All Chapters of Mr. CEO Wants Me: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The morning sun shone bright over the city as I walked toward our company’s building. The glass windows sparkled, showing off the busy streets below. I felt a flutter in my chest, something different about today, though I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the cool air or the quick looks my coworkers shared as we met in the lobby.I stepped inside, and the usual hellos bounced around the office. But there was a buzz, a hint of something forthcoming. I heard bits of chatter about a meeting, and guesses about changes. My ears perked up, but I stayed cool, nodding at people as I passed.At precisely 10 AM, we were assembled in the expansive conference hall. The room buzzed with murmurs and speculation. Nick, our esteemed CEO, stood at the front of the conference room, flipping through slides as the employees sprawled around the long room.I sat near the middle, doodling in my notebook, my stomach fluttering because I’d heard whispers of raises but nothing solid until Nick dropped the surprise

The evening air felt cool against my skin as Nick and I stepped out of his car, the neon sign of The Rusty Anchor buzzing above the bar’s entrance. I tugged my jacket tighter, my skirt swaying with each step and my hand tucked into Nick’s warm grip.Brenda’s call earlier had initiated this outing, Jason’s idea to hang out, and now here we were, ready for drinks and whatever the night threw at us.“You nervous?” Nick asked, his voice low, his thumb brushing my knuckles.I smirked, squeezing his hand. “Me? Nah, just excited to see all of us hanging out and having fun.” Nick chuckled, pulling me closer, his lips grazing my ear. “Good, 'cause I’m excited about tonight too.”We pushed through the door, the bar’s dim lights washing over us, the hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the space.Brenda waved from a corner booth, her dark hair loose now, a red top hugging her curves, Jason was standing beside her, tall and broad, his flannel sleeves rolled up.“Over here, you two!” Brend

The office clock ticked past five, and I gathered my things and walked out of the building. The air outside was cool, and the sky was deep indigo as I stepped onto the sidewalk. I adjusted my scarf, the cool breeze brushing my cheeks. The day’s events kept replaying in my head, David’s teasing, Suzan’s awkward glances, Jordan’s icy silence. But they all faded as I spotted Nick’s car pulling up on the sidewalk.Nick leaned over, popping the passenger door open, his grin warm in the dim light. “Get in, gorgeous,” he said.I slid into the leather seat, the car smelling of his cologne and something faintly sweet, like citrus. “Fancy ride, boss,” I teased, buckling up.Nick chuckled, pulling into traffic. “Only the best for you, Tee.” His hand found my thigh, a gentle squeeze sending heat through me.The city lights blurred past, and I leaned back, watching him drive. His jaw was sharp in the glow of passing streetlights. His eyes were on the road, but his thumb was tracing slow circles on

The kitchen was a mess of taco crumbs on the counter, a smear of spicy mayo on the island, and the faint smell of grilled chicken lingering in the air. I wiped my hands on a dish towel, the bourbon’s warmth still whizzing in my veins, and leaned back against the counter, watching Nick stack our plates in the sink. His shirt was untucked, his sleeves rolled up, and his hair was still a little wild from my fingers earlier in the car. God, he looked good, all relaxed and domestic, like this was our routine—and it kind of was.“Those tacos were a solid eight out of ten,” I said, crossing my arms, my skirt shifting slightly as I hopped back onto the counter, legs dangling. “But you’re still not topping my mom’s recipe. She’d school you.”Nick snorted, turning on the faucet, the water hissing as he rinsed a plate. “Your mom’s tacos? I’m calling bullshit, Tee. You just don’t wanna admit I’m a culinary god.” He flashed me a grin, his blue eyes catching the kitchen lights, and I felt that fami

The next morning, I woke to the smell of coffee and the soft clatter of dishes. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, warming the bed, and I stretched, my body sore in the best way. Nick’s side was empty, the sheets cool, and I smiled, knowing he was probably wrestling with that finicky coffee machine to keep his promise.I slipped into one of his T-shirts, the fabric soft and smelling faintly of him, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. Nick stood at the counter, shirtless, jeans slung low, pouring coffee into my favorite mug—the one with the chipped handle I’d claimed weeks ago. The dishwasher was running, clunking like it was on its deathbed, and I smirked, leaning against the doorway.“Morning, chef,” I said, my voice still sleepy.Nick turned, grinning, his hair tousled, eyes bright. “Morning, sleepyhead. And don’t fuss about the coffee. It's ready, black like you like it.” He handed me the mug, his fingers brushing mine, sparking a low hum in my body. “How did you sleep?”“Like a