Reunited With The Bad Boy CEO

Once a bad boy

No, dickhead – you should instead be gullible enough to tell me more of your secrets; I groaned in my head before mustering a malicious smile.

“We shouldn't be discussing that here since we are not alone,” I whispered, motioning to the maids dishing our food.

Shawn barely glanced at them before lifting a corner of his mouth and raising a brow. “Oh, come on, Serenity. They don't care.” He shrugged stoically.

Raising my shoulders slightly with a frown, I mouthed a ‘Hell no. I care’ and Shawn merely chuckled.

Once our foods were served, we chit-chatted for a while with Shawn exploring every way to flirt with me and I, trying to squeeze information out of him.

At least, he initiated the conversation. Just as I was about to swallow a plantain, Shawn’s eyes landed on me. “So, Ms. Architect,” He drawled, leaning back in his chair. “When you are not in that office, what do you do? How do you unwind?”

I swallowed, knowing fun wasn't exactly a word I ever use often. “Oh, you know,” I said, trying for nonchalant. “the usual architect stuff. Museums on Mondays, cathedrals on Tuesdays. All thrown in for good measures.”

Shawn laughed. He knew probably understood it was one way of saying ‘I never have fun’. “Sounds thrilling.” He teased, a glint in his eyes. “Tell me, does workaholic Serenity ever let her hair down? Does she ever do anything that doesn't involve a T-square and a calculator?"

I felt a smile tug at my lips. “Maybe.” I conceded. “On those rare Fridays when my friends would come to snatch me from my work. But — I tell you, it happens just once in a blue moon.” I took a bite of my chicken. It was well-seasoned.

“Ah — you stunned me, actually. I was expecting a ‘No, I don't have fun’. But it seems you actually do let your hair down at times.” He paused, letting the anticipation hang in the air. “Well, perhaps, it is selfish of me to say that when I had already seen your hair down and your —clothes.”

Oh, the bloody asshole!

I hastily took a sip of water to tame the burning irritation welling up inside of me. Shawn would seize every chance to sexualize everything.

“You know,” I began. “Maybe we are more alike than we think.”

With a creased forehead, “How so?” Shawn asked.

“I know you have fun too. If not a hundred times more than I do.” I countered.

He patted his mouth clean with a serviette before chuckling. “You don't want to imagine the life I've led before my guilt caught up with me and I finally allowed myself to start treading on a redemption path.” He said, meeting my gaze.

“So, Mr. CEO, what did you do for fun before — redemption?” I pressed on, drawing out the words with a playful lilt.

Shawn leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Let's just say my definition of 'fun' involved a lot more adrenaline and a lot less paperwork." He winked, then added with a mock sigh, "Ah, the good old days."

I laughed. It was a cynical one that masked the urge to break the whole juice jar on his head. Those ‘good old days’ of his were the ones that had my life ruined. “Giving your looks, I bet your definition of 'good old days' involved a lot of fast cars and questionable decisions, too."

"Hey, I wouldn't say questionable," Shawn protested good-naturedly. "More like... creatively adventurous." He paused, his eyes locking with mine for a beat. "Though I might have left a trail of broken hearts and charred eyebrows in my wake. I did mess up a lot. I think questionable is not strong enough a word for it.”

My heart began to thump loudly, I could almost hear it in my ears. I raised an eyebrow. "Scorched eyebrows, huh? Is that an imagery of the girls you've scarred? Sounds like someone was playing with fireworks a little too close to his face."

Shawn chuckled. "Let's just say I wasn't afraid of a little pyrotechnics, on or off the dance floor." His gaze lingered on my lips, sending an irresistible blush creeping up her neck.

Man was just confessing to breaking girls' heart and he could dare to be so smug about it. Shawn didn't deserve to live on the earth. He belonged behind the bars and I would seize this opportunity to make that possible.

I cleared my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Well, at least you're on the path to sainthood now, right? Maybe you can channel all that adrenaline into —charity work or something." I suggested, hoping that would lead us to mention Calista.

Shawn snorted. "Charity work? Me? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate a good cause, but excitement runs through my veins, Serenity. It's like a bad habit I can't quite kick."

Of course, I know you’d never change, moron. Mention Calista ALREADY!

“Maybe you just haven't found the right kind of excitement yet," I countered, struggling to keep my voice low and suggestive. "Something that doesn't involve breaking hearts. Something like fixing them instead.”

He leaned closer, his voice, a murmur. "And what exactly would that be, Miss Architect?"

Like Calista, Shawn. SERIOUSLY?!

I leaned in, knowing this was the only way to get Shawn talking, and arched my lips inches from his. "That," I breathed, "is for me to know and you to find out."

I would have taken to bringing up the topic about Calista myself. I wasn't able to get enough information from him the other time when he mentioned something like he was trying to seek Calista out.

That would be a disaster and a total destruction to my plans should Shawn ever find out. I mean, he could find out. Hell, he would find out. It just wasn't now.

When he did, he would have fallen head over heels for me. He’d mourn his broken heart in prison too. I’d have fun.