The Cost of Loving a CEO

1. Chanice

Chanice

Getting money is better than having sex.

Okay, they are pretty equal. But if I can’t have one, I’d better at least have the other. So, although it’s been almost two years since someone has blown my back out, payday comes once a week with my two jobs.

Sadly, it’s all gone by the time I pay all my bills, and I’m left with a hundred quid for unexpected expenses for the week. Though, those five minutes when I get to stare at the number in my account are sort of worth the struggle to get it.

At least, that is what I tell myself as I move between these well-dressed bodies, a tray of appetizers in my hand.

The uniform I am forced to endure sits tight around my neck, choking me a little.

Whoever thinks waitstaff should wear a bow tie, a vest, and a white pressed shirt don’t realize how uncomfortable and hot it is to maneuver in.

Sweat pools under my breasts as they strain against this outfit.

Despite this, I try to keep a smile on my face.

I don’t know why. None of these people look at me anyway. They are too busy engaging in conversation about money, politics, and gossip to care about us. I’m called to a corner of the room just in time to witness another one of these enlightening talks.

“No, I heard he only took the company to spite his father.” A woman in a black, skintight dress says, motioning for me to lower the tray.

“Nonsense. With his education and upbringing, what else is he going to do?” the man standing next to her chimes in.

“He could have gone the path of his sister. It would surprise no one with how close they are.” She lifts two of the bruschetta plates and passes one to the man.

“Shh, here he comes,” he says.

Instead of using the sense to act like I wasn’t listening, I turn to see who they’re talking about.

Like everyone else here, he is dressed to the nines in what I assume is a designer suit.

Unlike the rest, he made the bold choice of going with burgundy, making him stand out amongst the navy blues and blacks of the room.

The color is the first thing to catch my attention before my eyes roam up and get lost in his beautiful face.

His pale skin glows under these bright lights, highlighting all the sharp outlines of his cheeks and jaw.

He looks like something carved out of marble meant to represent a Greek god.

Perfectly symmetrical, except for the crook in his nose.

It’s a slight imperfection that hints at a story.

I want to know it. I want to know more about him as my eyes catch on to the hazel coloring of his.

Suddenly, I go from staring at them to in them as we lock eyes for a moment before horror creeps into my gut, making me realize what I’m doing. He stops right in front of me, blocking my exit and interrupting my escape.

“Alexander,” the woman says, her voice pitchy. “It’s so good to see you.”

Shock causes me to scoff at the audacity of this woman. She was just talking shit about him a minute ago. I hear a chuckle and look up to see Alexander smiling. He winks at me like we are in on some kind of joke. My cheeks heat up at the realization of what I’ve done.

“Have you tried the bruschetta? It’s delicious,” she continues on, ignoring my outburst.

“I haven’t. May I?”

Lost in the sound of his deep voice, it takes longer than it should for me to realize he is talking to me.

Not looking at him, I move the tray closer so that he can take a plate. When it lightens a little, I try to go around him, but he steps into my path again.

“Thank you,” he says.

The first person to say those words to me tonight. I look into his eyes and see that he means it. Stepping around him, I fight to stop my lips from curving.

While walking away, the sensation that he is still looking at me follows me until I am in the kitchen. The heavy doors thud shut behind me, cutting off his view.

“Chanice!”

My best friend, Jessie, is leaning against the wall, a plate of food in her hand as she calls out to me. Still in her uniform, she does her best not to spill on herself while scarfing down the food we are supposed to be serving.

“Love, you’re going to get caught one day. You know Elise is strict,” I say loading my tray with more plates.

“Tomas and her let us take the leftovers home, anyway.”

“They are still eating, so these aren’t technically leftovers yet.” And there is no telling how mad Tomas would be to know we are eating his food instead of serving it. As the head chef, he meticulously plans the portions to be enough for the guests.

She shrugs and stands straight, dusting her hands off on her pants. “Fuck it.”

Laughter bubbles in my mouth as I shake my head. “You know you need this job,” I say, making sure I grab more bruschetta than anything else.

“No, you need this job with your eight kids. I’m just looking for my next sugar daddy.” She reapplies her red lipstick to further drive this point home. The shade is perfect against her sand-colored skin.

