Page 70 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

“I was half expecting a whoopie cushion on my chair or for you to cancel altogether,” I admit.

“I’ll always show up for you, trouble.” He leans in, a playful glint in his eye. “And if you want something to sit on, I’m happy to oblige.”

My stomach does a flip, a slow burn spreading through me. Wanting to shake off the rush of nerves, I reach for the spoon to serve the food.

Harrison places a hand on my wrist. “Allow me.”

I settle in my seat, watching as he serving me like he’s the one working for me, and not the other way around. The gesture may be small, but it speaks volumes, showing me that he’s trying to rebuild our trust, one meal at a time.

We sit in silence for a few moments while we eat.

I attempt to sort through the thoughts crowding my mind, mulling over what to say.

Luckily, Harrison takes the lead.

“I should’ve asked this sooner, but what made you come to New York?” he asks, swirling his wine before taking a sip. “Cash mentioned, as Theo’s protégé, you could have had your pick of running any one of his restaurants. What made you leave that all behind?”

I concentrate on my plate, slicing the duck as I take a moment to gather my thoughts. “It sounds silly to hear it out loud. Who would turn down such an incredible opportunity to work as a private chef in a city they’ve only been to once, and no clients up before they arrived?” I plop a piece of duck into my mouth, savoring the tender texture as it melts on my tongue.

Harrison sets down his glass of wine, frowning. “Wait. Why wouldn’t Theo help you find new clientele? He must have connections in New York.”

“Oh, he has plenty, but I refused to let him use them.”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle a smile, remembering the baffled expression on Theo’s face when I turned down his offer to help. He was perplexed as to why I wouldn’t accept his help. He even went as far as to offer me a year’s salary to get started, but I couldn’t accept it.

Theo started as a dish-washer in a diner and now owns twenty-seven restaurants, has written four bestselling cookbooks, and has hosted numerous successful TV shows. Although I’m lucky to have him as a mentor and often ask him for advice, I want to make a name for myself in the culinaryworld on my own terms, not because I relied on his success to get there.

I glance over to find Harrison staring at me. “What?”

“I’m curious—what inspired you to specialize in allergy-friendly food?”

“My mom had a severe nut allergy, and I watched her struggle for years with limited options for what she could eat. She had to double-check every menu, and item, making the simplest outings stressful.” I pause to take a drink of my wine. “I also had a friend in culinary school who frequently went to the emergency room with crippling stomach pain. I took her several times and it was terrifying to watch her writhe in agony only to be sent home without any answers. When she was finally diagnosed with celiac disease, she was relieved that it wasn’t something more serious, but also overwhelmed by what she could no longer eat and how few restaurants accommodated for it. With food allergies and celiac disease, especially, many people still believe it’s a fad or a minor inconvenience and not worth taking seriously.”

Harrison nods. “You’re right. It was challenging in the beginning. When I was first diagnosed, I pretended it wasn’t a big deal. I was embarrassed, thinking that everyone would brush it off. But after dealing with fatigue, excruciating stomach cramps, and multiple hospital visits, my mom flew into town and tossed everything with gluten out of my kitchen.”

“I’m glad she did. You’re lucky that she cares so much.”

“Yeah, there are pros and cons to her meddling,” he laughs.

“I might not know her well, but it’s clear she wants what’s best for you.”

Harrison’s mom is a stark contrast to my grandmother, who only cares about her image. The only thing I was good for was maintaining the illusion that she was a saint for taking me in, a fact she never let me forget. When I told her I wanted to be a chef, she was mortified, her disapproval unmistakable, as if mycareer choice would tarnish her carefully crafted reputation in England’s elite circles.

It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced the kind of love only a family can offer, and I hope Harrison realizes how fortunate he is to still have his mom around and advocating for him even when he might not appreciate it.

I’m grateful when Harrison speaks, pulling me out of my pity party.

“Hiring a chef made things easier, but he retired after a year. Lucky for me, that brought you back into my life.” He casually reaches over for my Diet Coke and takes a sip.

A hint of amusement plays on my face. “This is you on your best behavior? I thought you hated Diet Coke?”

Harrison tilts his head, a slow smile forming. “Turns out I was too quick to judge. In fact, I think I’m now hooked,” he adds, taking another sip.

I don’t think we’re talking about soda anymore.

We resume eating, both sneaking glances after each bite. The shift between us is subtle but unmistakable. We’ve stepped into uncharted territory, and now that the truth is out, nothing will ever be the same. The question remains—is it for better or for worse?

“Is being a private chef the end goal, or do you have other plans for the future?” Harrison asks, breaking the silence. “I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

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