Texting the Possessive CEO (Texting The CEO #5)

Chapter 1

IZZY

The offices of Dominic Vale aren’t as flashy as my last job.

Aaron Pike liked—likes, he’s not dead, even if…

No, Izzy, don’t be morbid. Aaron Pike, my old boss, who is my uncle, likes to make a statement with floor-to-ceiling windows and glittering lobbies.

Marble plinths, that sort of thing. And God forbid somebody dares to work for him without staining their teeth bright white and getting a few cheek injections.

I approach the reception desk. My arms crossed over my middle, but quickly correct my posture.

Aaron’s company was a construction cliché.

Macho men who called me sweetie, precious, and rolled their eyes if I ever contributed to a meeting, which, after all the eye- rolling and off-handed remarks, I was less inclined to do.

This office lobby is small, a tucked-away corner of a downtown tower. A gruff man sits behind the reception desk, scowling at his computer as if he’s mad at it. I vaguely remember him from the interview process.

The interview process, with the fake resume, using my middle name as my surname so that no one would make the connection between the oh-so-powerful Aaron and me. As I wait for Mr. Scowl to finish what he’s doing and look up at me, I remember what Aaron said.

“Your job is to slither into that company, like the snake you are. Make your home there. Learn everything you can. Get close to that arrogant son-of-a-bitch and make him care if you can. Shouldn’t be too difficult, a pretty thing like you.”

“Hello?” the receptionist says, snapping me to the present.

“My name is Izzy M… Jenkins.” I almost said Marlowe, my real name, not the one on the fake ID Aaron arranged for me.

“Ah, the new hire,” he says, nodding. An unexpected smile touching his lips. “I’ve got your pass ready to go. You’re in the pit, down there.” He gestures down the narrow corridor. “Your manager, Marcus, will find you soon.”

I take the pass from his hand, looking at the name tag, my deceit staring me right in the face. “Thanks,” I murmur.

“Welcome to Vale Construction,” he says, winking. “Don’t worry. We’re not all big, scary oafs.”

I laugh, tension releasing slightly at his attitude towards me. A small, silly part of me wonders what it would be like to actually work here, rather than just pretend.

“I’m sure you’re all very nice,” I say.

I scan my pass and walk down the corridor.

The pit is a collection of cubicles in the center of the room, surrounded by a few offices.

A sign on the wall shows that there are two more floors, one for executives and the other for construction worker admin.

My role is logistics, which translates to whatever they need.

Four men turn and look at me as I walk toward a desk with my name tag on it.

I make it a point not to pity myself, or to make excuses when they stare.

At twenty-five years old, I’ve gone through my share of struggles, dramatic events, and outbursts.

I’m much better at keeping my feelings hidden than I used to be.

“Hi everyone,” I say, friendly but not too friendly. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Smiles all around, but I see their eyes flitting up and down, checking me out. Not shameless or over the top, but definitely there, definitely and unavoidably happening.

I go around the room, shaking hands, and then sit at my desk.

Someone has left a form for me to fill out. Guilt pricks me as I write my fake name.

In my head, Grandma is judging me big time.

“Whatever happens, you should be honest. Cowards hide behind lies.” Maybe I’m a coward, then, but I’m doing this for Grandma.

Aaron has fixed it so that Grandma’s care comes from Pike Constructions, meaning that if he cuts me off, the hospital cuts Grandma off.

I can’t let that happen. I’m nothing but his plaything. What a mess.

The elevator dings, and Marcus steps out, a tall, lean man with a crafted goatee. He walks over to my desk with long strides, seeming distracted and hurried.

“Ah, Izzy,” he says, looking down at his phone, tapping quickly as he talks.

“Perfect timing. We need a runner for the site near the docks. Just general, all-purpose stuff. Can you handle that?” With his free hand, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a slip of paper, all while still texting rapidly.

“Here’s the address. They’ll give you a helmet and a visor. Okay?” He nods. “Okay.” And turns away.

I stand, murmuring a thank you, as he spins on his heels and makes for the elevator.

