Page 31 of The CEO's Sweetheart Deal
With that parting shot, she heads toward her car on the south side of the parking lot, leaving me to maneuver carefully across the asphalt on my crutches. The afternoon sun beats down, making me regret my decision to park so far from the entrance.
I'm halfway to my car when my phone rings. Balancing precariously on one crutch, I fish it out of my bag and check the screen. Unknown number.
"Hello?"
"Is this Alice Mackie?" The voice is polished, professional.
"Yes, speaking."
"Ms. Mackie, this is Rebecca Ho, VP of Operations at Fresh Bites. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time?"
I freeze, my grip tightening on my crutch. Fresh Bites is one of our biggest competitors in the organic frozen foods market.
"Not at all," I say, trying to sound casual while awkwardly shifting my weight. "How can I help you?"
"I'll be direct," Rebecca says. "We've been following your career trajectory for some time, and we've heard about the recent acquisition of Rooted Pantry. We’re hoping you might be interested in exploring new opportunities."
I lean against a nearby car, giving my arms a brief rest from the crutches. "I'm listening."
"Our COO position will be opening up next month," she continues, "and your name is at the top of our list. We admire what you've built at Rooted Pantry and believe your vision aligns perfectly with our company values."
A few weeks ago, I would have jumped at this chance. A clean break from Oscar, a fresh start at a company where I could be valued for my expertise rather than fighting to preserve what I've built. The timing is almost too perfect, like the universe offering me an escape route.
"That's… quite flattering," I say carefully. "What would the position entail?"
Rebecca launches into details about the role, the company culture, the innovative projects they're developing. It sounds impressive — exciting, even. A part of me is already imagining my office there, the changes I could implement, the freedom I would have.
But as she speaks, I also find myself thinking about Rooted Pantry.Mycompany. The one I built from nothing, the one I poured my heart and soul into. The one Oscar now controls.
Without me there, who would fight for its integrity? Who would ensure that Oscar doesn't flush away everything I've worked for? Despite his promises, despite him backing me in that meeting, can I really trust him to honor the company's mission once I'm gone?
And there's that other inconvenient truth. I still have feelings for him. Feelings I've tried to bury under layers of resentment and emotional detachment. Feelings that flared back to life the moment he walked back into my life.
"—competitive compensation package," Rebecca is saying.
I realize I've missed half of what she said, lost in my own thoughts. "I appreciate the offer, Rebecca. It sounds like an incredible opportunity."
"But?" she prompts, clearly sensing my hesitation.
"But I'm committed to seeing things through at Rooted Pantry right now," I find myself saying. "It's… important to me."
"I understand loyalty," Rebecca says smoothly. "But situations change. Companies change after acquisitions. People find themselves marginalized, their visions compromised."
Her words hit close to home — they echo my own fears. Yet somehow, hearing them from someone else makes me want to defend Oscar, defend the possibility that things could be different this time.
"Let me at least send you the formal offer," she continues. "Review it, think it over. We don't need an immediate answer."
"Alright," I agree, more to end the conversation than anything else. I give her my email address and we exchange pleasantries before hanging up.
For a long moment, I just stand in the parking lot, leaning against the car, my crutches propped beside me. Did I really just consider turning down a dream job offer because I think I need to babysit Oscar?
Shaking my head, I push off from the car, adjusting my crutches under my arms. I'm not going to let myself fall for him again. I can't. No matter how my heart races when he's near, no matter how much I want to believe he's changed, I know better than to put myself in a position to be hurt again.
Even if walking away means giving up on the company I love.
Even if staying means allowing myself to have hope for feelings I've spent twelve years trying to forget.
I unlock my car and carefully shift myself into the driver's seat, wincing as I accidentally bump my injured ankle. Physical pain, at least, is straightforward, unambiguous. Unlike the complicated ache in my chest whenever I think about Oscar.
