He Called His CEO Broke Chapter 2

Outside, an autumn drizzle was misting the pavement. City traffic was snarled at the intersection, so I waited under the restaurant’s green canvas awning.

Moments later, Russell and Kylie stepped out, linked arm-in-arm with a physical closeness that felt completely disingenuous for "just buddies."

Russell clicked his key fob, and the headlights of a black Porsche Cayman flashed by the curb.

Kylie shot me a sidelong glance. "Still here? Don’t tell me you’re waiting for Russell to offer you a ride home?"

"I'm waiting for my driver."

"An Uber driver is still a driver, I suppose," she scoffed. "You really never drop the act, do you?"

Russell opened a large umbrella, adopting an air of magnanimous pity. "It's tough getting a car in this weather. I could drop you off at the subway station. Don’t get the wrong idea, though—just basic manners."

"No need. My car is right there."

As the words left my mouth, a sleek, silver-gray executive van pulled up, but a sports car cut across the lane, forcing it to circle around the block.

Kylie followed my line of sight and sneered. "A luxury vehicle slows down and you immediately try to claim it? You really think you're the main character, don't you?"

I ignored her, texting my chauffeur a pin.

Russell, feeling an urge to show off, adjusted his French cuffs, angling his wrist under the awning's lantern light to reveal an iced-out timepiece. "Eighty grand on the wrist. I doubt you’ve ever seen one in the wild."

I gave it a half-second glance. "It's a fake."

His smirk froze.

"The bezel index is misaligned by a millimeter, and the font engraving on the exhibition caseback is entirely wrong. Not even an AAA-grade replica."

"You can't afford it, so you call it fake?" Kylie jumped in defensively. "This is a limited edition. I was with him when he bought it!"

"Which boutique?"

She choked on her breath, then snapped, "Why should we prove anything to someone who can't even afford the box it came in?"

Russell pulled his sleeve down, his expression hardening with distaste. "Bridget, petty jealousy isn't a good look."

I locked my phone. "If you need a counterfeit watch to prop up your ego, how does Astris dare hire you?"

"Save your bitterness," he scoffed. "Director Hastings, who runs the panel, is an old friend of my father’s. The interview is a formality. The seat was mine before I even applied."

Just then, the silver-gray executive van looped back, gliding silently to the curb.

The chauffeur stepped out with an oversized umbrella, jogging over. "Ms. Carlisle, my apologies for the delay. The traffic was backed up."

Both of their expressions seized.

Then Kylie noticed the vehicle—completely devoid of badges, an experimental, unmarked chassis. A mocking laugh tore from her throat. "Since when do rideshares offer concierge greetings? How much extra did you tip him to call you 'Ms. Carlisle'?"

It was Astris's confidential pre-market flagship prototype, undergoing discreet road testing. Naturally, they didn't recognize it.

I stepped into the dry, leather-scented cabin without a word.

Russell knocked sharply against the tinted glass. "Bridget! Take my advice and move on. Once I'm inside Astris, even if you show up begging at the front desk, security won't let you past the lobby."

I touched the control to lower the window an inch. "You haven’t even signed an offer, and you already think you run the building?"

"The final round is a rubber stamp. The outcome is already locked."

The glass glided up, sealing out the damp city air.

I pulled up my Chief of Staff’s contact and fired off two lines:

[Look into Russell Marsh’s candidacy for the BD role.]

[And find out who paved his way.]