“You mean my three siblings?” I tuck a stray brown strand back into my mandatory bun, while she uses her empty tray as a mirror to check that her bangs and eye makeup still look good.

“Yeah, whatever. You are the one raising them, so it doesn’t matter what you call them at this point.”

Single mum or single sister is the same thing these days.

“Come on, Jessie.” I push back out there, ready to make a few more rounds before they sit down for dinner.

Every once in a while, the hair on the back of my neck stands up as I work my way around. When it is finally time for them to move to the dining room, the feeling stops, allowing me to fully focus on my job.

As we serve the first four courses of the meal, Jessie is flirting her ass off.

While every woman is dressed to be the main attraction, you can tell in many of the men’s eyes that she stole the show.

Deserving of the attention, I leave her to her devices and go back into the kitchen to wait for dessert.

Once I put the empty tray down, I fight to take a big breath in my restrictive clothing.

The vest fights to stay together on my body, my full frame stretching it to its limits.

Having gotten the biggest size they carry, it’s still too small for my plus-size body, and the restriction is making it hard to breathe.

“Are you okay?”

I turn at the sound of his voice, the same one from earlier, ringing out into the busy kitchen.

Alexander.

He is standing next to the door, hands in his pockets, looking at me.

“Do you need something, sir?” My posture stiffens, eyes lifting to look into his.

“No.” He smirks.

I hesitantly smile back, letting the gap in my front teeth show. “Okay then, are you lost?” I cross my arms.

“I just need someplace to hide out. It’s getting to be a little too much in there.” He takes a step closer, inviting me into a conversation I don’t know if I want to have. His fingers trail through his blonde hair, messing up the perfectly sleeked look a little.

“I can only imagine.”

“Yes, I guess you could. If it makes you feel better, you aren’t missing out on anything.” Taking a few more steps, he is suddenly in reach of me.

“I don’t know. The food, at the very least, is good. Plus, it might be nice to dress up.” Not that I have ever done so. I didn’t even go to prom in year eleven or year thirteen.

“Well, if that is the case, you can be my date to the next one.” He looks at me like he means the words. He doesn’t, though. Couldn’t possibly.

“Mhm.” I stop my eyes from rolling, but I can’t help my raised eyebrows or twisted mouth.

“I mean it. Let me get your number.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

I try to hide my gaping as I look away from him.

He can’t be serious? This must be some sort of joke. I don’t think I’m ugly or anything, but I’m definitely not the type of girl who gets asked out while wearing a uniform.

I put my hands on my hips and tilt my head to the side. “Why?” I ask.

“Why what?”

“Why are you asking me out?”

“Do I need a reason?” His eyes bore into mine.

“No, but I have a right to question it.” My customer service voice has gone out the window, and it is now all sass and low tones. The gap in our wealth is showing in the cadence of my words. I fight with myself not to scowl at this man who can look down on me literally and metaphorically.

“You want honesty?” His eyebrows quirk up.

“Always.” I roll my shoulders back, bracing myself for what is going to come next.

Tilting his head down, he rubs a thumb across his bottom lip. “You are the complete opposite of everything I am, and that intrigues me.” His eyes roam up and down my body as if taking in the fact that what he is saying is true.

After all, it is easy to see that I’m the fat, Black, poor woman to his white, muscular, rich self.

“It also doesn’t hurt that you are stunning.”

I want to laugh at that, but my mind is too busy racing. Do I want to be some experiment for some wealthy, bored man? What would I get out of it? Maybe sex. Definitely a free meal. At least he seems to be a decent person.

“Okay,” I say, meeting his gaze again.

“Yeah?”

I pull my phone out of my pocket to exchange numbers with him. He puts his full name in, and my eyes snag on it. Alexander Whitmore. He sounds expensive. More expensive than Chanice Jones.

When I hand him back his phone, his fingers linger on my own, grazing against my knuckle. A shiver slides up my arm from the point of contact, dotting me in goosebumps.

“I’ll text you,” he says, and then turns to leave, stealing one last glance before he exits.

I wait for the door to close before I release the breath I’ve been holding in. My lungs constrict with the effort to expand against the growing panic at what I just did.