Page 21 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
Does he still feel something for me? The way he's looking at me, I think he might.
Maybe… maybe there's a chance for us to start over. To try again, but differently this time. Without the misunderstandings and hurt feelings that tore us apart before.
"Alice," he says, his voice low, and I can tell he's feeling it too — this strange current running between us.
"Yes?" My heart is hammering against my ribs.
He hesitates, then smiles — that boyish, genuine smile I remember so well. "I'm really glad you're here. Working with you again, even with all the bickering… it feels right."
A warm flush spreads through me. "It does, doesn't it? Despite everything."
"I think we make a good team. We always did."
"When we're not at each other's throats," I add with a small laugh.
"Even then." His eyes crinkle. "No one challenges me like you do. It's… refreshing."
I roll my eyes, but I'm smiling. "Glad to be of service."
"I mean it." His expression grows more serious. "These past few years, I've been surrounded by yes-men. People are too afraid to tell me when my ideas suck."
"Well, you know me. Never been afraid to tell you when you're being an idiot."
He laughs. "Exactly. And that's what Rooted Pantry needs — what I need. Someone who isn't afraid to push back." His eyes are bright with enthusiasm now. "I can't wait to get the latest sales report tomorrow. I've got some ideas I want to run by you — ways we could optimize distribution channels in the northeast, especially."
And just like that, the spell is broken.
"The sales report," I repeat, my voice sounding robotic.
Oscar doesn't seem to notice the shift. "Yeah, I've been looking at the numbers, and your recent plans, and–"
I slowly withdraw my hand from his. "You can’t stop thinking about work, can you?”
He blinks, confusion crossing his face. "I… I want your input.”
"My input." I stand up, suddenly needing some distance. "Right."
"Alice?" He stands too, frowning now. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I force a smile that feels brittle on my face. "Just remembering who I'm dealing with."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
I gesture vaguely with my bandaged hand. "This. You. Talking about sales reports and profit margins in the middle of—" I cut myself off, not sure how to describe what was happening between us a moment ago.
"In the middle of what?" His voice has a challenging edge now.
Damn. So, I imagined it. We weren’t having a moment after all.
"Nothing. Forget it." I move toward the glass doors. "We should get back to the party. People will wonder where we've gone."
"Let them wonder." He steps into my path. "What were you going to say, Alice?"
I meet his gaze, conflicted. Part of me wants to brush this off, to go back outside and pretend this moment never happened. But another part — the part that's still angry after all these years — wants this confrontation.
“Nothing.” I wave my hand. “Forget about it. It wasn’t important.”
I let my guard down, let myself get lost in some unrealistic fantasy. I won’t blame it on the alcohol, because that just brought to the surface what I was already feeling. Sydney is right – I do have a thing for Oscar.
