Entangled To The CEO

Rainer’s [POV]

“Speak of the devil,” I said. “Were you?” my brother asked.

“I’m glad one of your colleagues pointed out those crow’s feet. Television shows all the flaws. You tell them I can fix all that in an hour?” I groaned.

“What do you want, Evan?” “Oh, so now my baby brother thinks he’s the best because he was on television?” Evan sighed.

“I keep telling you a real reputation can’t be built on bottles of champagne.”

“Are you trying to sell me Botox injections again or what?” I asked.

“Nope. I’m just calling to show you how a real Maxwell makes the grade. Have you seen my review in the Best of the Bay? All the top critics are calling me the new face of plastic surgery,” Evan said.

I dropped an elbow on my desk and leaned on it hard.

“Father must be so proud.”

“Yes, exactly. The old man’s taking me out for a celebratory dinner tonight. You want in?” I ground my teeth.

It didn’t matter that my face was now all over the headline news or that my name was trending alongside the biggest app launch of the year; my father was not impressed.

Instead, he was taking my older brother out to dinner to celebrate.

And I was being invited as an afterthought. Less than that, I was being invited as Evan’s way of rubbing my face in it.

“I’ve got plans,” I muttered.

“More champagne? More models? You do the Maxwell name proud, little bro,” Evan said.

Even my own family didn’t see that my reputation was all for show.

I couldn’t remember the last time I thought they knew me.

“Congratulations on the review, Evan,” I said.

“Tell Father I say hi.”

“Come on, Rainer, don’t be like that. Come to dinner and say hi to him yourself.” I shoved up out of my office chair and glared out over the tremendous view.

It didn’t matter that I was almost at the top of Hyperion Industries. It didn’t matter that I wore custom-made suits and expensive shoes.

My brother had worked his way through medical school, paid off all his debts, and then climbed to the top of his field all on his own.

Compared to him, I was a parasite. The world thought I could charm everyone, but my father saw through me.

He knew I was nothing but a con in a fancy suit.

“Sorry, Evan, I’m just not in the mood for a family share and compare tonight,” I said. Evan laughed.

“But it’s a family tradition. We fight it out until we’re sixty and then we see who gets the family fortune. A little friendly, family competition. That’s the reason we have the family fortune in the first place. You know Father just barely beat out Uncle Bert. If he hadn’t made those real estate deals a decade ago, we’d be sucking up to old man Bert for tiny trust funds.”

“As if you need any more money,” I said.

“It’s not for me; it’s for future generations,” Evan said.

“I know, I know. ‘Maxwells make the family fortune.’ You realize our grandfather was a sick man to pit everyone against each other,” I said.

“Sick? How about genius? We’ve got to make something of ourselves before we get the big bucks. I can’t wait to see what my kids do,” Evan said.

“Well, good luck with that. I’ve got a meeting to get to,” I said.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t invite you. Oh, and don’t crinkle up your forehead when you smile or you’ll get more wrinkles than even I can erase,” Evan said.

I hung up the phone and leaned my forehead against the glass. It was ridiculous to call the expectations in my family a tradition.

My grandfather had been dirt poor but made a respectable living as a master stone mason.

My uncle had become a corporate attorney and set the bar high.

Then my father cashed in all his shrewd real estate deals and become the patriarch.

As a Maxwell, I was expected to contribute to the slowly accumulating family fortune or not receive any of the benefits.

So, I put on the big smile, trotted out my best jokes, and dodged my way through the murky ranks of Hyperion Industries.

It was just the sort of monstrous corporation that allowed men like me (short on tangible talent, heavy on personality) to grease the right palms and get to the top. Even I was sick of the rigged system.

A rapid knock was followed by, “Mr. Maxwell? Just a few quick items before your meeting.”

I turned from the glass and dragged my mouth into an easy smile. Rainer Maxwell didn’t brood out the window. I knew I had it good but wanted more, and I hoped today’s meeting would do just that.

“Tasha Nichols requested a meeting. As soon as possible, she said.” Topher smirked and moved that message to the bottom of his list.

“Tasha Nichols?” I asked. Her name was like a lighthouse in my foggy thoughts, but that didn’t fit my playboy persona.

“The new coffee girl?” Topher chuckled.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

“No. That’s Sasha. Tasha Nichols oversees the GroGreen app production team.”

“How else would I know her?” I asked. Topher was eager to show off his assistant skills and his impressive memory for Hyperion personnel.

“She’s been on the rise for the two years, a favorite of Mr. Eastman.”

