Page 10 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

“Am I missing something?” I ask no one in particular.

Harrison runs a hand across his face. “I have a hunch my mom was the one who coordinated with Cabrina to get you here.” He fixes his gaze on his mom as he takes a measured sip of his drink. “Isn’t that right, Mom?”

Johanna lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, her hands folded in her lap, appearing unbothered by the accusation. “I don’t see what the issue is. You haven’t been able to find a new personal chef who can handle specialty meals, and Fallon is as talented as they come.” She pauses to flash me an approving smile. “I don’t pretend to understand your initial reluctance, but I won’t stand by and let you miss the opportunity to work with someone who not only understands your dietary restrictions but can provide gluten-free meals without the risk of contamination.”

Harrison leans forward, placing his glass on the coffee table, making a point to use a coaster.

“Mom, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t—”

She holds out her hand, fixing him with a pointed expression. “Need I remind you about last week, when the food service company you hired mixed up your meals, leaving you in the ER for hours, unable to stand because of the severity of the reaction?”

Despite my grievances with Harrison, I sympathize with him. My mom made several trips to the emergency room for her nut allergy when I was a kid, and a friend I lived with during culinary school had celiac disease. I’ve witnessed firsthand the toll food sensitivities can take on a person when they’re experiencing a severe reaction.

Which might explain why I find Johanna’s interference unexpectedly sweet. Most people brush off food allergies, particularly celiac disease, as a lifestyle trend, but Johanna is truly concerned. That doesn’t mean I want to work for Harrison. He’s still a brute, and no job is worth sacrificing my sanity, even if it offers the chance to specialize in gluten-free cooking like I wanted.

“Johanna, I really appreciate you thinking of me, but trust me, I’m not the best fit for the job,” I say.

She waves me off. “Nonsense. Your cooking is exceptional, and you’re one of the few who can make gluten-free beef Wellington taste good. That’s a rare gift, sweetheart.”

Why does she have to be so nice? Harrison could stand to learn a thing or two from her about how to treat people. And the worst part is, her sincerity makes it that much harder to turn her down.

I place my hand over my heart. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m afraid I can’t accept.”

She purses her lips as she studies me. “Do you mind me asking why? Is it a scheduling conflict?”

This woman has persistence down to an art form.

Since I’ve been selective about my clientele, I only have a handful of part-time meal prep accounts. Occasionally, I work out of a client’s home, and I have several upcoming gigs for the holidays, but no one I work with daily.

“Availability isn’t the issue,” I admit, stumbling over my words. “But I might have to move out of the city, and if that happens, I’ll need to find new clients.”

I sink further into the sofa with a resigned sigh, casting a sideways glance at Harrison. Sharing personal details about my life wasn’t part of the plan, but it’s definitely better than having to explain that her son’s a Casanova who uses women and then leaves like a coward.

“Don’t you like living in Manhattan?” Johanna asks.

“I love it here, but I’m currently in between places, and affordable housing is hard to come by in the city.”

It’s embarrassing to admit my options are quickly dwindling. I’ve spent four days searching for a new apartment, and I’m no closer to finding a new place.

I glance at the ground, avoiding Harrison’s scrutinizing gaze. The last thing I need is for him to judge me without knowing all the facts. Not all of us can be billionaire ex-hockey players turned real estate moguls with limitless resources at our disposal.

“I have the perfect solution,” Johanna says, clapping her hands together. “You can stay with Harrison. He has more than enough space, and it’ll make the commute a breeze,” she adds with a chuckle.

My mouth falls open. “What?” At the same time, Harrison responds with a sharp, “No.”

I’m speechless, sure I must have misheard her. There’s no way she just suggested that Imove inwith her son.

Harrison shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair. “Mom, it’s nice of you to want to help Fallon, but she’s not moving in with me,” he states flatly.

While I agree with him, the coldness in his tone stings more than it should. He’s the one who hurt me, yet he’s acting as if I’m the one to blame. It stirs up old insecurities that I’ve buried deep, reminding me of the fear of being cast aside because I’m not good enough.

Thankfully, Johanna saves me from wallowing in self-pity when she asks Harrison, “Why not?”

“It’s not a live-in position,” he says.

She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “You’re the boss, make it one,” she challenges. “Your penthouse takes up an entire floor, so there’s plenty of space for you both, and it’s centrally located, so Fallon would be close to everything.”

Harrison groans. “Mom, please drop it.”

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