Executively Devoted | CEO h.s.

4 | Rise Up

"Well, I can't give you any advice. Just do what you gotta do, I guess." Her shoulders lifted in a shrug, unsure what else to really say, as she looked at me with her kind chocolate brown eyes.

I made my way over to where she disappeared in the back room. "That's the plan."

When she came back out, a pint of cookie dough ice cream and two spoons were in her hands. Passing one to me, she popped off the lid of the container, then asked me another question, "So do you have a plan?"

"Sort of, but here's to actually making it work without failing." I raised my spoon. "Cheers, my dudette."

"Cheers," she replied, clinking her own with mine. The two of us dug into the small container taking a large bite of heavenly goodness.

♬ ✥*

Entering the same massive building once more, my nerves were beating harder than they were the last time. I was afraid that I'd get caught — and not just for the sake of being caught, but for so much more. My chance of being the owner of Studio Starlight would be in the dust. It'd only be a vacant building — one that was missing the dancing feet on its pristine linoleum floors and the sounds of beautiful classical and modern music play from the speakers.

But instruments, though, that was a whole other story. One of my dreams was to be able to bring in a grand piano into the studio and play some songs myself. The problem was that I didn't have any musical talent to save my life.

It was treacherous, really.

Putting my irrelevant thoughts aside, I waited a few more days then called in to see if I could find out when Mr Styles would be in the office — and miraculously, I got lucky.

So here I was — on a beautiful Tuesday morning, where the skies have cleared from last night's rainstorm, with chickadees and Robin's chirping happily nearby — breaking into Urban Corp. using a fake ID.

With his CIA-level of security, I just hoped this would work.

Handing my new identity card to security, I showed a warm smile, added an accent to my voice, and raked my fingers through the synthetic short strands of the blonde wig atop my head. Amara wanted me to go for brown contact lenses, but I said that was too much.

The joke of that, though.

I was relieved when they cleared me through, after I mentioned that I was delivering lunch to an employee here. As for the lunch itself, it had already been devoured earlier — so the large paper bag was filled with nothing but crumpled wrappers and my business proposal.

Navigating through the building was easy, even though my amount of courage to use the elevator was at a bare minimum. Deep breaths were inhaled and exhaled, and numbers were counted, on the short ride — this time, three floors below where Mr CEO's domain was. However, I took a detour and popped into the stairway to slip off my wig, placing it in my purse.

It was time to go back to my true self.

I combed my fingers through my hair, styling it blindly, then smoothed out my beige-toned, ruffled blouse, and black trousers. I adjusted my glasses, resting lightly on my nose. A deep breath escaped my lips as I let it out, easing my anxious feelings.

I can do this.

Without a second though, I continued my journey to my destination. Exiting on the floor I needed. I was quickly spotted by Iris, who gave me an unpleasant look.

"I come in peace. I'm sorry," I spoke, raising my hands in surrender as I made my way up to her desk.

"That was a dirty game you played. You seemed like a sincere person," she said, her brows furrowed and arms crossed.