If You Give a CEO a Chance (Aspen Grove #3)

Chapter 4

W alter, the doorman, nods in my direction as he opens the door for me, leading into the lobby of the apartment building. The place screams old-money luxury with a grand crystal chandelier casting a soft glow on the gleaming marble floors. A reception desk is set off to the left and made of granite and glass with brass accents. Large pieces of artwork from local artists hang on the walls, bringing a personal touch to the space that feels more like stepping into a five-star hotel than a residential building.

“Good morning, Miss Hayes,” Walter says, tipping his cap as I walk past him.

He’s wearing his signature charcoal-gray suit with a nameplate pinned to his chest, paired with white gloves and freshly polished boots. His posture is impeccable, hinting at years of discipline.

“Good morning, Walter,” I say with a smile. “And please, for the last time, call me Fallon. Miss Hayes is too formal.”

Not to mention, it’s my grandmother’s preferred title, and being lumped in with her isn’t a compliment. She’s as cold and manipulative as they come. Her only redeeming quality is living in Hampstead, England. Which meant that once I moved to the States after I graduated high school, I didn’t have to see her and flat-out refused to visit when I moved back to London to work with Theo. She might have raised me after my parents died, but that doesn’t erase my disdain for her.

“Expecting another delivery?” Walter asks when I lean against the reception desk.

I nod with a smile. “A box of local produce from Eastside Harvest. It should be here any minute.” I hold out a cup of coffee with extra cream and two sugars. “This is for you. I overheard you on a call with the building manager about the broken coffee machine in the breakroom, and with how busy things were when I left earlier, I couldn’t let you go without this morning.”

Walter offers a small bow as he accepts the cup. “You’re too kind, Miss Fallon. I really appreciate the gesture.”

I chuckle. “It’s the least I can do since you’ve had to put up with all of my deliveries.”

Cabrina sent over one of Harrison’s credit cards and encouraged me to purchase whatever I needed. I compiled a long list of essentials, including new pots, pans, and baking sheets. When cooking for someone with celiac disease, it’s critical to avoid cross-contamination. The smallest trace of gluten can trigger a flare-up or worse, cause serious harm, so I’m not taking any risks.

“It’s never a bother,” Walter says as he flips through a stack of incoming mail, sorting by apartment number. “You’re a breath of fresh air. Most residents and their staff don’t pay me any mind, let alone even consider bringing me a cup of coffee.” He pauses his task to take a sip of his drink.

“Mr. Stafford included?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

He shakes his head. “Mr. Stafford is the exception. He always waves when he comes and goes and gives me a generous holiday bonus every year. He’s a good man.”

I snort, a humorless laugh slipping out. “That’s hard to believe.”

When I moved in, he was rude, lecturing me about my wardrobe and shouting at my plants when he walked past. Since then, he’s avoided me whenever he can, and our interactions have been minimal. I’ve been instructed to leave his meals on a warming plate in the dining room and not bother him while he’s eating. In fact, I’ve spoken to Cabrina more in the past week than I have him.

Johanna wasn’t kidding when she said the penthouse was huge. The primary bedroom and his office—both of which he’s made clear are off-limits—are on the opposite side of the penthouse from my room, which is situated behind the kitchen and dining space.

Walter gives me a reassuring pat on the hand. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Stafford will come around. He has a heavy load to carry, and trusting people doesn’t come easy for him.”

“He can keep his trust. I don’t want it,” I mutter.

Learned that lesson the hard way.

“I take it you two have history?” Walter questions.

I shrug. “You could say that.”

Walter tips his head, a touch of concern in his eyes. “You might not want to hear this, but I’m sure there’s a good reason for whatever Mr. Stafford did. He doesn’t come across as the type to offend a beautiful woman without a valid explanation.”

“What makes you think he did anything?” I ask.

“You were quick to shut down, like you were guarding yourself from something.” Walter puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Give it time,” he says gently.

That won’t make a difference.

I would have respected Harrison more if he had been up front with me. Instead, he led me on, making me think he could have been interested in something more. There’s no chance I will ever forgive him. Ever. All I feel toward him is bitterness and resentment, and I’m not sure any excuse or apology could change that now.

