears finally turning.

“The hotel.”

“Oh, that’s a bonus,” I reply. The hotel’s nothing but an afterthought.

“My plans for Bluepeak will turn this sleepy little town into a global tech hub. A patch of grass for town parties is cute and all, but imagine a golf course.” I make a sweeping motion with my arms to gesture at the entirety of the festival grounds we’re standing on.

Nothing like sprawling green to make old men in polo shirts feel important .

Her head tracks my hands with absolute focus. She must be envisioning her next big paycheck

“My data center will be one of the biggest in this hemisphere,” I continue, pointing out the lush cedars scattered along the foot of the mountain, but further east. “It’ll be home to the tech museum. We’ve clinched one of the first IBM computers ever made to be the star of that show.”

A look of genuine interest flashes across her face, but let’s be real, she has no idea how big of a deal that really is. She can’t understand the negotiations I had to pull off to land the price tag that came with it. The price of tech love, darling.

Giving her a closer look, I notice that under the facade of her smiling, awestruck expression, she’s twitching with agitation.

“Everything okay?” I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. Subtle’s never been my thing.

Lara swallows, then gives me another one of her nods. She’s nodding so hard her brain’s probably loose. Her shoulders are tenser than they were a few minutes ago.