The CEO Above My Desk (Mckenzie Shinabery) novel Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Violet

I walk out of Rowan’s office like the floor might tilt if I don’t keep moving.

Stunned. Disoriented. Functioning on muscle memory and stubborn refusal to fall apart in public.

I don’t know what just happened.

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I know what he said. I know what he did. I know there’s a black card in my bag and a number in my bank account that makes my head spin if I look at it too long.

What I don’t know is why it feels like the ground shifted under my feet.

He didn’t do it to be kind.

Rowan Ashcroft doesn’t do kind.

He did it to keep things stable. To preserve function. To ensure the machine keeps running.

Because he trusts me.

The thought sits wrong in my chest. Heavy. Uncomfortable. Trust implies vulnerability, and Rowan doesn’t operate that way.

Camille is already halfway out of her chair, eyes wide, concern written all over her face.

I shake my head once.

A warning.

Not now.

I feel Rowan’s presence behind the glass, even without looking. I know he’s watching. Measuring how I move after the detonation.

Camille hesitates, jaw tightening, then slowly sits back down.

Good.

I draw in a breath that feels like it scrapes on the way down and take my seat.

Back to work.

Because whatever just happened, I can’t let it slow me down.

I wake the monitors, log in, and pull up Rowan’s private calendar.

Technically, I’ve had access for months.

No one else knows that.

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09:53 Tue, May 5

Chapter 20

I scan the entries with a practiced eye while answering calls, redirecting complaints, and killing a surprise visit from procurement before it can reach the

elevators.

Ten days out, a block catches my attention.

Lunch Development Partner

No reservation attached.

No location.

That’s a problem.

I don’t wait.

I draft an email immediately.

Subject: Lunch – Development Partner (Details Needed)

Mr. Ashcroft,

For the upcoming development lunch in ten days, I’ll need the following to finalize reservations:

• Number of attendees
• Any dietary restrictions
• Preference for private dining or open seating
• Desired proximity to office or off-site acceptable
• Time flexibility (=15 minutes)
• Parking or valet requirements
• Noise level tolerance

.

Cuisine preferences or exclusions

Once confirmed, I’ll secure a location and update the calendar.

-Violet

I hit send and move on, answering another call before the cursor stops blinking

His reply comes less than a minute later.

Four people.

Me. You. Developer. Their assistant.

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09:53 Tue, May 5

Chapter 20

Private. Impressive. That’s all.

I stare at the screen for half a second longer than necessary.

Me.

I don’t question it.

I don’t acknowledge it.

I don’t let my brain spiral into places it doesn’t belong.

It’s work.

1 open a new tab and start researching.

First option: Luminara – Downtown waterfront. Glass walls, private rooms, impeccable service. Pro: flawless reputation. Con: too visible. Too many eyes.

Second: Élan Noir – Uptown, tucked behind an unmarked door. Michelin-listed. Pro: discretion. Con: pretentious host staff that likes to gatekeep.

Third: Carmine & Slate – Financial district. Private mezzanine. Pro: neutral ground, excellent acoustics. Con: boring.

Fourth: The Meridian Room – Old money, quiet luxury, invitation-only dining room above a private club. Pro: absolute privacy, no interruptions, subtle flex.

Con: reservations are a nightmare.

I choose the nightmare.

I dial.

“Meridian Room,” a voice answers coolly. “Reservations are currently closed.”

“I’m calling regarding a private business lunch,” I say evenly.

“We’re fully booked.”

“I don’t believe you are,” I reply.

A pause. “We don’t make exceptions.”

“Then I’ll speak to your manager.”

Another pause-longer this time. Annoyed.

“Name?” the host asks.

“Violet Pierce,” I say. “Calling on behalf of Ashcroft Industries.”

Silence.

Then, sharper: “One moment.”

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She walks straight toward my desk.

1

No hesitation. No pause to assess the room. Just heels clicking against marble like she expects the building to part for her.

“I have some choice words for someone like you,” Councilwoman Hargrove says, voice sharp, smile tight. “Someone who thinks they can keep me away Mr.

Ashcroft.

I don’t react.

I don’t look up from the screen.

I don’t roll my eyes like Camille does.

Hargrove stops directly in front of the desk, leaning forward just enough to invade space. I can see it now-the faint tremor in her hands, the tightness in

her jaw. Anger wrapped around panic, not power.

“You don’t belong in this line of work,” she continues. “People like you don’t understand how influence works. Who matters. Who gets access.”

I lift my eyes to her then.

Calm. Neutral. Empty of fear.

She flinches. Just barely.

“Mr. Ashcroft isn’t your boss,” she snaps. “He answers to people like me.”

“No,” I say evenly. “He doesn’t.”

Her lips press thin. “You think you’re important because you answer phones?”

“I think,” I reply, “that you were informed he was unavailable. Repeatedly.”

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Chapter 20

Her nostrils flare. “You deliberately blocked my calls.”

“I did my job,” I say. “Which is to manage access.”

“You’re a gatekeeper,” she spits. “And gatekeepers get replaced.”

I tilt my head slightly. “You’re welcome to discuss that with Mr. Ashcroft.”

That’s when her composure cracks.

Her hand slams onto the desk. “You think you’re untouchable.”

I don’t move.

I don’t raise my voice.

“I think,” I say quietly, “that you’re shaking.”

The silence that follows is sharp.

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