Texting The CEO: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Read online

  I don’t mention that in the end I had to throw the sushi in the trash since Felix told Julia his mom had left already…and she wasn’t hungry to boot.

  “Jeez,” Rachel says. “So, what are you planning on doing with it?”

  “I should throw it in the trash. Or burn it.”

  She giggles. “Yeah, maybe. But that’s not what I asked.”

  I think for a moment. “There isn’t much I can do.”

  “I know.” She sits up, all bubbly. “You can send him a text. Hey, boss, I just wanted you to know that I'm game any time you want a quickie in the office. And then put like a hundred kisses.”

  We collapse into heaps of laughter, reveling in the joke, but underneath, I feel a pang of something darker.

  “He’d be sick if I sent that, and then he saw me.”

  Rachel slaps me on the arm. “Hey, don’t say stuff like that.”

  I nod. She’s right. Nothing good can come with so much self-pity.

  It doesn’t stop me from thinking about it, though.

  “So…,” Rachel arches her eyebrow.

  “What can I do?” I murmur. “I don’t even know why I wrote it down. It’s like something else took over.”

  “Something else?” she asks softly, a note of confusion in her voice.

  I almost tell her about the recurring dream I’ve been having. Felix with his strong arms wrapped around me, cradling me close to his chest, whispering in my ear that he’s always going to be there to protect me.

  And then it changes, and we’ll be sweaty and pulsing together, our hungry bodies clashing as we drive harder and harder, closer and closer.

  Finally, I’ll watch as Felix wraps a big towel around three of our children. I’m standing at the door with our fourth, a gorgeous baby in my arms, and then Felix will look up with his intense wolfish eyes, the corner of his lips twitched in a smirk… no, a smile, a smile like I’ve never seen from him before, untinged with irony or darkness.

  “I don’t know how to explain,” I say now. “I guess I’ve just got the biggest crush in the universe.”

  It feels like an understatement, but I’m not sure how else to describe it.

  “I really wish I didn’t have to go back out tonight,” Rachel says. “But I agreed to cover a shift. When we get a chance, we need to figure out how you’re going to use this phone number.”

  I smile, but it feels shaky, not as genuine as I’d hoped. In Rachel’s reality, a woman can make a man’s interest flare in any number of ways. She’s always had male attention.

  It’s not jealousy, I feel, exactly, because I’ve never been interested in any of the boys Rachel has been with. It’s simply a fact that we experience life differently in that way.

  Rachel hops in the shower. I pick up my book and walk into the bedroom, trying to lose myself in a thriller.

  But the plot escapes me. The words seem to hold little meaning.

  With a sigh, I sit at my small foldout desk. It has my sewing machine and my crafts supplies. I’m in the process of experimenting with a new bodysuit, repurposed from a bunch of my old scarfs. It’s not a serious attempt at making an attractive piece of clothing. It’s more a way to hone my skills because one day – just maybe – I might be able to make something beautiful.

  But I can’t even focus on this, which is crazy. It’s become my obsession ever since I could save enough to buy the sewing machine.

  Now I have a new obsession.

  The phone number glares at me from my notice board, the digits right there begging me to use them.

  But what the heck would I say?

  For a moment, I imagine typing out the recurring dream, explaining that I’ve fantasized countless times about having a family together, closed my eyes, and envisioned all the love and warmth we could share. I imagine a smile spreading across his face as he stares down at his phone, with a carnal possessive glint in his eye.

  This is just what I’ve been waiting for, he’ll reply. Meet me in ten.

  Sitting back, I groan.

  I need to accept reality.

  If I texted him, he wouldn’t even text back.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Felix

  I hit the punching bag with my fist, the reverberation going up my arm, shattering through my body.

  I should wear gloves to stop the worst of the impact. My coach is always giving me hell about that, so we’ve settled halfway on some hand wraps.

  My coach doesn’t understand that I need to feel that impact simmering through me, hot and urgent, hellish…so it distracts from everything else. I try not to think about what happened when I was a kid, but with Mom sick, it’s stirred it all up again.

  There was so much pain. There was so much wrong with what happened.

  I let out a roar as I hammer my fist into the bag again. It whines on the hinges, the squeaking noise traveling through the empty gym. The buzzer screeches, telling me it’s time to stop, but I can’t as I launch into another attack.

  I wish I could be the man Mom wants, who could easily find a woman, settle down, and be happy. Stop thinking. Stop this raging voice inside of me, this howling, never-ending anger.

  Finally turning away, I pace across the room, beginning my cooldown.

  It’s no good.

  I can hit the bag all day. I can even spar, which I haven’t been doing as much since I’ve grown older. I could fight a man to the death, and it wouldn’t get rid of this feeling.

  Nothing can. Nobody can.

  I sigh as I do the stretches, keeping my body limber.

  There’s no use letting myself sink into a self-pity hole, where all I do is wonder about how things could’ve been, wishing reality had been made different.

  It’s not like I can magically snap my fingers and make myself care about a woman. It’s not like I can force myself to want somebody, how other men seem to want women, the attraction that comes naturally to them.

