How to hate a Ceo in 48 hours

New Year's Eve was buzzing with excitement as I was set to pick up my brother and his girlfriend for our family dinner. With my daughter Tracy in tow, I drove my shiny new car, eager to welcome them.

However, when they climbed aboard, my brother's girlfriend shot me a frosty glare. "Henry, you never mentioned your sister had a kid living with you!" she snapped.

I was taken aback, ready to clear the air, but my brother cut in, "Oh, she doesn't stay with us. She'll head to a hotel after dropping us off."

Her face softened at that, and I bit back my unease, wondering what my brother was playing at.

He leaned in, whispering like he was sharing a state secret, "Sis, don't stir up any drama. My girl is the Cromwell Group CEO's daughter!"

I felt a jolt. The Cromwell Group? Was that not the company my ex-husband had just handed over to me as part of our divorce settlement?

In the car, my mind was a whirlwind of doubts and questions, trying to piece together the truth.

Suzy Scott's nose wrinkled as she surveyed the car. "I've never been on such a cheap ride. The seats are as hard as stone."

My car was not exactly a luxury model, but I had handpicked every detail of the interior, which I valued more than the car itself. Even my ex had teased me about my dedication to it. Was it really not up to par for her?

My daughter, strapped in her booster seat, started to clamor for a snack. I asked my brother to hand her a cookie.

However, Suzy scoffed, "Who lets their child eat in the car? It's so uncouth."

My brother hesitated, then set the cookie aside. "Yeah, Sis, maybe Tracy can wait. We'll be home soon."

Tracy was slumped in the back seat, her lips quivering like she was on the brink of tears.

I was ticked off but tried to soothe her, "Tracy, how about we wait until we're at Grandpa's to get some treats, okay?"

She gave a little nod, quietly giving up on asking for snacks.

Our old family place was out in the sticks, a solid half-hour drive from the train station.

Midway, Suzy complained of feeling queasy. "Henry, could you get your sister to ease up on the gas? I'm going to hurl."

I checked the dash—barely hitting 40 kilometers per hour. We were not exactly racing.

However, no matter how my brother tried to calm her, she was still miffed.

"It's stuffy with everyone packed in here. No wonder I'm feeling sick. I've never had to share a ride like this."

She held her nose and scowled, "Henry, this is on you for not having your own wheels. Now I'm stuck here with a kid. You know I can't stand them."

My brother jumped to her defense, "Sis, Suzy's not used to anyone but her driver. Maybe you and Tracy should hop out and grab a cab?"

He was not kidding, and in the back, Tracy was quietly dabbing at her eyes.

I hit the brakes hard, sending them both lurching forward.

"Don't like it? Then leave!"

I mean, they got a free ride and still complained?!

When I showed I meant business, my brother panicked, "Where are we even going to find a cab out here in the boonies?"

He knew the score.

However, Suzy just bailed, standing by the road, arms folded, silent as a statue.

My brother quickly jumped to his own defense, "Come on, Sis, can't you cut me some slack? Suzy is not like you. She's an only child, a real daddy's girl. Finding a girlfriend as awesome as her is super tough, you know?"

I was at a loss for words. "Why on earth should I wait on her? You're the one who wants to marry her, not me."

However, after my brother begged and pleaded, I ended up letting them both into the car. Not a word was exchanged the entire ride home, though.

When we got there, Mom and Dad had dinner ready to go.

However, Miss High-and-Mighty had nothing but complaints about the food—either it was too salty or it looked unclean.

Still, she did not hold back when it came to chowing down, picking out all the meat and seafood for herself. When I offered a rib to the kid, she shot me a frosty glare.

"Henry, what kind of manners do you teach kids in your family? No table manners, no decorum at all."

Mom snatched the kid's utensils right away, plastering on a smile, "The little one doesn't come around much, Amy, why don't you two go eat in the kitchen?"

I was fuming, but before I could say my piece, Dad banged on the table.

"We're here to eat, not to argue. Tracy is our granddaughter, and she can eat however she pleases."

I felt a bit better, relieved that Dad was still on my side.