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

Chapter 9

I glance at the clock on the microwave to see that it’s 5:45 a.m. Harrison should be heading out any minute to spend the holidays with his family in Aspen Grove. He’ll be gone for two weeks and requested an early breakfast before he leaves for the airport.

My traitorous heart dips, an unwelcome pang of disappointment settling in my chest as I imagine how quiet the apartment will be without him. It must be the solitude I’m dreading, not his absence in particular.

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I refuse to acknowledge that Harrison’s comment about being out with someone last night got to me. But the memory of my nails grazing his chest and the heat of his lips pressed against my neck from that weekend we spent together played on a loop in my mind. The idea of him out with another woman and the possibility that he’d spend the night with her ignited a jealousy I couldn’t shake.

As irritating as his arrogance is, and despite never missing a chance to argue with him, I’ve recently caught myself looking forward to seeing him. It’s a troubling revelation, given our history. Did I learn nothing the first time? Apparently, I need constant reminders to keep my emotions at arm’s length where Harrison is concerned.

The one bright side of his absence is that I’ll get a reprieve from his pranks—at least, I hope so. The past few days have been nerve-wracking. The suspense of Harrison’s next move has left me constantly on edge. No doubt this is all part of his plan, to leave me second-guessing and uneasy until he returns.

I’m hunched over the kitchen counter, typing out a new recipe for smoked salmon cucumber bites, daydreaming of the day I can serve these at my own restaurant.

I glance up from the computer screen when Harrison strolls into the room. He’s in dark wash jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the fabric straining over his forearms. When he runs a hand through his hair, the subtle flex of his muscles makes me lose my train of thought.

Oh my god.

Knowing he works out is one thing, but seeing the results firsthand is another. Even after all these years, he still looks like he’s a star athlete.

In a three-piece suit, he’s the epitome of power and devastatingly handsome. But in casual clothes, he’s dangerously alluring in a different way. My throat tightens, schooling my expression, but resisting him feels like a losing game—even the devil is charming.

Against my better judgment, I steal another glance, lingering a second too long. When his gaze meets mine, my pulse spikes, and I quickly duck my head, praying the heat rising in my cheeks isn’t too obvious.

He smirks. “Careful, stare too long, and you might go cross-eyed.”

I shake my head. “Just wondering if you purposely buy shirts too tight or if youleft yours in the dryer too long.” I lick my lower lip, thinking about what that physique looks like sans clothes.

“Well, at least I’m not the one having trouble looking away,” he says smugly.

“Right. Only when I’m in shorts and a hoodie. I remember,” I remark with a sly grin.

He glances at the ground, and I catch a glimpse of what might be a smile, but I can’t be sure. When he meets my eyes, he straightens his posture, his shoulders rigid.

“Do you have my breakfast ready? I was planning to eat it on the way to the airport.”

I’m not the only one who gets frustrated by how easy it is to enjoy our banter when we’re meant to be at odds. It’s probably for the best that he’s going out of town. A little space should help me think straight—unless it has the opposite effect. What’s the saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder?

I clear my throat, nodding. “Yeah, it’s right here.” I walk over to the oven, pull out the meal I prepared earlier, and place it in the bag on the counter. “I figured you’d eat on the go, so I made you a breakfast burrito along with a few other snacks I whipped up last night—homemade hummus with carrot sticks, a strawberry parfait, and a couple of gluten-free apple cinnamon muffins since airport food isn’t conducive to your diet,” I say, offering the bag to Harrison.

He looks at the bag with a slight furrow to his brow. “You made all this for me?”

“It’s my job to look after you… uh, I mean your nutrition.” I press the bag into his hands, his expression caught somewhere between shock and gratitude.

It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to make sure he doesn’t eat anything that could make him sick while traveling. The simplest way to do that is to send him with food. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m just doing my job.

Harrison slips the food into his backpack. “Thanks. I’m going to head out, okay?”

“Yeah, have a good trip,” I say, with a small wave.

He leaves the room, and soon after, I hear the front door click shut. An unexpected ache spreads through my chest, but I’m quick to dismiss it. It’s only because the holidays make me nostalgic for my parents. It has nothing to do with Harrison leaving.

Right?

Ready for a distraction, I take a seat at the kitchen counter and open my laptop. I’ve just opened up the document for my cookbook when my phone pings.

