The CEO's Kryptonite ⚣ ✓

16

Alex

"I just think if we were to move these figures around, it would look more appealing."

I gave Christian a sharp glare.

"It would also be inaccurate and deceiving, Christian."

Another sigh slipped past his lips as he erased more notes.

This had been what the last maybe 45 minutes, had consisted of.

The clock now read 9:35 pm, and I was starting to really feel both the sleep deprivation and the whiskey-tea. Christian had also since then completely removed his tie, and unbuttoned a few more buttons. Work was getting the best of us.

It was when he rolled his first sleeve up, and used his teeth to fasten it... did I then realize I was staring like an absolute creep and I needed to stop. He'd been here more than long enough for me to get over it.

"Could you help me with this other sleeve?" He asked me. I glanced back over hesitantly, and caught his eye. He was looking at me with a furrowed expression on his face. Clearly getting that last cuff fastened had taken some work and this far into the night, I don't think Christian had the energy to do the second one.

I shifted over from the side chair to the futon he was currently sitting on and he extended his arm out to me. As soon as my fingers graced against the sleeve collar, I could already tell this shirt was an expensive one. The material was incredible against my fingers. Incredibly rich and soft to touch.

Christian and I could not have been cut from a more different cloth.

I rolled the second sleeve up a bit, mirroring how he did it with his other arm. As soon as I rolled this one up, I realized that some of his tattoos were peeking through. It took a shit ton of concentration to stop my cheeks from darkening further than they already had, but Christian's weird ass intense stares did nothing good for the heart.

"Done." I nodded moments later. Christian stopped me moments before I managed to scoot myself away from the couch.

"Stop acting like I'm going to murder you at any second, and sit back down." He motioned towards the futon. "Plus if murder was my intention, a few feet won't save you from me, Alexander Hamilton."

I inhaled the fear and exhaled the most shakiest "reassuring" smile I could muster as I plopped my ass back down on the futon. I liked the distance we had. That distance was now gone.

Now, we were here. Both sitting on this far from comfortable piece of furniture, looking at a series of graphs. I could almost feel the last few remaining brain cells trying to figure out what would work best.

An accurate representation of what was going on, could be equivalent to that sponge bob episode where all his brain cells sorta started to lose their shit.

Yeah.

We were just about there now.

Christian got up so suddenly, I almost dropped the few charts I had picked up off the table. "Sorry, just stretching the legs." He replied.

I realized I hadn't seen him get up once since we'd stationed ourselves in my living room.

"No worries." I sort of mumbled out. I was chewing on the top end of one of those cheap BIC pens. It was a shitty habit I had, but it helped me focus.

That was not a good whiskey-tea ratio, I thought to myself. The heat of the whiskey was a sensation I was most definitely feeling it now. My eyes betrayed me as they glanced back over at Christian. He was looking through my extensive collection of books on the large bookshelf that rested against the farthest wall of the living room.

"This is ironic. You have the Hamilton play script in book form?"

My eyebrows furrowed as I glanced at the book he was holding. I didn't remember purchasing that. It must have been a present from Derek... but as soon as Christian opened the book, everything sort of fell into place.

The inside revealed it wasn't a book at all, but rather, a hallowed out center that contained a baggy.

"Uh, Alex?" Christian held the baggy up so we could both see its contents.

Of course, no one other than Derek would leave me a joint inside of a baggy located in a book that must have been given to me months ago. I couldn't tell if this was a present or a hiding space because when it came to Derek, common morals and sensibility were generally thrown out the window. He always mentioned he was going to get me to smoke, but I never really saw the appeal. I had liquor. Liquor was my thing.

This was besides the fucking point, though. What was the fucking point was the fact that my boss was holding up a baggy of drugs he had just found in my apartment.

"Is this what I think it is?" Christian asked calmly. I just about shit my pants.

"I-I-I- I can totally explain- that isn't even mine, I swear!" I got up and tried to grab both the baggy and book, but Christian was much quicker.

"Now hold on a minute." He was grinning ear to ear as he plopped down on my futon. "I didn't peg you as a marijuana smoker."

I didn't peg me as a goddamn marijuana smoker either.

"But since I've found your stash, I think I'm going to have to confiscate the substance." Christian added.

My forehead dropped into my palms. This wasn't good- in the slightest. There was just no way I wasn't getting fired, right? I mean if have to assume it's company protocol to fire anyone caught with something like this.

The craziest thing was that it wasn't even mine!

I was going to have to kill Derek, as unfortunate as it sounded. This was grounds for murder.

My spiraling thoughts were stopped short as Christians next words practically gave me whiplash.

"You got a lighter?"

••