The CEO – Dante
THE CEO
DANTE
“You want me to do what, Mr. Hudson?” My lead building engineer, Paul, looked at me like I’d grown two heads.
“I want you to install miniature hot water spouts on the side of every alley-facing building that I own,” I said. “And then, the moment someone starts pissing on my property, I want the spouts to blast them so hard that they nearly lose a limb and never think about disrespecting me again.”
“There’s no legal way for me to do that, sir.”
“There is if you install cameras,” I said. “I can have security monitor things 24/7, and they can press the buttons to soak the offenders.”
“Sir…” He clasped his hands together and took a deep breath. “On top of your request being one-hundred-percent illegal, it would cost you tens of millions of dollars per building.”
“Have I ever been worried about a price tag?”
“Not to mention the water main issues this would cause in the winter months,” he said, “it’s. just. not. possible.”
“Okay, fine.” I shrugged. “Let’s go with the sudden-death bear traps that swoop down the moment someone unzips their pants.”
He gave me a blank stare.
“What’s illegal about that?”
“That’s it,” he said, pushing up from his chair. “I’m going to go discuss this with Mr. Anthony now, sir.”
“There’s no need to involve him in anything,” I said. “Sit back down and suggest some goddamn alternatives instead of giving up.”
He left my office without another word, forcing me to consider calling in another engineer.
Since Chloe had left behind the “Anti-Dante Hudson” binder in my car, I’d been spiraling over all their strategies to block me.
On the one hand, I was somewhat impressed by how organized and dedicated they were to hating me and my properties.
On the other, I was livid that they had the audacity to go against me.
There has to be a decent way to make these people pay…
I flipped to the page titled “100 Other Things Mr. Hudson Could Do with His Money,” and shut it.
I spent my money exactly how I wanted, and that would never change.
Picking up my coffee, I walked over to my windows to watch the sun fall over the city.
In the distance, the lone rooftop light on The Holden flickered on, and my chest ached at the memory of spending a few nights sleeping near its glow.
I made a mental note to send the mayor another suck-up fruit basket, and then an image of Chloe’s tempting mouth crossed my mind.
Unable to resist thinking about her, I pulled out my phone.
How are your plans for me going?
Chloe Sterling
I’m doing them well, Mr. Hudson.
On a scale of 1–10?
2
How the hell is that “very well”?
It was autocorrect.
I meant “I’m in Hell.”
You should be out of it by tomorrow evening.
And if I’m not?
I would hate for you to fuck around and find out…