Page 72 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

My heart clenches in my chest as I shake my head. “They passed when I was twelve,” I whisper.

During our weekend together, I didn’t open up about my past. I prefer to keep it private unless I’m close withsomeone—I’ve never been one to invite pity from strangers or acquaintances.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea,” Harrison says, his expression softening. “That must have been really hard losing them so young, I can’t even imagine.” He gives my arm a gentle squeeze, letting the silence hang between us. “They must have been amazing people to have raised someone like you. If you ever want to talk about them, I’d love to listen.”

I tilt my head, giving him a faint smile. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

A few days ago, I never would have confided in him, worried that he’d make light of my situation. However, now I know the truth. He cares more than I give him credit for, and he’s not judging me or making me feel less than. Instead, he’s simply here, acknowledging the invisible scars I carry, and it means more than I care to admit.

Harrison’s hand drifts down my arm as I speak. “I was just a kid when I lost them,” I continue. “One minute we were having breakfast together. The next, the police were at our doorstep that night, telling me my parents had been in an accident on their way home from a concert.” I glance down at the bubbles swirling in the sink, fighting back tears, the emotions I’ve kept buried for so long bubbling to the surface. “My mom had a passion for cooking, and because of her experience with her nut allergy, she often talked about opening a restaurant that catered to those with food allergies. But she never got the chance.” The last part comes out in a whisper. “She was my inspiration to become a chef, and when I open my own place someday, it will be in her honor.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment. I know there’s nothing I can say to ease the pain of losing her, but I hope you know she’d be so proud of you,” Harrison says gently.

“It means a lot for you to say that. I want to name it Catherine’s Table, after her.”

“I love that. It’s the perfect name for a restaurant that will undoubtedly be a successful venture,” he states. “You’re a talented chef who has a gift for turning simple ingredients into a culinary masterpiece. Not to mention you’re driven, determined, and have unwavering focus—traits every successful entrepreneur needs.”

“If you say so.” I laugh lightly. “My aspirations pale in comparison to building a billion-dollar empire.”

One thing about Harrison is his unrelenting work ethic. He’s like the Energizer Bunny, always on the move, fueled by ambition and impossible standards.

Harrison laughs dryly. “My grandpa and dad were the ones who built Stafford Holdings from the ground up. All I had to do was step in and take the reins.” He briefly pauses to load several utensils into the dishwasher. “What you’re doing is far more impressive. There aren’t many people willing to put in the work and create a business from the ground up.”

I offer him a shy grin, my cheeks flushing slightly. “It’s definitely scary, but without risk, there’s no reward.”

I’m not used to his praise, so it takes me a moment to fully appreciate it, especially coming from someone as successful as him.

The quiet hum of the running water is a welcome distraction. It’s impossible not to keep stealing glances at Harrison. His hair is tousled, giving him a roguish look compared to the polished man he usually is, while the scent of pine needles and fresh mint surrounds me, wrapping around me like a subtle invitation.

“You might break that if you scrub any harder,” Harrison warns, nodding toward the bowl I’m washing.

“Oops,” I say, heat rising to my cheeks.

Our hands brush when I give it to him, and my breath catches as the warmth of his skin sends a shiver up my arm.

Harrison has a way of making me react before I can think twice, and the fact that we’re in uncharted territory only amplifies the charge in the air.

“There are only a few dishes left. Go take a break. I know you’ve been on your feet a lot the last few days,” Harrison says, expecting me to obey without argument.

“I think this might be the one time I actually like it when you’re bossy,” I quip, nudging his shoulder playfully.

Harrison raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a sly smile. “If you want to see me bossy, that can be arranged.”

He moves behind me, his chest pressing against my back, effectively pinning me to the sink. The hard lines of his body against mine sets my pulse racing.

“It’s difficult to think straight when you’re this close,” I say softly, tilting my head to look at him.

Harrison leans in to switch the faucet off, his breath whispering across my neck. “I could say the same thing about you.”

I arch a brow. “Just a few months ago you were adamant against me moving in.”

“That was before you won me over with your interior decorating skills.”

“Cute. Are you always this charming?” I ask sarcastically.

“Only when it comes to things I care too much about to lose,” he murmurs.

I shift to the side, trying to put distance between us, all too aware of how close he is.

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