“Stan?” I retied my tie in the mirrored wall behind my desk.

“His reputation for chasing skirts was worse than mine.” Topher grinned.

“He’s taken a particular interest in her this year and has been carefully tracking her progress on this app project.”

The Chief Operations Officer had his eye on her. He was at least twenty years Tasha’s senior, but it still bothered me.

“So, is she old and silver like our Mr. Eastman?”

“You don’t remember her, Mr. Maxwell?” Topher asked. I pulled on my suit coat and arched an eyebrow at my assistant.

“Why would I remember her?” It was a test. I knew it, and he knew it.

Topher had to walk the fine line between giving me the information I wanted and leaving out the details that did not reflect well on me.

I might not have had the best talent, but I could sure teach the kid how to navigate the egos of corporate America.

It was a special skill he’d seen me wield with great results.

“You met her at last year’s holiday party. She was in a red satin dress with a white cashmere cardigan. You knew her name and reputation, but that’s the first time you met in person,” Topher said. I nodded.

The image of Tasha enduring a pose with Santa Claus was impossible to erase.

A pretty blush lit up her cheeks even as she smiled politely and pried off Santa’s hands. I saved her by pulling her onto the dance floor.

Frankly, she’d dazzled me, and all I’d been able to say was, “Pretty little candy cane.”

The line haunted me every time I saw her, and I was very glad that the detail had been forgotten. I waved my hand to make Topher continue.

“I’d had a few cocktails by the time Santa showed up.”

“She’s attractive, with coppery-red hair, dark-brown eyes.”

Topher was nervous and decided to hedge his bets on whether we liked her or not.

“Always in a hurry, uptight. Her smiles are always puckered up, sour.”

“Tasha Nichols isn’t uptight. She’s busy,” I said, not caring that I’d revealed I knew her.

“Well,” Topher said, “she could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Maxwell, on how to make it look easy.” I checked my watch to hide my irritation. I made it look easy because a monkey could do my job.

“One trick to that is to always arrive early.

That way you look like you’ve got a handle on everything and have time to relax. Doesn’t hurt to chat with the other early arrivals.

Those are the go-getters,” I said. Topher nodded, eager to put my advice to good use.

“The meeting is in conference room four.” I led the way. I had purposefully avoided Tasha after the holiday party.

She had the kind of talent, smarts, and drive that made me nervous. Still, she’d been like a beacon all through the rainy winter, and I’d looked for her every day.

I’d finally decided to pull some strings and jump on her project, just to get the idea of her out of my system.

I hoped she was every bit as uptight as Topher said, but our little run-in in the penthouse office had me worried.

A warm rush accompanied the memory of her wedged against me in the narrow door.

Now, not only could I not take my eyes off her, but my body was drawn to her like a magnet. The success of her project was just a bonus.

The early arrivals amounted to three executive assistants sent to take notes and the majority of Tasha’s department managers.

Her team was impressive, still working hard despite the positive reception of the finished project.

Still, when they saw me, work was forgotten, and out came the questions about the celebrities I had invited to the launch party.

I regaled them with stories of the opulent party until they were roaring with laughter.

“I see my hangover cure is working for you,” James called from the conference room doorway.

The conference room fell into a hush. James Berger’s reputation was neck and neck with mine, though he’d gotten the bigger bonus last year.

Now, he was the new standard of luxury living, and everyone regarded him with jealous awe. I got up and met him in the doorway with a hearty handshake.

“Didn’t you take your tonic? You look like hell.” James laughed and slapped me on the shoulder.

“That’s what I get for taking a midnight helicopter ride down to Santa Cruz. Starlight beach volleyball is worth it, let me tell you.”

I gritted my teeth but grinned. James never missed an opportunity to flaunt his outrageous spending, and it was going over great with the wide-eyed production team.

“I did all right with post-party dim sum and cocktails in Chinatown,” I said.

“Next time you hit the Li Po Lounge, try the White Dragon spritzer. I helped out with the recipe.”

“Perfect thing to mix up at my yacht party this weekend. You in? I know you don’t have your sea legs, but she’s a real gentle giant. We’re taking her out to the Golden Gate Bridge and then over to Sausalito,” James said.

“I’m telling you, Rainer, the yacht has opened up an entirely different world for me. Not that I don’t love my helicopter, but the yacht is a whole new level.”

“Sorry, ensign, but I don’t have a sailor suit,” I said.

“Besides, didn’t you hear there’s an exclusive happy hour over at the speakeasy? I got the password to open up every single secret tunnel.”