16. CEO Ass Grabber
CEO Ass Grabber
Angie
Where are you?
I read my roommate’s frantic texts and tell her the truth:
Sitting on a log with boss
Boss? Who’s boss?
My boss. The CEO actually.
Where?
Parking lot...
Seconds later, Angie’s head pokes out of the entrance to make sure I’m not pulling her leg.
I wave at her from the planter, under the glow of a waving neon cactus.
During a busy dinner time rush, the patio would be swarming with people waiting for a seat.
It’s deserted now, just Sam and me and a few moths fluttering under the porch lights.
“Huh.” Angie says, suspiciously checking Sam out. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”
“I didn’t,” I say, downing the last of the bottled water Sam fetched for me.
“Join us?” Sam scoots over.
“No way, I’m having too much fun inside. I just wanted to check to make sure you’re okay. I’ll just…” She points toward the bar’s dark interior. “Text me if you need anything.”
“Wait!” Before she could head inside, I pad after her in my bare feet. “Can I have the keys to your car? I need my ballet flats.” I silently plead with her to stay.
Angie eyes Sam again, who waves at her with what he thinks is his most charming smile, but actually looks smug and slightly punchable.
The message clicks. She nods, eager to get the scoop. “I’ll get it for you.” We take our sweet time walking to her Suburban.
Angie pops the hatchback, shielding us from view. Dumping my heels inside, I perch myself on the trunk, rubbing my sore feet.
“Okay,” she says, lowering her voice, “Start from the beginning. What’s the CEO doing here? Did you invite him?”
I give her the abridged version, everything from throwing up my margarita to my coincidental encounter with Sam.
“What’s he doing all the way down here?” Angie asks. “At a South County cougar bar, no less!”
“He’s dropping off his mother...”
Angie visibly cringes. For a moment, she looks like I’d just sucker-punched her in the face with the same midlife crisis. “Are you cool? Because it looks like…” We glance at the porch where Sam was scrolling his phone, a blank look on his face. “It looks like he’s trying to pick you up.”
“Angie!” I say between clenched teeth. “He was trying to scoop me up for a ‘drive along the coast.’”
“Hmph.” Angie mumbles disapprovingly, then turns to me, one eyebrow arched. “Are you going?”
“No!” My eyes widen in shock. “God, no. Frankly, I’m disappointed you would even think I’d consider it. You know me better than that.”
“Well, I don’t know!” Angie says, cocking her head at Sam. “You’ve been acting weird and mopey all night. In fact, ever since you landed that job at Rylan, you haven’t been yourself.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve been under a lot of stress. You know that. It’s not like it’s easy pretending I’m an expert at something I’m not...”
If anyone asks: how do liars like you sleep at night? My answer is: not well.
“And you’ve been dropping hints about how hot your CEO is,” she says. “I figured you were sick of climbing the career ladder and pivoting to getting that ring so you won’t have to work anymore.”
Unbelievable. “I resent that.” I shake my head, disgusted and dismayed. “I may be many things, but I’m not a gold-digger. He’s my boss. I don’t shit where I eat. Besides, I’m just not that into him.”
We glance over at Sam again, who waves at us.
“How’s it going over there?” he calls to us. “Do you need help?”
“No, no!” I motion that he should sit back down. “We’re just putting on bandages and fixing our makeup.” It was the girliest thing I could say. “Should be a minute.” With Sam pacified, I whirl on Angie. “I’m not into him at all.”
Angie checks out Sam appreciatively. “He’s tall, dark, handsome, rich…”
“Until he opens his mouth,” I clutch Angie’s arm and tug her closer so I can whisper in her ear, “trust me, he’s fully aware of how great he is. And he’ll let you know, over and over again.”
Angie nods in understanding. “Bit of a narcissist, huh?”
I breathe a sigh of exasperation. “Big time.”
“Just like my ex,” she says, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “Hmmm.”
“I just spent the last twenty minutes listening to how he mixes his protein shakes while fending off his advances.” A shudder zips through me.
Angie’s eyes widen. “Girl... did he try something?”
“So I threw up, and he started thumping me on the back, as you would, you know, to get all the puke out?”
She nods. “Sure.”
I lower the decibel of my whisper. “And then he started patting me down.”
“Patting you down?” Angie wrinkles her nose. “Like a cop checking for weed?”
“More like he copped a feel of my ass!”
“What? Come again?”
“First, he grazed my left cheek with the back of his hand,” I say, “and then the graze turned into a full-on…” I squeeze her upper arm in demonstration. “Grab.”
