Page 9 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

Harrison still hasn’t acknowledged me, and his blatant disregard is grating on my nerves.

I clear my throat loudly, and he finally lifts his head from his computer, his frown deepening when his gaze lands on me. “How did you get in here?” he demands.

A flicker of irritation rises, but I hold my ground, lifting my chin to meet his glare head-on.

“Hello, Mr. Stafford, it’s nice to see you too,” I reply with a curt nod.

He sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk. “I asked you a question. How did you get in?”

“Your assistant showed me to your office,” I state the obvious.

“Why would she do that?”

He can’t be serious.

I knew he was a jerk, but I didn’t expect him to be this much of an asshole when he was the one who asked me to see him. How did I not see this coming—him luring me here under false pretenses and then pulling the rug out from under me just to make himself feel more powerful?

“This behavior is beneath even you, Harrison.” I point at him. “Don’t act like you weren’t the one who had Cabrina ask me to come here so we could talk about me being your private chef.”

He narrows his eyes, his jaw twitching as he rises from his leather chair, coming to stand in front of me. My palms grow clammy, but I force myself to stand tall, doing my best to steady my breathing as the anxiety tightens in my chest.

As the air between us thrums with the same invisible energy we shared ten years ago, my skin prickles with anticipation. I square my shoulders and meet his gaze with an unwavering resolve, readying for whatever comes next.

“When we saw each other last, we agreed it would be best if you didn’t work for me, did we not?” he asks sharply.

“That’s correct.”

He’s not referring to Cash’s wedding in Aspen Grove. A month ago, he showed up at a bar where I was catering an eventon the upper level. He claimed it was a coincidence, but I don’t buy it. He was keeping tabs on me, but I have no idea why. Our conversation was short and tense, ending with us both agreeing, again, that it was a good thing I didn’t work for him.

“So, what makes you think I’d change my mind?” Harrison leans in, his voice low. “Better yet, why would you show up when you made it obvious that I was the last person you wanted to be around?”

I look awful in orange.

I absolutely cannot get arrested today.

Orange is not my color.

The mantra runs through my mind as I focus on keeping my expression neutral.

“Stop playing mind games and tell me why…” I pause at the soft click of the door, turning to see Harrison’s mom enter his office. Her ocean-blue eyes sparkle, and her brown hair is styled in a shoulder-length bob, complementing her tailored blazer.

Harrison visibly stiffens, surprise flashing across his face as she strides past him and pulls me in for a hug. “Fallon, it’s so good to see you, sweetheart.” I’m momentarily stunned before reciprocating the gesture, puzzled by her warm greeting, given we’ve only met once.

“You too,” I manage with a polite smile and glance between her and Harrison, trying to make sense of the situation. “Do you live in the city?”

I catered Cash and Everly’s event at the Staffords’ home in Aspen Grove, but that doesn’t mean they don’t split their time between two places.

“No, she doesn’t,” Harrison interrupts. “She’s here visiting, but I wasn’t expecting her to stop by my office today.”

Johanna moves to the lounge area, motioning for us to follow. “I had some urgent business to attend to,” she says cryptically,her upbeat tone leaving me skeptical. “Take a seat, Fallon.” She pats the cushion beside her and sets her purse on the armrest.

Harrison stops at the bar cart, pouring himself a drink. “Mom, do you want anything?” he asks with a resigned sigh.

Johanna shakes her head. “No, thank you.” Harrison doesn’t bother offering me one. “Is that necessary? It’s barely past two p.m.,” she adds.

“For this conversation. Absolutely,” he replies, sitting across from us. His ankle is crossed over his knee, the picture of ease, but tapping his fingers against his thigh show’s he’s just as unnerved as I am.

I tug my lower lip between my teeth. This was meant to be a quick conversation where I told Harrison I’m not interested in being his private chef and to never contact me again. Yet here I am, caught in a tense silence between him and his mom over something I haven’t figured out yet.

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