Page 17 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

I snort, a humorless laugh slipping out. “That’s hard to believe.”

When I moved in, he was rude, lecturing me about my wardrobe and shouting at my plants when he walked past. Since then, he’s avoided me whenever he can, and our interactionshave been minimal. I’ve been instructed to leave his meals on a warming plate in the dining room and not bother him while he’s eating. In fact, I’ve spoken to Cabrina more in the past week than I have him.

Johanna wasn’t kidding when she said the penthouse was huge. The primary bedroom and his office—both of which he’s made clear are off-limits—are on the opposite side of the penthouse from my room, which is situated behind the kitchen and dining space.

Walter gives me a reassuring pat on the hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Stafford will come around. He has a heavy load to carry, and trusting people doesn’t come easy for him.”

“He can keep his trust. I don’t want it,” I mutter.

Learned that lesson the hard way.

“I take it you two have history?” Walter questions.

I shrug. “You could say that.”

Walter tips his head, a touch of concern in his eyes. “You might not want to hear this, but I’m sure there’s a good reason for whatever Mr. Stafford did. He doesn’t come across as the type to offend a beautiful woman without a valid explanation.”

“What makes you think he did anything?” I ask.

“You were quick to shut down, like you were guarding yourself from something.” Walter puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Give it time,” he says gently.

That won’t make a difference.

I would have respected Harrison more if he had been up front with me. Instead, he led me on, making me think he could have been interested in something more. There’s no chance I will ever forgive him. Ever. All I feel toward him is bitterness and resentment, and I’m not sure any excuse or apology could change that now.

He’s just my boss. I don’t have to like him to do my job.

That’s all this is.

A job.

“It’s ancient history, now.” I shrug, ready to switch topics. “He hired me to do a job, so I’m going to keep my head down and focus on my work.” I hear a low rumble outside and look out the window to see Eastside Harvest’s delivery truck pulling up out front. “There’s my delivery. I better get going. Sorry, I talked your ear off,” I apologize, giving Walter an appreciative smile.

He sets aside the stack of mail he was sorting. “Don’t be sorry. I enjoy talking with you. Stop by whenever you’d like.”

My shoulders relax, the tension easing away at his kindness. “I will, thank you.”

His sincerity warms my heart. The small gesture means more than I can express. I don’t have anyone in the city that I can confide in, so it’s incredibly kind of him to offer a listening ear, despite having only met a few days ago. I’ll have to find out what his favorite dessert is and make it for him as a way of showing my appreciation.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the penthouse’s kitchen, putting the produce away. This place is every private chef’s dream, complete with state-of-the-art appliances, custom cabinetry, and a sprawling marble counter with more space than I could ever possibly need.

The entire apartment is incredible. My bedroom is massive, with a king-size bed, a walk-in closet, and a soaking tub in the bathroom. The only complaint I have is how chilly the penthouse is. I’ve resorted to sleeping in sweats and a hoodie and wearing long-sleeved shirts and fuzzy socks during the day.

I’ve been wanting to ask Harrison about it, but he’s never around long enough for me to bring it up. In fact, most of our communications so far have gone through Cabrina. My phone pings on the counter, and I check to find yet another email from her, noting Harrison’s most recent requests and other instructions. She’s emailed me several times a day, and I’m starting to wonder if I work for her, and not Harrison.

To: Fallon Hayes

From: Cabrina Clark

Subject: Mr. Stafford’s Meal Updates

Ms. Hayes,

I hope this email finds you well. Mr. Stafford asked me to inform you that he’d like dinner served at 9:30 p.m. tomorrow night since he has a meeting at the corporate office in Maine in the afternoon. I’ll stop by at 7:00 a.m. in the morning to pick up this coming week’s lunches to keep at the office.

Warm wishes,

Cabrina

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