Harrison: There’s are a couple of vendors in the lobby with deliveries for you.

Fallon: It’s supplies I ordered for an event I’m catering tomorrow at the New York Public Library.

Fallon: Should have asked if I could have everything sent here. Sorry.

Wow. Look at me trying to play nice.

Harrison: That’s fine. Walter will let them up to the penthouse.

Fallon: Thanks.

Harrison: And Fallon…happy holidays.

I’ve just settled onto the couch to watch a murder mystery, armed with a bowl of popcorn mixed with Sour Patch Kids and a bottle of Diet Coke, when I hear a strange mewling sound.

What was that?

I shake it off, attributing it to my imagination running wild after a long day of preparing for the catering event I have scheduled for tomorrow.

My forehead creases when I hear the unmistakable sound of a cat meowing. I’m ready to dismiss it as my mind playing tricks until I hear it again.

I scramble off the couch, gripped with fear, as I follow the noise into the kitchen. My overactive imagination runs wild with potential headlines:

Woman Found Ambushed by Psychopathic Cat in Penthouse.

Penthouse Horror: Woman Attacked by a Ruthless Feline.

Cat Burglar Strikes Again: Woman Finds Feline Thief in Penthouse.

This is what I get for watching horror movies and listening to true crime podcasts—my mind running off the rails at the slightest noise.

When I round the corner, I come to an abrupt stop when I see a black-and-white cat on the kitchen counter, devouring the leftover salmon from dinner that I had set aside for a test recipe.

The cat is a pitiful sight, with a wiry coat, barely covering its bony frame. Its fur is matted with dirt and grime, and one of its ears is jagged and half-missing. A striking black patch of fur surrounds its left eye, lending the cat an edge of mystery. If you look past its disheveled appearance, it’s kind of cute.

As I inch forward, the cat lifts its head mid-bite, fixing me with a glare and letting out a low hiss, warning me to keep my distance.

I hold up my hand in a show of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I vow. “Just curious how you got in here and when.”

Great, now I’m talking to a cat. I really should get out more.

I rest my chin in my hand, unsure of what to do next. Then, an idea hits me, and I dash into the living room to grab my phone and send a quick message before heading back to the kitchen.

Lila’s tied up with a wedding today, so I text her to avoid interrupting her if she’s busy.

Fallon: Help! There’s a cat in Harrison’s kitchen and I have no idea what to do.

Lila: Is that a kinky metaphor I’m not familiar with?

Fallon: Very funny. There’s a literal cat eating my leftover salmon.

I snap a photo and send it to her.

Lila: He’s a little straggly but still adorable. Why didn’t you tell me Harrison had a cat sooner?

Fallon: Because he didn’t tell me.

Lila: Are you sure it’s even his? It looks like a stray.

Fallon: He lives in a penthouse, forty floors up. How would a stray cat get in here?

Unless…

Fallon: Oh my god, I think Harrison found a cat and left it here for me to deal with while he’s in Aspen Grove for the holidays.

Lila: LOL

Lila: You’ve got to admit that’s a good prank.

Fallon: Not helping.

Lila: What are you going to do?

I chew my bottom lip, glancing over at the cat, its greedy gaze flicking between me and the last bits of salmon. Has Harrison been hiding it in his office, or did he bring it in today? I’m tempted to call him and demand answers, not to mention to give him a piece of my mind, but that’ll only give him the reaction he wants.

Fallon: I guess I’ll take care of it until Harrison’s back.

Lila: You sure? You’ve never taken care of an animal before.

Fallon: I’ll have you know my plants are very much alive and thriving.

Lila: Ah, yes, very similarcomparison.

Fallon: I’m glad we agree.

Lila: We need to work on your sarcasm detection, my friend.

Fallon: Remember when I said you could never be on my bad side?

Lila: You’re going to do great.

Fallon: How do I tell if this cat is a boy or girl?

Lila: One second.

Lila: Just did a quick search, and it says to look at the area under the tail. Male cats have visible testicles; female cats don’t.

Fallon: Lovely. Wish me luck.

Lila: You’ve got this!

I can do this, right?

After I slip my phone in my pocket, I slowly approach the cat and gently lift its tail, confirming he’s a boy.

I sigh, stepping back. “You’re a little demon, aren’t you? Wish I knew your name.” I notice he’s missing a collar. “Hmm… what am I going to call you?”

