Page 68 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

He’s never asked me to eat with him. In fact, he’s complained whenever I’ve interrupted him while he’s at the dining room table.

That was before he decided his main reason for disliking you wasn’t warranted.

I’m not blameless in this situation, but it doesn’t soften the blow. It’s not as simple as flipping a switch when he’s made me feel unwelcome since the day I moved in. A part of me wishes things could have stayed the same. It was simpler when I had a justified reason to despise him. Now I’m left facing the possibility that he was never the villain I made him out to be.

If I’m not careful, the lines could blur, and the looming fear of getting hurt again could quickly become all too real. A single kiss has already left me second-guessing every wall I’ve built to protect myself. The way his hands felt secured around my waist, and his lips molded to mine, a perfect fit. My phone chimes with another text.

Harrison: It’s okay if you’d rather not.

Harrison: Why don’t I eat out tonight so you can have some space?

I groan. How am I supposed to resist him when he’s being so considerate? If he had been this thoughtful when we saw each other in Aspen Grove, I would have been done for, despite thinking he had left me high and dry after our weekend together.

Fallon: No.

Harrison: To which part?

Fallon: Don’t eat out.

Fallon: I’ll have dinner with you.

Harrison: Perfect. I’m looking forward to it.

Determined not to overthink my decision, I set my phone to the side and wash my hands. Once I’m finished, I sprinkle a gluten-free flour blend on the counter and ease the dough I prepped earlier onto the surface. My palm presses into it, stretching and folding, the steady rhythm grounding me. Cooking is my safe space, where the outside world fades away. I especially enjoy trying new recipes—never knowing how they’ll turn out but trusting the process anyway.

I’m startled when my phone rings.

My hands are now covered in dough, so I use my pinky to answer the call, then lean down, managing to wedge the phone between my shoulder and chin. I slowly straighten up, pressing the phone closer to my ear.

“Hey, Lila. Is everything okay?” My tone is tinged with worry. “It’s still early there.”

After a whirlwind Christmas romance with Brooks, her brother’s best friend, she and Winston

moved to California. She says it’s a trial run to see if they’ll like it, but there’s no question she’ll stay. Brooks is head over heels for her, and she’s equally as smitten with him. I’m so happy for them both.

I’m quick to squash the tinge of jealousy, reminding myself until very recently that a relationship was the last thing on my mind. Still, it’s hard not to envy how Lila and Brooks fit together so effortlessly, making me long for that kind of bond.

“At the first hint of daylight, Winston insisted we wake up so I could let him outside,” Lila says, the sound of a car starting in the distance carries through the phone. “The only downside to apartment living is the long trek to take him outside.”

I press my hands into the soft dough, sprinkling a dusting of almond flour across the top when it starts sticking to my fingers.

“How is everything else?” I ask Lila. “Are you and Brooks still in the honeymoon stage?”

I hear a dog barking in the background followed by Lila’s scolding voice. “Sorry, Winston’s having a meltdown over some squirrels.”

“No worries,” I say, kneading the dough with more pressure to incorporate the almond flour. “Now, back to my question,” I tease.

“I’d say so. Yesterday, Brooks took me to a lingerie shop and we lost track of time in the dressing room.”

I pause what I’m doing, nearly dropping the phone in the dough. “Oh my god. That’s so hot.”

“Why does your reaction not surprise me?” Lila laughs. “Now, enough about me. Are we going to talk aboutthekiss?”

“There’s nothing more to talk about,” I hedge.

On my way home from the hockey game, I caved and texted Lila. It was a weight lifted off my shoulders to tell her. My emotions are in a tangled mess. There’s no easy way to process the fact that my version of events of the day Harrison left me at the hotel was wrong. If he’s telling the truth—and I believe he is based on the genuine confusion in his eyes—he left me a note, and I missed it.

It doesn’t erase the hostility and disdain we’ve harbored, and there’s no way to hit rewind. All we can do is navigate a fragile truce, where we decide if our shattered trust and unresolved feelings can be mended or if the walls between us are too insurmountable to climb.

---