Page 16 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
"Good night, Oscar," I say, moving toward the door.
"Alice," he calls after me, his voice stopping me in my tracks. "For what it's worth, I meant what I said this morning. I value your vision for this company. That's not just talk."
I don’t turn back. I just nod, already knowing his gaze is on me, and then leave the room.
Only when I'm safely enclosed in the elevator, doors sliding shut on the image of him still sitting at my desk, do I let out the breath I've been holding in. My reflection in the mirrored wall looksback at me accusingly — flushed cheeks, bright eyes, a woman clearly affected by the man she just left.
"It's nothing," I tell my reflection as the elevator descends. "Just… residual feelings. Old history resurfacing. It doesn't mean anything."
But as I walk out into the cool Seattle evening, Oscar still very much fills my mind’s eye.
This is absurd. I've spent years building a life without him. Years convincing myself that I’m better off without him, that it’s good that he showed his true colors early on. Years telling myself that I'm immune to his influence.
One week in his presence and I'm coming undone.
I start the car engine, desperate to put as much distance between us as possible. Distance is the only thing that will clear my head. Distance and time… and maybe a very large glass of wine.
Because I absolutely, positively do not have a thing for Oscar. I can’t. I won’t.
At least that's what I keep telling myself as I drive away from Rooted Pantry — and him — as fast as legally possible.
CHAPTER 7
OSCAR
"The seafood station needs to be at least six feet from the bar," I instruct the catering manager, gesturing to the far end of my expansive backyard deck. "And make sure the ice sculptures don't get direct sunlight."
The manager nods, making notes on her tablet. "Of course, Mr. Glynn.”
I check my watch, noting we have just under fifteen minutes before guests arrive. "And let's add more lanterns along the path from the driveway."
She hurries off to direct her team, and I scan the transformation taking place around me. My Seattle home sits on a prime slice of waterfront property with clear views of Lake Washington, and the sprawling backyard, normally a serene retreat, is now a hive of activity as event staff prepare for the Rooted Pantry acquisition celebration.
White linen-covered tables dot the manicured lawn. A small stage has been set up for the jazz quartet. Bartenders stock threeseparate bars with top-shelf liquor, local craft beers, and an impressive wine selection.
It's going to be perfect — it has to be.
"This seems excessive for a casual corporate event," Cole remarks, appearing at my side with a glass of sparkling water in hand. "The Rooted Pantry team is what, thirty people total?"
"It's not just for them," I reply, accepting the water gratefully. "I've invited key distributors, retail partners, investors. It's a networking opportunity."
Cole raises an eyebrow. "Right. So it’s for all of them… not for-”
I shoot him a warning glance, already knowing whose name he was going to say. "This is about establishing goodwill with the entire company. If the employees feel valued, the transition will be smoother."
"Uh-huh." He takes a casual sip of his water. "That's why you've personally approved every detail down to the specific shade of the napkins."
"The napkins are branded with the Rooted Pantry logo," I counter, though I can feel heat rising to my face. "It's just attention to detail."
"Whatever you say, boss." He grins.
I wave him off, annoyed at how transparent I apparently am. Yes, I want to impress Alice. So what? She's my COO and having her on my side will make running Rooted Pantry infinitely easier. That's all this is — a pragmatic business decision.
At least that's what I keep telling myself as I adjust the placement of the floral centerpieces for the third time.
The truth is, I haven't stopped thinking about Alice since our late night at the office last week. The way she seemed tongue tied after I dismissed Sydney's comment about her having feelings for me. I'd meant to make her feel more comfortable, to take the pressure off, but something in her reaction made me wonder if I'd misread the situation entirely.
Not that it matters. Alice made it clear twelve years ago that she doesn’t see me as anything more than a business partner. The rejection stung enough the first time; I'm not eager for a repeat performance.