The only response I get is a dismissive twitch of his unscathed ear.

“How about Cat?” I ask with a chuckle. “It’ll do until Harrison gets back and tells me your real name.”

Cat hisses at me, and a flick of his tail sends the empty bowl toppling to the floor with a loud clatter. I flinch at the sudden noise, but he remains unbothered. Instead, he gives me a slow, menacing glare before hopping off the counter and stalking into the living room like a king entering his domain.

I trail behind at a safe distance, my eyes widening in horror as Cat drags his claws across the bottom of the sofa, the sound of leather tearing making my stomach drop.

“Bad cat,” I scold, wagging a finger in disapproval.

I’m careful not to get too close, afraid he’ll attack me if provoked.

With one final swipe, he seems satisfied with his destruction and retracts his claws. He jumps onto the couch and settles in the middle of the blanket I left on the cushion, letting out a defiant hiss to defend his newfound territory.

I roll my eyes. “Fantastic. A demon cat with an attitude. Why am I not surprised you’re as insufferable as your owner,” I mutter, cautiously reaching for the remote, my bowl of popcorn, and my drink from the coffee table. I’m not about to sacrifice my snacks because a little tyrant has taken over the living room.

Making sure there’s a substantial distance between us, I settle into the farthest corner of the couch, stealing glances at the unpredictable ball of fur. I’m clutching my treats against my chest like a shield against Cat’s unpredictable mood. When he doesn’t make a move to attack me, I turn on the TV, scrolling through the streaming services Harrison has until I find the horror film category.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I remark to the empty room.

It’s ironic that Lila and I are best friends, considering her passion for all things Christmas and Hallmark movies. I’d rather spend my evening with haunted houses and vengeful spirits than cheerful townsfolk finding love in the snow.

That’s the one upside to living with Harrison. He doesn’t decorate for Christmas because he’s always out of town. It’s one less thing to remind me that aside from a few catering gigs, I’ll be spending the supposed happiest time of the year alone.

“You better be okay with creepy twins asking you to play forever, or you might want to return to the kitchen,” I warn Cat.

He shoots me another look of disdain before turning his attention to the TV.

“Okay, then,” I say, hitting play on The Shining. Better to stick with something I’ve seen before if I want to avoid nightmares.

The next morning, I’m up before the sun rises, scouring the apartment for any supplies for Cat. After coming up empty-handed, I realize the only place I haven’t checked is Harrison’s office. Normally, I would ignore his request that it’s off-limits, but I’ve already invaded the rest of his house. And aside from his spider stunt, he’s left my personal space untouched.

It’s the one line I’m not ready to cross…yet. But all bets are off if he pulls another stunt like leaving me alone with his cat without warning.

While I wait for the pet store to open, I whip up a fish and egg scramble for Cat, who’s perched on the kitchen counter, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Do you have to judge me, too?” I ask, grabbing a spatula, folding the eggs with precision, making sure they’re soft and fluffy. “I already have to deal with your owner’s attitude, so I’d appreciate a little peace while I work.”

Once I’ve finished prepping the dish and it’s cooled, I place it in front of Cat. “Breakfast is served.” He leans in, his nose twitching as he takes a tentative sniff, and recoils with a dramatic hiss.

I raise an eyebrow and shrug. “Suit yourself.”

Not ready to give up, I leave the bowl in front of him and busy myself with cleaning up the aftermath of his breakfast. After wiping down the counters, I pull a loaf of banana bread from the oven that I made for Walter. I’ll bring it to him once it cools and after my trip to the pet store.

I’ve just gotten the bread onto a cooling rack when the faintest sound of nibbling reaches my ears. I look over my shoulder to find Cat’s already halfway through his breakfast, his face betraying a reluctant satisfaction. It appears he’s not a fan of being watched while he eats—another thing he and Harrison have in common.

“I knew you’d like it,” I say with a smug grin.

Satisfied that he’s eating, I leave the room to get ready to leave the apartment. On my way out, I pull out my phone and send a text to Harrison.

Fallon: You do realize I’m going to prank you back, right?

Harrison: Not sure what you’re referring to.

Fallon: Right, and I have no idea how salt got in your coffee.

Harrison: Are we speaking in riddles now?

Fallon: Your innocent act is cute, but we both know what you did.