He’s just my boss. I don’t have to like him to do my job.

That’s all this is.

A job.

“It’s ancient history, now.” I shrug, ready to switch topics. “He hired me to do a job, so I’m going to keep my head down and focus on my work.” I hear a low rumble outside and look out the window to see Eastside Harvest’s delivery truck pulling up out front. “There’s my delivery. I better get going. Sorry, I talked your ear off,” I apologize, giving Walter an appreciative smile.

He sets aside the stack of mail he was sorting. “Don’t be sorry. I enjoy talking with you. Stop by whenever you’d like.”

My shoulders relax, the tension easing away at his kindness. “I will, thank you.”

His sincerity warms my heart. The small gesture means more than I can express. I don’t have anyone in the city that I can confide in, so it’s incredibly kind of him to offer a listening ear, despite having only met a few days ago. I’ll have to find out what his favorite dessert is and make it for him as a way of showing my appreciation.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m in the penthouse’s kitchen, putting the produce away. This place is every private chef’s dream, complete with state-of-the-art appliances, custom cabinetry, and a sprawling marble counter with more space than I could ever possibly need.

The entire apartment is incredible. My bedroom is massive, with a king-size bed, a walk-in closet, and a soaking tub in the bathroom. The only complaint I have is how chilly the penthouse is. I’ve resorted to sleeping in sweats and a hoodie and wearing long-sleeved shirts and fuzzy socks during the day.

I’ve been wanting to ask Harrison about it, but he’s never around long enough for me to bring it up. In fact, most of our communications so far have gone through Cabrina. My phone pings on the counter, and I check to find yet another email from her, noting Harrison’s most recent requests and other instructions. She’s emailed me several times a day, and I’m starting to wonder if I work for her, and not Harrison.

To: Fallon Hayes [email protected]

From: Cabrina Clark [email protected]

Subject: Mr. Stafford’s Meal Updates

Ms. Hayes,

I hope this email finds you well. Mr. Stafford asked me to inform you that he’d like dinner served at 9:30 p.m. tomorrow night since he has a meeting at the corporate office in Maine in the afternoon. I’ll stop by at 7:00 a.m. in the morning to pick up this coming week’s lunches to keep at the office.

Warm wishes,

Cabrina

It’s Sunday, which means Harrison is working from his home office today, and yet he still had his assistant send me another email—on a weekend, no less. This is getting ridiculous. If he needs something, he can walk down the hall and ask. I’m done with this back-and-forth through Cabrina.

Enough is enough.

I pause what I’m doing when I hear footsteps in the dining room. Earlier, I prepared a plate of scrambled eggs with avocado and homemade gluten-free toast with almond butter and left it on a warming tray on the dining table for Harrison, along with a bowl of fresh fruit on the side.

After putting away a few cartons of berries in the fridge, I grab a bottle of water before shutting the fridge and march into the dining room where Harrison is at the table, raising a bite of eggs to his mouth.

He briefly glances over, a flash of annoyance crossing his face before going back to reading something on his phone.

“Did you need something, Fallon?” he asks, his tone bored.

“Yes, I do, actually.” I slide into the chair beside him, resting my arms on the table as I wait for him to put down the phone permanently attached to his hand.

When I don’t elaborate, he finally sets it down, giving me his undivided attention.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “What is it?”

“If you need something from me, you don’t have to go through Cabrina. I’m only a room away,” I say, nodding toward the kitchen.

“Like I could forget,” he retorts.

I lift an eyebrow in challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean? You know what, never mind.” I fold my hands in front of me, forcing myself to calm down. “I’m here to say that moving forward, I’d appreciate it if you came directly to me when you want something. There’s no point in making your assistant be our go-between while I’m living here.”

“Do you think it’s wise to request changes to how we communicate right out of the gate? This is a trial period, remember?”

I straighten my spine and look him square in the eye. “Is this the part where I’m supposed to apologize for stating how I feel? Sorry, I must have missed the memo.”

