Page 48 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

It’s the day after Christmas, and I’m supposed to be reviewing year-end financial reports, but I can’t focus. My thoughts kept drifting to Fallon and her message thanking me for the Christmas tree and gifts.

When Cabrina confirmed the delivery to my penthouse two days before Christmas, I anxiously paced my dad’s office, waiting for Fallon to text me. There was no guarantee she would, but I couldn’t help wondering what she thought of everything.

Until now, I’ve resisted the urge to check the security cameras. It’s become harder by the day to ignore the pull to see Fallon’s face. Ten days without giving in, and suddenly my restraint is ready to fold like a tower of cards all because of a silly thank-you text.

Checking on her is harmless, right?

She won’t even know I did it if I don’t tell her.

Against my better judgment, I open the security app for my apartment on my personal computer and pull up the feed to the living room first. I frown when I notice the Christmas tree and decorations are gone. There’s no way she’d discard them that fast. Would she?

I check my office next. I made it clear it was off-limits. But I have a sneaking suspicion she might not have listened. When the live feed loads, nothing seems out of place—my desk is undisturbed, and the chair is exactly where I left it. But when Izoom in on the hockey wall, I spot a glint of something shiny that definitely wasn’t there before.

I squint, rubbing the back of my neck. “What the hell is that?”

One of the hockey sticks I have on display is now covered with bright blue and pink rhinestones.

Fallon.

My hunch is confirmed as I scroll through the alerts and find movement recorded a few days ago. I click on the timestamp and watch her peek inside, her gaze scanning the room before landing on my hockey gear. She tiptoes closer to get a better look.

A sense of unease settles in my stomach when she stops in front of my jersey, staring at it as though she’s seen a ghost. Her shoulders fall forward, and the light in her expression dims, replaced with a haunted sadness. Which leads to me remembering the last time I saw her and that jersey together in the same room, a moment I’ve tried to bury deep in my psyche.

I wake up to the faint scent of vanilla and oranges.

The first rays of sunlight filter through the window, signaling that morning has arrived.

Elizabeth and I are entangled in a mess of limbs—she’s draped across my chest, her legs intertwined with mine, and her head nestled in the crook of my neck.

Last night, we curled up in bed with a bucket of popcorn mixed with Sour Patch Kids and ice-cold Diet Coke to watchA Nightmare on Elm Street.

She has a love-hate relationship with horror movies—loving the adrenaline rush but curses at every jump scare. Which explains why she sleeps with the bathroom light on.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I ignore it at first, but when it keeps going, a sense of unease settles in.

I disentangle myself from Elizabeth, easing her arm from my hip so I can get up. I pause when she stirs, letting out a soft moan, but within seconds, her breathing evens out.

Once I’m out of bed, I grab my phone and go into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

“Hello?” I whisper.

“Harrison.” Mom’s strained voice comes through the line. “Thank god you answered.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Your dad had a heart attack. He was getting out of bed to get ready for work when he grabbed his chest and collapsed.” Her voice trembles as she struggles to get the words out. “It’s not good. We’re at Regional Mountain Hospital, and they were pumping on his chest the whole way here and…I’m scared, Harrison.”

The room spins, and I’m gasping for air. My dad has always been a pillar of strength, someone I believed was untouchable. He taught me how to ride a bike and made it to every sports event I had growing up. Every Friday night, he brought home pizza to celebrate the end of the week with me and my siblings.

“Your father has been pushing himself too hard lately, working around the clock. I should have done more to make him slow down.”

My mother crying has me moving at lightning speed.

I toss my toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb into the toiletry bag I had stored on the shelf under the sink. “Since when has Dad ever listened? You did everything you could, so there’s no point in blaming yourself.” I pause, grabbing my shampoo and conditioner from the shower, and toss those in too. “Listen, I’m leaving my hotel now to head to the airport.”

“Okay.” She sniffles. “Cash booked you a charter flight. It should be waiting for you when you get there. Please hurry, Harrison. In case your father doesn’t…”

“It’s going to be okay, Mom. I’ll be there soon,” I promise. “Where is everyone else?”

---