Chapter 344: How to Distract a CEO in Three Easy Steps

If someone had told me I’d one day waltz into Lockwood Corporation’s headquarters, lunch bag in hand like a delivery boy after the past few years of no contact with a certain blued menace, I’d have laughed out loud and told them to see a damn psychiatrist.

I mean, I never pictured myself voluntarily stepping into a building that looked like the floors cost more than my entire university tuition, which I hardly paid much of because I was the scholarship kid...but you know what I mean.

Yet, here I was...standing in a lobby flaunting polished marble floors, massive glass windows, and people dressed so elegantly yet corporately that I briefly wondered if I had stumbled into a fashion show instead.

Just how much were their salaries anyway?

I glanced down at my comfy sweater and sneakers, then at the lunch bag containing a meal from Gabriel, Damien’s personal chef.

Apparently, my boyfriend had a nasty habit of forgetting to eat when work got busy, and Gabriel decided that was an issue that needed addressing, immediately.

Which is why I was doing this, I remembered all of the times back at Hawthorne at Preston Hall where I’d rush off to classes, the hospital, Joy’s Cafe, the flower shop... without remembering to eat first and Damien would nag me halfway to hell for it.

He always made sure I at least had a cup of coffee and a small meal before I left no matter how much I complained I wasn’t hungry.

So...seeing that he had contracted that habit from me, it was only fair if I was the one forcing him to eat more.

"Mr. Reyes?" the receptionist asked, looking at her computer.

"Just Oliver is fine."

Her professional demeanor faltered for a second. "Mr. Lockwood is expecting you."

I blinked. "He is?"

"His assistant let us know you’d be coming, just incase you showed up at some point."

That was curious since I hadn’t told anyone about my plans. I had simply listened to Gabriel complain about Damien surviving on coffee and the occasional snack, then I practically snatched the lunch bag from him and left the penthouse, and decided that my boyfriend needed a reminder that he was a human being, not just an expensive office gadget.

And here I thought I would end up being kicked out of a place like this without an appointment.

I stepped into the private elevator, pondering whether a multinational CEO could get fired for neglecting his lunch habits. If such a law existed, I’d personally see it enforced.

When the elevator doors opened to the executive floor, a woman with tiny neat braids and a tailored suit approached with impressive composure.

"Mr. Reyes, I’m Naomi Bennett, Mr. Lockwood’s personal assistant."

"Just Oliver, please and I promise I won’t report you if you forget to call me ’sir.’"

Her lips twitched. "I’ll keep that in mind."

"Great! Now, before you take me to meet your somewhat terrifying boss, I should warn you that I come armed with food and strong opinions about his work habits."

"I believe he’ll manage."

"That’s the plan."

Naomi led me toward an elevator, then a set of double doors, and as I stepped into Damien’s office, I felt like I had entered a realm where regular folks were supposed to whisper.

The office was sprawling, filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, a grand desk, dark shelves of books and awards, and furniture so sleek that I feared sitting in the wrong chair might come with a fine.

Damien stood behind his desk, clad in a charcoal suit, intensely focused on a document as if he was deciding the fate of a nation. His perfectly styled black hair, unreadable expression, and the air of authority about him screamed that someone was about to be dismissed.

But then he looked up and spotted me.

The change was immediate yet subtle; only someone who truly knew him could have seen it. His shoulders relaxed, the tight line of his mouth softened, and his icy blue eyes warmed in a way that made my heart do something rather embarrassing.

"Sunshine," he greeted, setting down his pen.

"Hello, Your Majesty. I come with food and a formal complaint about your working conditions."

His gaze fell on the lunch bag. "What are you doing here?"

"Delivering a ransom package."

"Oh?"

"The demands are simple: you will eat a proper lunch, stop treating coffee as a breakfast substitute, and admit that your office is way too big for one person."

Damien leaned against his desk, looking annoyingly pleased for someone facing a supposed threat. "You could’ve given me a heads up before coming."

"True, but then I’d miss out on the chance to surprise you, and I hear surprises are the one thing money can’t buy."

A smile curved his lips, and I felt a rush of victory. Making Damien Lockwood smile in his office was probably more impressive than any award on his shelves.

He opened his arms, and I stepped closer, feeling him pull me in for a kiss on the forehead before brushing his lips over mine.