  But do they feel that earth-shattering desire, that compulsion to possess their woman? Or is it something less, more subtle?

  Maybe that’s my mistake. Maybe what I want doesn’t exist.

  After the gym, I drive through the city, playing music softly on the stereo. I listen to Nordic music, with lots of heavy drums and deep voices but no lyrics, at least not in English. They speak to me in an ancient language, letting my mind clear itself.

  The drive from the gym is usually the most peaceful I feel, without that tight ball of fury punching through me or the need to focus on work, so I don’t have to think about anything else.

  As I drive, I wonder what it would feel like if I was returning home to a woman now. Suppose I had somebody to welcome me through the door, a smile on her face, with our children running down the hallway with even bigger grins on their faces.

  But as I attempt to draw the image into focus, her face fades. The children turn to mist before they can reach me, the fantasy draining to nothing.

  That’s always the problem when I try to imagine what a possible future might look like. I don’t know who I’ll be sharing it with.

  I stop in my apartment’s private underground parking garage, taking a moment before I head upstairs.

  It’s late, almost midnight. Now I’ll check my emails, grab some shuteye, and get up early to start work. It’s a simple, straightforward way to keep my business flourishing.

  But Mom’s words are really eating at me. Somehow, life seems emptier than it did before. Perhaps it’s because, no matter how little I want to admit, I know there’s a chance Mom might not make it. I’ll be alone, except for my buddies and colleagues.

  In terms of family, I’ll have nobody.

  I grit my teeth, telling myself I don’t need anybody.

  Pushing the car door open, I march toward the elevator. I’m done with this shit. I never spend time thinking about my feelings, pondering them, going over and over every little thing. I never let myself sink so easily into these pits of despair.

  No more excuses, no more letting
my mood carry me away.

  I’m dreaming about a woman who doesn’t exist.

  The lights automatically switch on as I stride across my apartment, illuminating the open space, the tall windows showing my reflection. I’m tall and wide, and I look like the sort of man who has it all figured out from the outside. It’d be damn good to feel that way too.

  After pouring myself a drink, I go onto the balcony, sit down and let the cool night air blow softly against my skin.

  My phone buzzes from the table.

  It’s my personal phone. I switched off my work phone when I left the office.

  I grab it quickly, wondering if it’s something about Mom. I don’t think her nurse, Sebastian, would text if there was a problem. He’d call. But I’m not going to take that chance.

  The text is from a number I don’t recognize.

  Hey X

  I stare at it for a long time, searching my mind for who it could be. My last girlfriend was eight years ago, a quick one-month thing that fizzled out quickly. She said I was distant, emotionally detached, and didn’t seem to care.

  All true, hence why I never date anymore.

  Who else would send me this, with a kiss, out of the blue? At midnight?

  A moment later, another text comes through.

  I can see you’ve read my message. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing X

  I shift my jaw from side to side, scraping my teeth together, trying to make sense of this.

  How did you get this number?

  I send the message, sitting back and waiting.

  The response comes quickly.

  I can’t tell you. You’d be angry X

  Why the kisses? I send.

  Force of habit, I guess. I can stop if you want X

  Who are you?

  Three dots appear, vanish, appear again… and then vanish. I tighten my grip on the phone, more curious than anything. The number thing is a problem. People shouldn’t be able to simply gain access to my personal number, but money can accomplish anything.

  Is that it? Maybe this is one of my business rivals.

  If so, it’s a stupid strategy. What am I going to tell a stranger over a text that could hurt the company?

  I don’t know how to answer that, the mysterious texter responds.

  I laugh aloud, shaking my head. You don’t know how to tell me your name?

  No, because then you’ll know who I am.

  My laughter comes again, a good feeling after so much grimness. Whoever this is, they’re funny.

  That’s the whole point of asking a name, I respond.

  She does the dot thing again, typing and then deleting her response. It takes me a second to realize what I’ve just done… assuming this texter is a woman.

  Is it because of the kiss?

  She must know who I am. A thought hits me, which is even more depressing than the business rival angle.

  This could be an opportunistic woman who’s somehow got hold of my number, and now she’s seen her chance to dig some gold. I’d call myself cynical if I didn’t experience so many women trying that exact same thing.

  My name is Fiona, she writes. But I don’t want to give you my surname.

  Fine, Fiona. I’m Felix.

  LOL. I know that!

  I grin at the use of the acronym. Despite the danger that she might be working for one of my rivals or texting me as a way to get money, I find myself wondering how old she is, what she looks like, and who she is.

  It’s a strange feeling, at least for me. One I’m not used to. Curiosity tickles at some new part of me, something I haven’t felt since…well, ever, at least where a woman is concerned. I must be in an analytical mood today – I blame my mother – because my next thought comes quickly, cuttingly.

  Maybe this feeling exists because I know nothing about this woman. But, like the faceless person from my fantasies, I’m able to fill in all the vague feelings of belonging, possession, primal urgency, all the things I wish could come to me naturally.

  So why are you texting me tonight, Fiona?

  More dots, more vanishing.

  I’m surprised to feel my heart pick up its pace. The night is quiet, dark, cold, and yet suddenly, I’m invigorated.

