Page 49 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

“Presley is pacing the hallway, and Cash is on the phone with Dylan.”

“Okay, I’m going to hang up so I can finish packing. If you need anything else, call me back.”

“I will, love you, Harrison,” she says.

“Love you too, Mom.”

Elizabeth is still sleeping soundly, and as much as I want to wake her up, I can’t. Right now, my focus is on Dad.

I throw on a pair of pants and a T-shirt, and toss my toiletry bag and the clothes I wore last night into my duffle. My hand lingers over my jersey tossed on a nearby chair. Elizabeth wore it while we had dinner last night, but the second we were finished, she slipped it off, along with her shorts. With a crook of her finger, she led me to the bed, where I spent the rest of the night ravishing her body.

I put the jersey in my bag, and once I’m packed, I rush into the other room and grab a pen and the hotel stationery, scribbling down a note.

Good morning, beautiful,

My dad was hospitalized, so I have to go home to be with my family. Please don’t be mad at me for not waking you up. You looked far too peaceful to disturb. This weekend was perfect, and I want to see you again…and soon. Order room service when you wake up and call me while you’re waiting for your food.

Yours,

Mr. Hotshot

I scribble my number at the bottom of the note before leaving it on the nightstand and lean down to kiss Elizabeth on the forehead.

God, she’s mesmerizing. It may sound like a cliché, but I’ve never met anyone who makes me feel so at peace. She’s the calm in the storm, quieting the chaotic noise in my mind. Regardless of the uncertainties in my life, if Elizabeth is willing to take a chance, I’d like to see where this goes between us. I’ll do whatever I can to make it work somehow, if she feels the same. I’d rather take the risk than be haunted by what could have been.

“See you soon, beautiful,” I whisper as I leave the room.

Fallon never called. I felt silly, staring at my phone, willing it to ring. She never shared her last name, so I couldn’t look her up. When I reached out to the catering company, they told me they couldn’t give out private information and that the waitstaff from the hockey event were only contracted for one night and were paid cash. After weeks of obsessing over what could have been, I finally had to face reality. She was never going to call.

Shortly after I’d come to terms with it, I stumbled across a photo on the Stormbreakers’ social media page. It showed several players posing with their families at a charity event. I was shocked when I recognized Fallon with her arm around Jeremy, one of the team’s left wings.

She played me for a fool.

Of all the people Fallon could have moved on with, she chose someone from my rival team? I shouldn’t have felt betrayed since we barely knew each other, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that what we had would have been far more than just a weekend if she’d given us a chance. It hurt more than I cared to admit that she hadn’t shared the same sentiment. I tried to ignore theresentment, but it kept twisting at what was left of my pride until I eventually gave in.

I pull myself from my thoughts, switching to the live feed in my kitchen, guessing Fallon is probably cooking breakfast. As I dial her number, I see her at the counter, kneading dough. A tablet is propped up in front of her, and when I zoom in, the screen flashes a title:Cold Case Chronicles: The Silent Killer.She has the podcast on speaker, the narrator recounting a baffling case of a silent killer who left no trace, haunting a small town for years. Her phone’s sharp ring makes her jump.

“Shit,” Fallon grumbles, yanking her hands from the dough and rushing to rinse them off.

She lets out an exasperated breath as the phone continues its shrill insistence. “I’m coming,” she shouts to an empty room.

After quickly drying her hands off on a paper towel and turning off the podcast, she retrieves her phone from the pocket of her apron.

“Hello,” she answers.

“Look at you branching out from horror movies,” I tease. “Have they revealed who the killer is yet?”

“No, not yet. The narrator always builds up the suspense before—” She stops short, glancing toward the camera in the corner. “Wait a minute… are you spying on me?”

“Spying? No. Watching? Maybe.” I lean back in my chair, propping my feet on the desk. “I’ve got to keep a lookout for trespassers who forgot boundaries, like ignoring instructions to stay out of my office.” Her jaw drops as she glares at me through the camera. “Now would be a great time for you to explain why my hockey stick looks like my niece decorated it in one of her craft classes,” I say, my tone heavy with accusation.

Fallon folds her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. “I warned you. If you hadn’t left your demon—”

Out of nowhere, a cat I’ve never seen before scurries past Fallon and leaps onto the counter, stepping in the dough Fallon was kneading earlier before casually plopping in the middle of it, unfazed by her gasp.

“Must you always make a mess when I’m in the middle of cooking?” she mutters before spinning around to face the camera. “This is allyourfault.” She jabs a finger in my direction. “How could you think leaving me with your demon cat for ten days would be funny? It’s a low blow, even for you, since you had to know he was a menace. This isn’t a prank—it’s just plain cruel.”

I furrow my brow as I process her words. I’ve never had a pet, let alone a cat. They’re messy, unpredictable, and require constant care. I don’t have time for that. Which begs the question, how the hell did a strange cat end up in my penthouse apartment? Based on Fallon’s frantic response, it’s clear she doesn’t have the answer either. One thing I do know is that I’m certain it didn’t wander into my penthouse on its own.

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