"You’re distracting me," he murmured.

"I’ve been here less than a minute."

"A fine start."

I smiled against his mouth, but then I remembered my purpose. "Sit down. You have a lunch appointment with me."

He chuckled softly, then followed me to the seating area where I set out the containers Gabriel prepared.

There was roasted chicken, rice, seasoned veggies, salad, and a container of fruit, plus a dessert that I immediately claimed before Damien could even glance at it.

He observed me as I arranged everything on the table, his expression unreadable. "Gabriel made all this?"

"Yep, because apparently you eat like a Victorian orphan. So I asked him to prepare more food."

"Those are your words, not his."

"Don’t you dare accuse me of things I clearly said."

I handed Damien a plate and settled beside him, pleased when he loosened his tie and set his phone aside instead of trying to multi-task during lunch.

"Gabriel mentioned you sometimes skip breakfast and forget to eat lunch when work gets hectic," I explained. "I thought I’d ensure you don’t forget you’re not an actual machine."

"I eat regularly."

"Sure, the guy who made this food seemed ready to lead a protest on your behalf."

"He’s overly dramatic."

"He’s a chef, not your mother. If he’s worried about feeding you, something’s definitely wrong."

Damien shook his head but started eating, and I caught the thoughtful look he shot my way when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

It made me inexplicably happy to sit there with him, doing something as mundane as sharing lunch in a world so extraordinary.

He had people managing his schedule, prepping his meals, running his life like a well-oiled machine, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use a little care beyond what a contract stipulated.

Besides, if he planned to be my boyfriend for the long haul, someone had to make sure he didn’t starve from stubbornness before our first anniversary.

I was halfway through my meal when I realized Damien had stopped eating again. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Am I not allowed to look at my boyfriend?"

I blushed, "Sure, but it’s a little distracting when you should be eating, which is the whole point of my visit."

"I’m listening."

"To what? My chewing?"

"Among other things."

I narrowed my eyes, and he reached over to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, his expression softening as he studied me.

"Thanks for being here," he said.

The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, and suddenly I found the rice on my plate way more interesting than his face.

"You’re welcome," I mumbled with a small smile. "But don’t get mushy. Think of this as payback for almost getting me all fat in Hawthorne."

By the time we wrapped up, I had devoured the dessert, Damien managed a respectable amount of food, and I concluded that his office furniture must’ve been designed by folks who thought comfort was a sign of weakness.

I was mid-explanation about this crucial architectural insight when Damien’s hand slid to my waist. "Are you done critiquing my office?"

"Not even close. I haven’t tackled the chairs yet."

"Maybe you should come over and inspect them."

Before I could respond, he pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arm around my waist before kissing me. I intended to give him a quick peck and return to my lecture on corporate design, but Damien decided my visit was a perfect opportunity to shirk his responsibilities in a completely different manner.

His hand slipped beneath my sweater, resting against my back, while the other caressed my jaw. I tangled my fingers in his shirt and kissed him again, having never claimed to be sensible when it came to him.

The kiss started off playful, with Damien grinning against my mouth whenever I tried to make a point, but it gradually slowed, becoming more intense, his focus on me making the vast office feel oddly intimate. When his lips trailed along my jaw, I tilted my head back despite myself, only to remember that I had come here to encourage responsible behavior.

"Damien," I murmured, trying for a stern tone while he kissed my neck.

"Hm?"

"This is still a workplace."

"I know."

"There are employees out there."

"So? They’re working."

"And you should be working too."

He lifted his head, looking significantly composed, which made me want to hurl something at him. "I’ve completed several critical tasks today, I want a reward."

I rolled my eyes, unable to hide a grin. "Congrats. Want a certificate?"

"I’d prefer another kiss."

I opened my mouth to argue but realized he had a solid point and my position was getting harder to defend.

So, I kissed him again.

His grip tightened around me, and I felt him smile as I pulled him closer by the collar.

For a few moments, I forgot about the pricey furniture, the pending documents, and the employees outside who probably thought their CEO spent his afternoons making big decisions rather than kissing his boyfriend senseless.

But, of course, reality came knocking.

I pressed a hand against his chest and pulled back, my face flushed and my hair a complete mess. "We need to stop."