Page 50 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

“How bad could it possibly be?” I ask, feigning innocence. “He’s just a cat.”

It’s too entertaining watching Fallon get worked up over thinking the cat is mine to spoil it by revealing the truth. After all, I owe her a prank for bedazzling my hockey stick. Since she already thinks I left the thing behind as my own practical joke, I might as well go along with it and let her deal with the demon cat a little while longer.

She barks out a humorless laugh, fixing the camera with a sharp look. “Right.Justa cat. I must be overacting,” she replies, her voice sweet and laced with sarcasm. “Like when I had to give Cat a bath, and he scratched me like a feral beast. Or when he attacked my plants, simply because they were in his way.” She throws her hands in the air.

Seems like those plants are our shared nemesis.

“Wait. Back up. You named the thing Cat?” I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a laugh.

I should probably be more concerned about the mess that’s waiting for me when I get back to my apartment, but I can’t help finding humor in how Fallon not only assumed the stray was mine but that she also went ahead and named it. She might be more rattled by this than any other prank I could have pulled, but I admit she has a heart of gold for taking care of what appears to be a psychotic cat.

She gives an exasperated sigh. “Why does everyone keep asking that? What was I supposed to call him? John Doe?”

“Who’s everyone?” I demand.

She better not have had another man in my apartment.

“Walter, the doorman.” She clarifies. “He was nice enough to help me carry up the bags from the pet store when I got everything Cat needed sincesomeoneconveniently left us with nothing,” she mutters at the end.

Had it been any other man who helped her, or if Walter were thirty years younger, we’d have an issue. The idea that I’m even jealous of the idea of her with someone else leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

“What makes you so sure it’s a boy?” I ask.

“He’s got the necessary parts,” she explains as she shoots him a glare. “Though, I could have lost an eye when I was checking. He has a habit of hissing and swatting at anything that gets too close.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” I chuckle.

I should come clean and admit he isn’t mine, but I decide to hold off. Might as well let her think it was a practical joke for a little while longer. Serves her right for bedazzling my hockey stick.

“Thanks again for the Christmas tree and the gifts,” she says begrudgingly, almost like it’s painful to thank me for anything.

“If you liked the tree, why isn’t it in the living room anymore?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Still sticking to the story that you weren’t spying on me?” she teases. “Cat would’ve used the tree as his personal jungle gym, so I moved it to my room.”

“I see. And what about the other gifts?”

Fallon meets my gaze through the camera and smiles. “I appreciate you replacing the tuna.” She tugs her lower lip between her teeth as she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “And the pot… I’ve been looking for that one forever. It was very thoughtful.”

A dozen questions press at the back of my mind, but for once, I keep quiet. We’re getting along for once, and I’m not willing to risk this rare moment of peace.

“You’re welcome, I’m glad you—”

I pause when I notice Cat in the background swiping at an open bottle of Diet Coke on the counter. Before I can warn Fallon, he knocks the soda over, sending it crashing to the floor in a burst of fizz.

Fallon spins around, throwing her hands in the air when she sees the mess. “Cat, not again,” she exclaims. “Harrison, I have to go.” She hangs up and rushes toward the mess, wagging her finger at the cat.

I chuckle as I log out of the security system. I’ve just set my phone on the desk when my mom walks into my dad’s office, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. “You were up early this morning, so I figured you could use this,” she says, handing it to me.

She and Presley are obsessed with holiday creamers, so my coffee is never without one when I’m here.

My mom doesn’t budge, studying me with an unreadable expression. I should have expected she had an ulterior motive to bring me coffee. With everyone visiting for the holidays, shehasn’t had a chance to corner me, but it was only a matter of time.

I sit up in my chair, taking my legs off the desk. “Thanks for the coffee, Mom,” I say, giving her a skeptical glance.

“How’s Fallon? Did she have a nice Christmas? I hate thinking that she was all alone in your penthouse. Did her catering events go well?” She fires off questions, each one more frantic than the last. “That was her on the phone, right?”

I set my coffee on the desk and rub my temples. Of course, she was eavesdropping. That’s what I get for not closing the door.

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