  I repeat her name in my mind, Fiona, all the warning signals not seeming to matter.

  There’s a real possibility I’m making a mistake.

  But I also can’t deny the truth.

  I want to keep speaking with her, whoever she is, even if I can’t pinpoint exactly why.

  It’s a feeling moving deep inside of me, triggering those fantasies I should’ve let die a long time ago, the sorts of feelings I thought died with my father.

  The dots disappear again, making me wonder if this is it. She’s going to ghost me.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fiona

  I feel like a little kid, staying up past my bedtime, with the blanket over my head and my phone screen blasting my eyes brightly. A wild impulse made my hand fly out for my phone and made me send the one-word text.

  I can’t remember exactly, but I think I fell into a fitful sleep, unable to sink completely into resting. And then, before I’d had time to think it through properly, the text was gone.

  I was going to throw my phone down and ignore it until morning. Maybe even break the thing when he didn’t respond, so there’s no way of him…what?

  No way for him to use his money and his connections to track the number. Can he do that?

  Heck, I wish I was more tech-savvy.

  I read his message again. My body is pulsing, my mouth dry, my pussy tingling. My heart glows in time with the physical lust, combining into a messy mass of emotion that’s difficult to handle. One second I imagine him, maybe sitting in bed, shirtless, his muscles throbbing, his hands twitching as those wolfish eyes turn to me…

  And the next thing you know, we’re hugging lovingly, his lips close to my ear, telling me how he’ll always protect me.

  He wants to know why I’m texting him, but there’s no way I can explain it, not truthfully.

  What would he say if I told him about all the emotions taking hold of me, all my hopes for the future, all the images of him sweaty and passionate and ready to do things to me that nobody ever has?

  I almost laugh. Like that would be difficult.

  I’m not sure. I text back, which is partially true.

  I know why I want to talk with him. To bring my fantasies partly into reality, to experience what it’s like to be with a man like Felix Franklin, even if it’s in the most minor way, even if he’d puke when he saw me.

  No.

  That’s Rachel in my mind, the way she snaps if I ever say cruel things about myself.

  But what would he say if he could see me now, under the covers?

  That’s not much of an explanation, he writes. Are you working for one of my rivals or maybe hoping for a big payday?

  My instinct is to snap at him, even if he’s not here, to yell at him that I’d never be so shallow. In all my dreams about Felix, his money never plays a part.

  Of course, I’m not innocent. I understand that having money is a good thing. It can bring security. It can make life easier.

  But it’s never what my mind strays to. I’m always with him, naked and sizzling, taking all the lust he’s lavishing on me. Or I’m with our family, his arm wrapped around me, both of us smiling as our children play in the yard.

  I don’t work for any of your rivals, I tell him. And I’m not a gold digger, if that’s what you’re implying, Felix.

  His response comes quickly, making me giggle.

  Ooh, I’ve offended you. You just named the shit out of me.

  I read it over twice, laughing each time. It’s difficult to match Felix’s voice with the hard man I know from the office. He has a reputation for being fair…but also for being harsh and brutal when he needs to, especially in business meetings.

  It wasn’t an unfair question, I reply.

  So, are you goi
ng to tell me why you’re messaging me, FIONA?

  I laugh again. You just named the heck out of ME too!! X

  We’re back to the kisses again, I see. x

  You’re doing it now as well! X

  My head is spinning. My cheeks are burning.

  Everything feels warmer and more significant somehow.

  Everything feels primed, ready to burst.

  Am I having borderline text flirtations with Felix Franklin?

  I’ve never actually pinched myself before to make sure I’m awake. I know it’s a phrase people use. But I’ve never physically done it.

  Right now, though, I’m tempted. It feels so surreal.

  I guess I’m just not very original x

  I beam at his message, my chest whelming, and then an anxious thought derails the mood.

  If he’s texting so easily with a stranger, does that mean he’s always ready to talk with women he doesn’t know?

  Maybe he’s a secret womanizer. As far as the public is concerned, Felix hasn’t had a girlfriend in almost ten years, and that was only a short nothingy affair.

  But maybe, in secret, he plays the field.

  The thought that comes to me makes me cringe just thinking about it, but my head is too full of him to think of anything better.

  I want to be witty and quick and not have to resort to the biggest cliché ever, but….

  I bet you say that to all the girls

  Once I’ve sent it, I toss my phone aside and emerge from under the covers. The sudden rush of cool air – contrasted with the steaminess of the blanket – makes my skin tingle.

  I shiver gently, imagining it’s Felix’s hands moving all over my body, his finger trailing up my spine.

  “I’m going to make this last a long, long time,” I imagine him growling close to my ear. “You’re going to shiver for me. You’re going to cream for me. You’re going to do whatever the hell I tell you to.”

  I push my legs together, and my lips feel swollen. My clit is tingling, tempting me to press down on it. I almost give in to the urge right now, except it would mean ignoring Felix’s response…if he is going to respond to something so cheesy.

  I pick up the phone, and my eyes flit over his words. My chest tightens and cramps, and for a crazed second, I wonder if I’m going to have a panic attack.