Page 36 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I refuse to acknowledge that Harrison’s comment about being out with someone last night got to me. But the memory of my nails grazing his chest and the heat of his lips pressed against my neck from that weekend we spent together played on a loop in my mind. The idea of him out with another woman and the possibility that he’d spend the night with her ignited a jealousy I couldn’t shake.

As irritating as his arrogance is, and despite never missing a chance to argue with him, I’ve recently caught myself looking forward to seeing him. It’s a troubling revelation, given our history. Did I learn nothing the first time? Apparently, I need constant reminders to keep my emotions at arm’s length where Harrison is concerned.

The one bright side of his absence is that I’ll get a reprieve from his pranks—at least, I hope so. The past few days have beennerve-wracking. The suspense of Harrison’s next move has left me constantly on edge. No doubt this is all part of his plan, to leave me second-guessing and uneasy until he returns.

I’m hunched over the kitchen counter, typing out a new recipe for smoked salmon cucumber bites, daydreaming of the day I can serve these at my own restaurant.

I glance up from the computer screen when Harrison strolls into the room. He’s in dark wash jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric straining over his forearms. When he runs a hand through his hair, the subtle flex of his muscles makes me lose my train of thought.

Oh my god.

Knowing he works out is one thing, but seeing the results firsthand is another. Even after all these years, he still looks like he’s a star athlete.

In a three-piece suit, he’s the epitome of power and devastatingly handsome. But in casual clothes, he’s dangerously alluring in a different way. My throat tightens, schooling my expression, but resisting him feels like a losing game—even the devil is charming.

Against my better judgment, I steal another glance, lingering a second too long. When his gaze meets mine, my pulse spikes, and I quickly duck my head, praying the heat rising in my cheeks isn’t too obvious.

He smirks. “Careful, stare too long, and you might go cross-eyed.”

I shake my head. “Just wondering if you purposely buy shirts too tight or if youleft yours in the dryer too long.” I lick my lower lip, thinking about what that physique looks like sans clothes.

“Well, at least I’m not the one having trouble looking away,” he says smugly.

“Right. Only when I’m in shorts and a hoodie. I remember,” I remark with a sly grin.

He glances at the ground, and I catch a glimpse of what might be a smile, but I can’t be sure. When he meets my eyes, he straightens his posture, his shoulders rigid.

“Do you have my breakfast ready? I was planning to eat it on the way to the airport.”

I’m not the only one who gets frustrated by how easy it is to enjoy our banter when we’re meant to be at odds. It’s probably for the best that he’s going out of town. A little space should help me think straight—unless it has the opposite effect. What’s the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

I clear my throat, nodding. “Yeah, it’s right here.” I walk over to the oven, pull out the meal I prepared earlier, and place it in the bag on the counter. “I figured you’d eat on the go, so I made you a breakfast burrito along with a few other snacks I whipped up last night—homemade hummus with carrot sticks, a strawberry parfait, and a couple of gluten-free apple cinnamon muffins since airport food isn’t conducive to your diet,” I say, offering the bag to Harrison.

He looks at the bag with a slight furrow to his brow. “You made all this for me?”

“It’s my job to look after you… uh, I mean your nutrition.” I press the bag into his hands, his expression caught somewhere between shock and gratitude.

It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure he doesn’t eat anything that could make him sick while traveling. The simplest way to do that is to send him with food. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m just doing my job.

Harrison slips the food into his backpack. “Thanks. I’m going to head out, okay?”

“Yeah, have a good trip,” I say, with a small wave.

He leaves the room, and soon after, I hear the front door click shut. An unexpected ache spreads through my chest, but I’m quick to dismiss it. It’s only because the holidays make menostalgic for my parents. It has nothing to do with Harrison leaving.

Right?

Ready for a distraction, I take a seat at the kitchen counter and open my laptop. I’ve just opened up the document for my cookbook when my phone pings.

Harrison: There’s are a couple of vendors in the lobby with deliveries for you.

Fallon: It’s supplies I ordered for an event I’m catering tomorrow at the New York Public Library.

Fallon: Should have asked if I could have everything sent here. Sorry.

Wow. Look at me trying to play nice.

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