The CEO's Kryptonite ⚣ ✓

08

And then we were off.

He led me up the steps towards another pathway that lead to even more steps.

It took everything in me not to look like a complete and utter idiot as I gaped at the large fountain we passed that stood front and center of the home.

There were about 4 cars parked outside of an open garage to the right of the home.

Could I name these cars? Definitely not.

Did they look more expensive than every last one of my assets, combined?

Yes. Yes they fucking did.

The real question was, is it still considered a home if you could fit half of the American population in here? At this point, there had to be a different name for something this massive.

An estate, maybe? Fuck if I knew.

"Please watch your step here, sir. The stone is still quite loose from the weekly renovations." Nathaniel directed me. I gave him a slight nod, as if this I totally understood the struggles of this lifestyle.

Weekly renovations?

I was still using a gas stove from the nineteen thirties.

"His clothing is hanging in that smaller closet over there. It has the details on what needs to be done, as well as a pass attached to the hanger so you won't be charged for the services."

Nathaniel was busy talking and I was busy half ass-idly listening.

It was hard to hear him over the sound of money.

And man was it speaking loudly.

The entrance to this palace was ridiculous.. Actually ridiculous. I couldn't believe that something like this existed. Large marbled walls and beautiful chandeliers.  I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Mr. Ivanov owned a pet tiger or something. Maybe he kept it outside next to his artificially built river.

"Mr. Hamilton?" Nathaniel pulled me straight out from my thoughts again. He was fantastic at doing that.

"Right. Sorry." I mumbled back. I made my way over to the door that Nathaniel had pointed to. When I opened it, I almost staggered back again.

This wasn't a small closet. This was a whole other home. Christian fucking Ivanov had suit jackets and dress shirts lined against the right side, while watches and ties and any other pull out accessory, was on the left. When I did finally locate the section meant for dry cleaning, I felt like I had spent the day at the mall. Every article of clothing felt like sixty freaking pounds for some reason. As I lanced at the tags that were still on some of the items, my eyebrows furrowed even deeper.

Who the hell would dry clean something unworn?

"Somebody that cares about their basic hygiene." Christian replied. He had startled me out of my wits so completely, I dropped the mountain of clothes all over the floor of his walk-in auditorium. As soon as the clothing toppled to the ground, Christian came into sight. He appeared in the doorway wearing a loose fitted t-shirt, and some casual sweatpants.

I had meant to say words.
I really had.

But all that came out instead was something resembling the noises of a dying squrrel. Christian looked at me like I was a fucking idiot. I wasn't sure if it was because I was standing here staring, or because I was standing here in the center of all his dry cleaning, staring. In my defense, The dry cleaning was already in clear plastic bags. It wasn't like they were getting dirty.

I was staring because this was the first time I, or anyone else I'm sure, had seen Christian fucking Ivanov without a suit on.

I had always wondered what he looked like. Apparently Christian fucking Ivanov had tattoos.

A lot of them.

Like a whole sleeve.

A whole fucking sleeve.

Of tattoos.

"You good, Hamilton?" Christian asked. That was quick to snap me out of whatever shock my body was experiencing. I didn't think my heart could take much of anymore surprises.

"Peachy."

"Good cause you should have left with this dry cleaning t-minus ten minutes ago. And why do you have work clothes on?"

I looked at him bewildered. "Weren't we... working today?"

"I'm taking us on a field trip. Go dress into something casual and meet me at the office after dropping off my dry cleaning. I'll also take a coffee. Two sugars and one creamer." Christian added. I took a mental note of everything. Or at least I tried to.

In all honesty, I was still hung up on the whole tattoos thing.

They looked... good, I settled on.

"Can you stop staring at me and start moving please? We're late. For like... everything."

My body, much to my minds dismay, starting operating normally (or at least I sure as hell hoped I looked normal). The dry cleaning made it off the floor and back into my arms, as I awkwardly hurried back out through the doors of Christian fucking Ivanov's mansion of a home.

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