Angie’s gaze zooms to Sam, taking up as much space as possible with his man spread, that stupid black V-neck showing off bits of tan skin. “That motherfu—”
“Shhh!” I detain her arm in case she charges him like a bull on my behalf, which she looks like she’s seconds from doing.
Angie’s no stranger to bar fights. In college, during our clubbing days, this group of girls bumped us, quite hostilely mind you, and spilled a strawberry daiquiri all over Angie’s chrome halter top.
No remorse. No apology. In fact, the leader bumped Angie again and said, “’Scuse you. ”
I won’t go into details, but we got banned from that club for life. I wasn’t even involved in the fight and I got banned, but at least Angie left with a fistful of cheap Walmart hair extensions.
In any event, Angie has simmered down since our college days.
We’ve outgrown the clubs and our cheap mall heels are languishing on the shelves of a Goodwill (or a landfill) somewhere.
Angie has a strict bedtime of 11:30 pm and owns several pairs of Crocs (from bunions sustained from her clubbing days).
I guess becoming an organic produce buyer mellows you out, but tonight, I see some of that vengeful fire rekindle in her big brown eyes.
I’m touched. She would beat the shit out of a six billion dollar man for me.
“Okay,” Angie says, taking another deep breath, “so what did he say when you called him out on the ass grab?” Seeing me hesitate, she narrows her eyes. “You did call him out, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did.” I peek around the hatchback at Sam. He’s still ‘busy’ on his phone, but I think he’s pretending to be busy. I hope we’re far enough out of earshot. “I’m not going to let him get away with this.”
Angie leans closer. “What did you say?”
“I said, “‘Hey! That’s my ass!””
“Good. That’s what I would say too.” She nods. “And what did he say?”
“‘Oops, my hand slipped.’”
“‘Oops, my hand slipped?’” She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard that one before.”
“Anyway, he’s brushing it off like it never happened, and he won’t go away. He’s pestering me to go on a drive with him to the beach.”
“No! Nope. No way. You’re not going anywhere with him.”
“I know that! When I told him I’m still sick to my stomach, he offered to take me to the pharmacy.
When I said my feet hurt, he said I wouldn’t need shoes at the beach.
When I said I’m tired, he offered to give me a ride home.
He won’t take ‘no’ for an answer; he’s subjecting me to his cutthroat boardroom negotiating tactics, except I think he’s trying to use his power of persuasion to get in my pants. ”
Angie narrows her eyes at Sam as if he’s puddle scum. “Who does he think he is? You’re the Director of the ASSET, not some secretary he could nail.”
“Exactly!” Angie has riled me up. “I didn’t work this hard and lie this much to get treated like a piece of meat. And if he thinks he’s going to date rape me at the beach, he’s dreaming.”
My roommate shakes her head, disgusted. “From the moment I saw him,” she begins, and by ‘moment,’ she meant five minutes ago because she’d never seen him before that. “I said to myself, ‘That boy has major date rape face’ and I was right.”
Now that I look at Sam, he does bear a striking resemblance to Bruce Patman in the Sweet Valley High books if going by the cover art.
Dark, sweeping hair moussed into a preppy side part.
A handsome yet smug face that says “I have 1brUCE1 on the license plate of my Ferrari in which there is also a specialty mirror for freebasing three lines of coke.” But I digress.
The fact that I’m mentally referencing Sweet Valley High hints that I belong at Coyote Flame, and that’s a lot to unpack.
“So here’s my problem,” I say. “I need to get rid of him.”
“So tell him you’re not interested,” Angie shrugs. “And if he can’t take ‘no’ for an answer, then tell him where to shove it.”
“Except he’s the CEO and I want to keep my job.
It’s not like I have another one lined up.
” I rub my brow for a moment, contemplating the tightrope I have to walk now that the CEO is attracted to me.
“Not only do I have to turn him down tonight, I have to keep turning him down for as long as I’m working at Rylan. ”
“Hm,” Angie makes another low-throated sound of disapproval, “Sounds like you’re in a sticky situation of workplace sexual harassment.”
“Tell me about it.” I sigh, weighing my options.
I could snitch to HR and then make it public that the CEO grabbed my ass.
Naturally, the odds were never in my favor.
It’s a game of power in that he has all the power and I have none.
Sam shares a name with the company. It’s a done deal.
Dash away the director title, and I’m still an employee.
If this goes badly, my name will be dragged through the mud and my character will be called into question.
I can already hear the whispered insinuations .
Maybe I encouraged him?
Maybe I misinterpreted his hand slip for an ass grab (um... no, there was squeezing involved).
What was I wearing? It’s a lot harder to make a man take accountability for his actions, but it doesn’t take much to spin a woman into a whiny whore.