Page 22 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

It’s irritating that she’s acting so comfortable in my space. My frustration is only fueled by the reminder that the living room has been overrun by an army of plants and throw pillows.

“Mind telling me why my living room has been turned into a botanical garden?”

With a sigh, Fallon saves her work and closes her computer. “I made it cozier,” she explains without remorse. “The greenery brightens the room and helps with air quality too.”

“If you want fresh air, go outside. I can’t even see the television past that weird-looking plant.”

“It’s a fiddle-leaf fig tree,” she corrects me.

“What the hell is that?”

“A difficult plant to keep alive. It requires just the right amount of sunlight and attention and is very temperamental in nature,” she says with a pointed glare.

My fingers twitch at my sides as I release a sharp exhale. “Apologies, I thought I hired a chef, not an interior decorator. Oh wait, I did—when I moved in.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but whatever you paid wasn’t worth it. The apartment looked like a showroom—cold and impersonal. It’s much better now that I’ve added a few personal touches,” she says with a mischievoussmile. “It feels more like a home instead of a mausoleum, don’t you agree?”

I’m hyper-focused on the phrasea fewchanges. Our interpretation of the term doesn’t align, and the thought of what she considersa lotmakes me shudder.

“If you dislike this place so much, why don’t we end this trial run right now?” The instant the words leave my mouth, I realize I’ve said the wrong thing.

Fallon stands up, the legs scraping loudly against the tile floor. “If you want me gone, just say so, and I’ll pack my bags.” She comes to stand in front of me. “However, if I stay, I won’t tolerate you using that as leverage whenever we don’t see eye to eye.” Her chest heaves, and the faint tremble in her voice betrays the emotion she’s trying to conceal.

I lower my gaze to the ground, conflicted. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. All I have to do is tell her to leave, and she’ll be out of my life for good. It should be simple… so why isn’t it?

It shouldn’t be this difficult to cut ties, yet here I am, second-guessing myself. And now my conscience has decided to chime in uninvited, reminding me that I’m acting like a total ass for no concrete reason.

Just when I think I’ve fortified my walls around my emotions, I glance over to find her steely blue gaze holding its usual intensity, but beneath the surface, there’s a trace of vulnerability.

Fallon has given up a lot to be here. She had to quit her part-time clients when she came to work for me full-time, and the catering gigs Cabrina mentioned that Fallon has lined up in the coming weeks won’t be enough to support her while she searches for another job.

On top of everything, she doesn’t have a place to stay. WithNew York’s competitive market, it might take a while for her to find a new place to live. I can’t shake the uneasy feeling when I picture her wandering the city, looking at sketchy apartments by herself.

I might be unyielding and hold my employees to high standards, but I take pride in looking out for them. Even those that grate on my nerves. Come to think of it, Fallon’s the only person who’s ever managed to get under my skin like this.

“Do any of your plants serve a purpose other than just taking up space?”

I wince at my botched attempt at acting civil.

Fallon nods. “I grow a lot of my own herbs to make sure there’s no cross-contamination from processing facilities.”

Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that.

Guilt settles in as I run a hand through my hair. Here I am acting like a jerk, and she’s going out of her way to make sure I don’t get sick again.

“I appreciate all the effort you’re putting in.”

She folds her arms across her chest, arching a brow. “And?”

“Don’t leave,” I state firmly. “I shouldn’t have been so angry about plants or hold the trial run over your head. I won’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

“Harrison Stafford apologizing?” Fallon feigns a gasp. “Is this real life?” She pinches her wrist, wincing.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I had to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Didn’t think you were capable of saying sorry for anything.” She lets out a hum, giving me a side-eye. “What’s the catch if I stay?”

“You’ll have to deal with my charmingly stubborn nature, but you’re no walk in the park either, so we’ll call it even,” I say, shooting her a side-eye of my own.

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