Page 60 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

As my eyes drift across the room, a jolt of recognition sends my heart racing when I spot her near the table of food, replenishing a bowl of fruit. Her movements are smooth and controlled, her ponytail bouncing with each motion. She carries herself with a quiet confidence, shoulders straight, proving that she’s comfortable in her own skin, even surrounded by a rowdy bunch of hungry athletes.

My frown deepens when Aleksandr, the team captain, comes to stand next to Fallon. He offers her an easy smile as he fills his bowl with what appears to be a second helping of pasta. He’s only twenty-seven, but I’m certain he wouldn’t be fazed by Fallon being five years older. She’s strikingly beautiful, commanding attention without lifting a finger.

A red haze clouds my vision, and my jaw twitches when he leans in to whisper in her ear, and she laughs. I rarely hear the musical sound, and it’s like a drug, drawing me closer.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I tell Ryan, not bothering to elaborate.

I move across the room with determination, oblivious to the players and staff who give me a wide berth as I pass. When I get closer, I can hear Fallon talking. “Everything to your liking?”

“Amazing. This pasta and turkey meatballs are diabolical.” Aleksandr grins, taking another bite. “I never thought I’d be afan of gluten-free food, but I’m pretty sure you’re a magician because this food is damn good.”

Fallon’s cheeks flush, and my gaze moves to her shirt… no, not her shirt, a jersey. She’s wearing Aleksandr’s damn jersey.

Why the hell is she wearing that? Better question: Why does she look happy about it? Could they be dating? Puck bunnies flock to Aleksandr in droves, swooning over his thick beard, chiseled jaw, wavy blond hair that falls past the nape of his neck, and broad shoulders, which hint at a powerful presence on and off the ice.

Damn, I like the kid, and we have a solid rivalry during workouts. But now I’m starting to think of ways to get him booted off the team if he’s with Fallon.

“Thanks for the compliment,” she says, flashing him a smile. “It’s rare to hear someone appreciate my cooking.”

What does that mean?

I compliment her cooking all the time… don’t I? Now that I think about it, we’re usually bickering when we’re in the same room, but she has to know I like it. After all, I did text her about how much I liked her quiche. And I’ve kept her around even after she redecorated the apartment, bedazzled my hockey stick, and insisted we keep a feral cat that’s out to get us. That counts for something.

“Your cooking is as irresistible as you are,” Aleksandr says, his green eyes gleaming with a playful edge. “Can I see you after the game?”

“To get your jersey back?” Fallon asks. “Thanks again for letting me use it. I’m never this clumsy on the job, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.” She lets out a nervous laugh.

“It’s no problem,” he says, resting his hand on her arm. “Glad I had it in my bag. You can keep the jersey if you want. I’d actually like to take you—”

Hell no.

“Aleksandr, don’t you have to get to the locker room to change into your uniform? Warmups are starting soon,” I cut in, my tone cold.

Fallon’s eyes widen with recognition at the sound of my voice, and her gaze shifts in my direction.

“Harrison?” she says with confusion.

Aleksandr glances between us, taking a step back when he senses the heated tension between us. “I better go get changed. It was nice meeting you, Fallon, hopefully I’ll see you after the game,” he says with a smug grin.

Not if I can help it.

“Yeah, of course. Thanks again for this.” She tugs at the jersey, causing me to grind my molars.

“My pleasure,” he answers. “Enjoy the game, old man,” he says, shooting me a cocky grin as he passes, earning him a glare.

As soon as we’re alone, I turn to Fallon. “I thought you had a date tonight,” I whisper-shout.

Fallon fixes me with a dagger-like stare. “What are you doing here?” she asks, sidestepping my question.

“I’m part owner of the Mavericks.”

Her lips part in a silent, “Oh.”

“And no, I wasn’t involved in hiring you for the event. The head coach was at a party you catered last week and was impressed.”

I don’t know why I felt it was important to clarify, but the look of relief on her face tells me it means more to her than she’d admit.

“Is there a particular reason you’re wearing Aleksandr’s jersey?” I question.

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