Fallon: When you get back, I suggest sleeping with one eye open.

The three dots dance across the screen and then vanish, making me wonder if he’s ignoring me. Which leads me to picture what he and his family are up to. During the limited time I spent with them when I catered Cash and Everly’s wedding reception, they appeared to be close-knit. Growing up, I wished I had siblings, and I can’t help being a little envious of Harrison for the strong bond he shares with his brothers and sister.

After waiting for a response that doesn’t come, I yank my scarf from the coat rack in the entryway and head out the door.

I refuse to let Harrison get to me any more than he already has.

The wind whips around me as I approach the apartment building, my arms weighed down with bags containing everything Cat could possibly need to be comfortable over the holidays—treats, a bag of catnip, and toys. The self-cleaning litter box I wanted was too heavy to carry in the subway, so I scheduled to have it delivered to the apartment.

The store attendant recommended a cat tree, but I opted not to order it. Serves Harrison right if Cat decides to shred the rest of his furniture. He’s also not going to be pleased with the five grand hit on his card, but that’s the price he pays for leaving me with Cat and no supplies to take care of him.

All this shopping for Cat has me a little giddy, and it’s not just because I got to spend Harrison’s money. I always wanted a pet as a kid. My parents promised I could get one on my thirteenth birthday, but by then, I was living with my grandmother, who hated animals and thought it was childish for me to want one. That woman has never had a problem tearing me down or reminding me that I was a disappointment.

She called me last week, but I let it go straight to voicemail. The only reason she’d be checking in is that she finally found out I quit working for Theo and wants to lecture me about my life choices.

Walter rushes to open the door when I get to the entrance.

“Thank you,” I say, sighing in relief when I’m finally out of the cold.

“That’s quite the haul,” he observes, nodding to my armful of supplies. “Did you get a pet?”

I shake my head, adjusting the bags and brushing a strand of hair from my forehead. “No. Harrison left me with his cat while he’s out of town.” Walter steps forward to take a few bags from my hands, and I offer him a grateful smile. “Funny how I’ve lived with him for weeks and didn’t know he had one. Did you?”

Walter scratches his chin thoughtfully. “That’s curious. I’ve never seen him with a cat, but maybe he had all the supplies delivered in the past and had a vet come to his penthouse. There are other residents in the building who do that. Or maybe he recently got it.”

I lower my shoulders. “That’s what I figured since his fur is matted, and he smells like the sewer. Either way, Cat’s a little demon, and I’m dreading our next standoff. He’s already torn up the couch, so I can’t imagine what he’ll do when I try to give him a bath. I’d wait to make Harrison deal with it, but it can’t wait.”

Walter lets out a hearty laugh. “I love the name. Very original.” He moves toward the elevator. “Come. I’ll help you get everything up to Harrison’s apartment.”

“I appreciate it,” I respond as I follow him. “There’s a loaf of banana bread cooling with your name on it. I’ll grab it for you to take once we get to the penthouse.”

“I’d never turn down your food.” Walter grins.

On our way up to the penthouse, I get another text from Harrison.

Harrison: Going through my credit card statement. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or horrified that you dropped $40,000 at Maison du Chef earlier this month.

Fallon: I replaced all the cooking supplies in your kitchen. I didn’t want to risk anything being contaminated.

Harrison: Looks liked you bought out the whole damn store.

Fallon: You’re lucky. I would have spent more, but they didn’t have a tomato-red Dansk Enamelware pot.

Harrison: A what?

Fallon: It’s nothing. There’s just a particular pot my mom used when I was growing up, and it’s been impossible to find one like it.

Fallon: Also, expect a charge on your card from Velvet Paw soon.

Harrison: Isn’t that a pet store?

Fallon: Yup.

A smug smile plays on my lips as I put my phone back in my pocket. I’ll let him stew about it.

I’ll likely regret it, but I’m looking forward to Harrison’s return. It’s so much more fun giving him a hard time when he’s here in person.

That’s not the only reason you’re looking forward to it.

A surge of irritation rushes through me, but I shut it down, pushing aside the nagging voice in my head. My interest in Harrison isn’t personal—it’s all about settling the score for the pain he caused and for the indifference he’s shown me since coming back into my life. Yet, as I glance at my phone, his texts staring back at me, a flutter of old feelings stir beneath the surface, making me more concerned that it’s more than just about getting even.