As we face off, the challenge clear in our eyes, I can’t help but think of the night we met. When we were both young, carefree, full of trust, with the whole world ahead of us.

“Oh my god, this burger is amazing,” I let out a satisfied hum.

“I’m glad you like it.” Harrison grins. “I aim to please.”

The streetlights cast a soft glow on the park bench, and the rhythmic bounce of a basketball and occasional cheers from players echo in the distance.

I take another bite, ketchup trickling down my chin. Before I can react, Harrison reaches out to gently wipe it away with his finger.

Heat blooms where his fingertips meet my skin, a simmering warmth that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with him.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

“My pleasure, beautiful.” He bends down to grab the bottle of Dom Pérignon off the ground and takes a sip. “Mind me asking what brought you to Florida?”

“It’s complicated.” I hedge. “I moved here with my boyfriend a year ago, but we recently broke up.” I keep it vague.

I keep the fact that Jeremy dumped me to myself. My personal life is messy, especially my past. As much as I like Harrison, I’m not ready to open up about that yet. I’d rather keep our time together uncomplicated and lighthearted. Besides, I’m aware that Jeremy’s team is rivals with the Huskies, and lost to them in the Stanley Cup. The last thing I want is for Harrison to think I chase hockey players.

“It’s his loss,” Harrison murmurs as he holds out the bottle of champagne. “It’s not your diet soda, but it’ll help take the edge off.”

I tip my head back as he brings the bottle to my lips, his gaze fixed on mine while I drink.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“You’re right. It’s not my Diet Coke, but it might be growing on me,” I tease, wrapping my hand around his and bringing the bottle to my mouth for another sip.

Flirting with Harrison comes naturally, and our conversation flows easily. I can be myself around him, something I could never do with Jeremy. With him, I was always on the edge, worried that I’d fall short of his expectations and the person he wished I was. This feels like a breath of fresh air, and I’m not ready for it to end.

“What about you?” I ask. “Do you live close to your family or girlfriend?”

I casually slip in the last part, hoping it’s not too obvious. I’d like to think he wouldn’t be on a date with me if he was seeing someone, but with hockey players, you can never be too careful.

He chuckles, setting the champagne on the ground. “I don’t have a girlfriend, and I’m living in another state from my family, which my mother doesn’t like. We’re all really close, and as the oldest, it comes with lots of expectations that I’m unsure if I’m ready to handle. Which is one of the reasons I moved away in the first place.”

I place my hand on his arm. “Don’t sell yourself short. I might not know you well, but I can tell you’re more than capable of dealing with whatever it is,” I say.

“I appreciate it.” His hand covers mine, his thumb softly tracing circles on my skin. “I hope this isn’t too forward, but would you want to come back to my hotel? I’m here until Monday, and I’d like to spend more time with you.”

I should say no. After Jeremy, I swore off hockey players and dating altogether. But right now, I’m second-guessing that decision. What would be the harm in spending more time with Harrison? Like he said, he leaves on Monday—meaning no strings or expectations.

Harrison watches me expectantly, and the vulnerability in his eyes cements my decision.

“Alright, I’m in,” I agree.

He grins, wrapping his arm around me, drawing me closer. “Good choice. I was worried I might have to beg,” he says playfully.

Maybe hockey players aren’t so bad after all.

I glance over to where Harrison is still watching me. His gaze has softened, curiosity flickering in his eyes like he’s trying to figure out what’s on my mind.

I frown slightly, internally reprimanding myself for letting him affect me. It’s hard to ignore his undeniable magnetism when he’s close, especially with memories clawing to be set free and slipping out when I least expect them.

He clears his throat, his expression turning impassive as he picks up his phone, as if our exchange hadn’t fazed him at all.

“What else do you need, Fallon?” he asks, his eyes glued to the screen. “I have a long day ahead, and would like to eat my breakfast in peace.”

My temper flares, and I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor. “If you have certain times you’d like to eat or other requests related to your meals, you’ll go through me. No more messages from Cabrina,” I say as I head toward the kitchen, not giving him a chance to reply.

If we’re stuck living together, we’ll have to find a way to co-exist, at least somewhat peacefully.