Page 8 of Texting the Possessive CEO
It’s like something just took me over. I shouldn’t be flirting. But the closer I get, the more information I’ll have. Unfortunately, Aaron will get it out of me eventually. I don’t want to betray Dominic, but I also don’t want my grandma out on the street in her final months or years, however long that ugly Lou Gehrig’s gives her.
Dominic Vale: I feel lazy right now. But the way I’m sweating, you’d think I was the hardest worker in here. I lift heavy, which means I need to take longer breaks anyway. But thank you, Izzy.
Izzy: Just an observation. Good night.
I put my phone on silent and place it facedown on the table, sinking back into the couch and spreading my hands over my middle. When I look up at the TV, he stares back at me from the screen, that nearly-there smirk on his lips, a subtle twitch that makes him look dangerous and stern all at once.
This feeling—this swirling, aching, tingly mess—wasnotpart of the plan.
CHAPTER 4
DOMINIC
As I drive to work the next morning, I tell myself I’m going to be hard. Apparently, Jennifer’s husband spotted me in the park with them yesterday. It’s caused her loads of hassle, and it’s another reminder that I need to keep my head. But last night, texting Izzy…
There I go again. Romanticizing, turning this into something it doesn’t have to be.
In my morning meeting with Ethan, I ask him where Izzy is going to be located today. He gives me a look. Head tilted, appraising. He thinks I don’t notice when he looks at people like that, but I do. I’m trying to be more like the PR version of Dominic Vale today. Shut down all the other messiness.
“Here,” Ethan says after a pause. “Helping with the paperwork for the new acquisition, admin stuff. Why?”
“Why?” I repeat, shaking my head.
Ethan shrugs. “I’m just curious.”
“You should dial the curiosity down,” I tell him.
“Fair enough.”
“I’ve got a call with the West Coast office soon,” I say, gesturing to the door.
“They’re up early,” he comments, standing.
I can tell he noticed something when I mentioned Izzy. In the future, I should try not to even say her name.
“Dom,” Ethan says, pausing at the door.
“Hmm?”
“Don’t spread yourself too thin. Our big commercial projects, low-income here, and now more low-income in Cali? It’s a lot.”
I don’t reply. He sighs, then leaves. He’s probably right. I don’t buy the big flashy offices, the look-at-me cars, or any of it. I grind and try to do some good, because… well, why not? Why not at least try to make the world a bit better? Doing the opposite for cold cash has never made sense to me.
I take my West Coast call, then do my daily calls to my foremen to check on them.
An hour later, there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I say, my voice sterner than I’d like. Sometimes I wonder if my PR persona really is a show I put on… or a part of me that’s very real, and I don’t want to face it.
The door opens slowly. Izzy. She’s wearing black pants today, hugging her thick, beautiful legs. I try to push that thought away and instead focus on her face. She’s got her hair up in a loose ballerina bun with a few wisps escaping, giving her an ethereal look, a dainty necklace glinting around her neck, and there I go again, hyper-focusing on her.
“Hi, si… Dominic,” she says, correcting thesirshe was about to offer.
She closes the office door behind her as if it’s a reflex. Or does she want us alone together? I remember what she texted last night, about how I don’t look as if I slack in the gym. Translation: I’m muscular.
My father’s voice warns me sternly, telling me not to go down this road, not to allow my thoughts to spiral and make a slave of my heart. And other places.
“Izzy,” I say after a pause that lasts a little too long.
She glances over her shoulder. Like she’s just realized she shut it.
