The CEO Above My Desk (Mckenzie Shinabery) novel Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Rowan

You’re done. Pack your things.

I fired Avery Quinneth in front of half my staff.

Not quietly. Not behind closed doors. Public. Final. The kind of ending people whisper about.

I should feel relief.

Instead, I feel… something else.

Annoyance, for one. Avery was easy. Predictable. Disposable. I kept her because she looked good on my arm and followed one rule-don’t make my life

harder.

And then she did.

But what I can’t stop circling back to is the moment I said Violet’s name. The moment I put her above Avery with witnesses watching.

I don’t give public validation. It creates expectations. Leverage. Entitlement.

Yet the words left my mouth like they’d been waiting.

I roll a pen between my fingers, staring out at the skyline, telling myself the same thing I always do when something feels too personal.

It’s business.

Violet is a system. She keeps this place from collapsing. Avery tried to sabotage it. I removed the sabotage.

Simple.

So why does my jaw still feel tight?

The door opens.

Violet steps inside like she’s entering a courtroom.

No fidgeting. No awe. Shoulders straight, expression neutral, eyes forward.

Except today she looks… different.

Emerald dress. Clean lines. Fitted without trying. The color warms her skin, brings her to life. Her legs look longer in heels I’ve never seen her wear, and the neckline shows just enough that I’m aware of it without wanting to be.

Her body was always there.

She just hid it.

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And now I’m the one noticing.

I don’t like it.

I like it too much.

“You asked to see me,” she says.

“Yes.”

She stops a few feet from my desk. Doesn’t sit.

“Waiting for permission?” I ask.

“I don’t assume.”

“Sit.”

She does, controlled, hands folded in her lap like she’s trying to make herself smaller. The dress doesn’t allow it.

Dark circles shadow her eyes. She’s running on will alone.

“I’m not in trouble,” she says quickly.

“No,” I reply. “You’re not.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I watched you hold this company together while someone else tried to dismantle it out of spite.”

“I did my job.”

“That’s the problem.” I tap the desk once. “You were hired for one role.”

“I’m the receptionist.”

“Yes. Phones. Notes. Routing to Avery.”

Her jaw tightens at the name.

“You weren’t hired to manage my schedule, my meals, my logistics, or to correct executive mistakes before they reached me.”

“Someone had to.”

“Exactly. And you did it without asking for anything.”

“I get paid.”

“For assigned duties,” I correct. “Not for the work you actually do.”

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Chapter 19

Silence stretches.

“So what are you saying?” she asks.

“I can’t function without you.”

The words land bluntly.

“And,” I add, “you can’t function without me.”

“That’s not true.”

“You’d survive,” I say evenly. “You wouldn’t maintain your mother’s care. You wouldn’t pay off your debt. You wouldn’t have leverage against a department

treating you like a suspect.”

Her face stills. “So this is about the investigation.”

“It’s about everything.”

“I’m not your property, Rowan.”

I don’t correct her. “No. You’re an asset.”

She flinches.

“I don’t like that word.”

“I don’t care.”

I slide my tablet across the desk. “You’re taking both roles. Reception and executive assistant.”

“I’m not doing what she did.”

“Your clarification is unnecessary,” I say calmly. “Avery chose those things. They were never compensated.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It makes it accurate.”

“If you expect me to-”

“I don’t. I expect competence and discretion.”

“And pay.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

I tell her.

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I don’t say that part.

“I’m not comfortable with you spending-”

“Check your account.”

She pulls out the phone Camille lent her earlier-the spare Camille shoved into her hand “just in case”-and opens her banking app.

I watch her face change as she sees it.

Her hands shake. “You sent me-”

“An advance.”

“I didn’t agree-”

“You accepted the position.”

“I can send it back.”

“No.”

“You’re trying to buy me.”

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Chapter 19

“I’m securing stability,” I say. “So you don’t crack.”

“I’m not a machine.”

“I know.”

It comes out quieter than intended.

“If you ever expect me to become her,” she says softly, deadly, “I walk.”

“I don’t want her,” I say immediately. “I want competence.”

She stands, hesitating over the card.

“Fine.”

At the door, she pauses. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“If you ever use what I’m going through as leverage,” she says, steady, “I’ll burn this place down.”

A real threat.

I feel something sharp and unfamiliar in my chest.

Respect.

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The CEO Above My Desk