As I leave the room, one man laughs gruffly.

Another mutters, “Rather her than me.” Being an all-purpose runner on a site can be the easiest job ever, making coffee and filing paperwork.

Or it can be the most difficult, lugging bricks and trying to ignore the ache in my bones.

In my car, I squeeze the steering wheel hard, trying not to grind my teeth. Aaron has made it clear he won’t wait forever. If I don’t give him what he wants, Grandma will—

I cut that thought off too.

The site is a low-income housing project. Dominic Vale is famous for these. He has a reputation for spreading himself thin, never splurging on expensive offices or appearances. He takes the money earned on big contracts and gives it back to the city.

I park and go to one of the two trailers being used as offices on site. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see a woman sitting behind a desk. She’s drop-dead gorgeous, with long, colorful nails, eyebrows to match, and beautiful bracelets jangling on her wrist.

I’ve never been overly self-conscious, but I have to admit… women like this make me feel a little strange.

“Hey, darling,” she says. “Izzy, yeah?”

I smile. “Yeah.”

She nods to a chair on which a utility vest and a hard hat are resting.

“Good luck out there,” she says with a smile as I put it on.

I return to the site. The housing comprises four squat units, condos, surrounding a plaza, which will eventually have a garden. One unit is almost completed, the basic structure, at least.

I stand on the edge of the site, watching as men hurry here and there. Somebody cracks a joke and everybody laughs. It probably has nothing to do with me, and yet the thought still taunts me.

“Ten fucking days?”

I turn toward the yelling. Dominic Vale stands in front of a partially built unit, his phone looking tiny in his big hand.

I’ve seen him on the cover of magazines, tall and broad, with striking dark, intense blue eyes, and black hair with subtle threads of silver in it.

He’s thirty-three, but he carries himself like a man with much more experience.

He hangs up as he glares around the job site. Curls of black hair poke out from under his hard hat.

I watch as he strides across the site. Men move instantly out of his way. When I was researching his low-income-housing projects, as well as his donations to charity, I expected somebody less… terrifying.

Is that the right word?

Something warm coils in my belly as I stare at his suit jacket pulled tightly across his wide back, emphasizing his sheer size. The man is enormous. He walks into the other trailer on site and slams the door.

A whistle drags my attention away. I turn, spotting a group of men standing about twenty feet away. They’re looking anywhere but at me, as if they just catcalled and then glanced in the other direction.

Or it was an unrelated whistle that had nothing to do with me. Maybe working at Pike Construction has messed with my head.

“Izzy?” someone says from beside me.

I turn to find a young man standing beside me. He’s on the thicker side, with a mop of brown hair poking out from his hard hat and curling around his ears.

“Yes,” I murmur, looking at his name tag. Ethan Carter, Dominic Vale’s executive assistant.

“Hi.” He offers me his hand. “Ethan Carter.”

“It is nice to officially meet you,” I say as I shake his hand.

“The boss likes his coffee black, no sugar. Me? I’m not as masochistic. I’ll take cream and three sugars. We’ll be in the big boy hut. Good?”

He walks away without waiting for my answer. I don’t even know where the coffee-making facilities are. Maybe they’re in the main office, but if that were the case, everybody would be walking in and out of there all the time.

A man walks by me, holding two giant sacks, the fabric wrapped around his fists. “You lost, darling?”

Whenever anyone calls me darling or something similar, I remind myself they mean nothing by it. At least, I hope they don’t.

“I need to make Mr. Vale some coffee.”

He nods to the almost-completed unit. “Just behind there.”

“Thank you.”

I locate the machine and make the coffee as quickly as I can, more nervous than I’d be if this were just another job. I wish all I had to worry about was getting the coffee order right. Not hunting for information that will tear down this company.

Standing outside the office, I take a deep breath.

When I saw Dominic Vale on the cover of a magazine, my first thought was, Whoa, he’s hot. But then Aaron gave me my twisted mission, and I knew I could never think that again.

I knock on the door with my elbow.

“Yes?” Dominic barks, sounding distracted and angry. “Come in!”