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

Chapter 10

T he past week has been pure chaos, juggling catering events nearly every night for clients hosting holiday parties.

When I’m not cooking, planning menus, or restocking ingredients, I’m chasing Cat around the apartment, attempting to save Harrison’s place from his reign of destruction. I was fine with a few claw marks to get a reaction out of Harrison, but Cat has declared an all-out rebellion against the furniture. At this rate, there might not be much of a penthouse for Harrison to come home to.

Cat is nothing short of a literal demon. The morning after I discovered him, I found the vase of flowers I had on the kitchen counter in fragments scattered across the floor, with water spread in every direction. The next day, he attacked the curtains in the dining room, scaling them like a jungle gym and tearing them to ribbons. And just yesterday, he wandered into the guest bathroom and treated the toilet paper like a ball of yarn, leaving a mess of shredded paper across the apartment.

I’m convinced he was either trained by an evil mastermind or is straight-up possessed. There’s no other way to explain his behavior. The only time he isn’t wreaking havoc is when he’s curled up in my blanket, which he’s since claimed as his own, watching horror movies with me on the couch. His favorite so far is Poltergeist . When I paused the movie to grab another Diet Coke, he wouldn’t stop meowing until I hit play again. It’s more proof that he’s a hell spawn wrapped in fur.

It’s two days before Christmas, and I’m catering a private art gallery in Chelsea. I’m prepping the ingredients and sauces for the dishes at the penthouse and will assemble everything in the kitchen at the venue.

My client requested crab cakes, so I’m making my signature lemon-dill yogurt sauce—always a crowd favorite. It’s coming together nicely, but when I taste it, there’s something missing. I set the spatula I’m using and grab a lemon from the fridge. When I turn back around, I find Cat sitting on the counter, next to the bowl, his green eyes fixed on the sauce.

“Don’t you dare,” I state sternly.

Before I can stop him, he bumps into the bowl, sending globes of sauce flying in every direction.

I blow out a slow breath, covering my face with my hands.

I’ve kept my temper in check, doing my best to stay patient whenever he creates another mess, but Harrison’s so-called prank messing with my cooking is the final straw.

I don’t bother trying to clean Cat’s tail before marching out of the kitchen, my determined footsteps echoing all the way to Harrison’s office, looking for the perfect payback.

“Off-limits, my ass,” I mumble, pushing open the door with more force than necessary.

I peek my head inside, my eyes immediately landing on the glass-top desk paired with an ergonomic chair. The desk itself is sparse, with only a monitor, notebook, and pen. On the wall behind his desk is a single photo of Stafford Holdings’ Michigan headquarters, according to the nameplate below it.

At first glance, it’s just another cold and impersonal space, matching the sterile vibes of the penthouse. It’s apparent that Harrison doesn’t like things that don’t serve a purpose or that disrupt his desire for order.

That’s why I’m perplexed when I glance over to the far side of the room where a custom display case has been built, designed to mimic a hockey rink’s boards. It has built-in lighting, showcasing rows of sticks and several pairs of skates hanging from metal hooks.

Intrigued, my feet carry me farther into the room toward the display. On closer inspection, I notice several shelves filled with photos, signed pucks, and a collection of limited-edition hockey cards. The last thing I notice is a familiar jersey framed on the wall, triggering another memory of my weekend with Harrison.

I track his every move as he strides toward the bed, pausing to tug off his jeans and boxers. My throat goes dry as he crawls onto the bed next to me.

“God, you’re so damn sexy,” he murmurs reverently, his eyes raking over my naked body as I lie wanton on the bed.

My breath hitches as he teasingly traces his thumb around one of my nipples, his gaze never leaving mine.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer. “I want your mouth on me. Now,” I demand.

He smirks, bending to kiss the valley between my breasts, and I let out a low hiss when he flicks one of my nipples with his tongue. The small bud hardens at his touch, and he greedily wraps his mouth around it, biting down on the soft flesh.

“Don’t stop,” I cry out.

My nails sink into his scalp, my moans growing louder while he alternates between licking and biting my breasts, the fine line between pain and pleasure blurring as the sensations send me into a dizzying frenzy. I let out a pleading whine, trying to draw him back when he pulls away.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Relax, beautiful, we’re not stopping until morning,” he vows with conviction.

“I’m holding you to that,” I tease.

A wave of heat spreads through me like wildfire as he sinks two fingers inside my tight heat.

“Fuck. You’re so wet. I can’t wait to be inside you.”

“Not before you give me an orgasm with your fingers,” I say with a smirk.

He slowly drags his tongue along the column of my neck as he adds a third finger, causing a strangled moan to pass my lips.

“Are you going to come on my hand like a good girl?” he whispers.

I nod, unable to speak.

My body coils tighter with each plunge of his fingers, and my back arching off the bed when he flicks my clit with this thumb, causing me to shatter around his hand. My head falls back on the pillow as I let out a cry of pleasure and plummet off the precipice.

I take a deep breath to steady my racing heart, a goofy smile spreading across my face.

Holy shit, this man is a god in bed. I don’t think I’ve ever orgasmed so hard in my life.

“A god, huh?” Harrison grins, leaning down to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I groan inwardly as I blink up at him, mortified. “Did I just say that out loud?”

Harrison’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “Yeah, but no takebacks.”

When my stomach rumbles he chuckles. “Let’s order you something to eat—you’ll need your energy for what I have planned,” he adds.

Absentmindedly, I trace my fingers along his jawline, the stubble grazing my fingertips. “That’s a good idea. After all, you promised we’d go all night.”

“I always keep my promises,” he whispers.

A sense of calm washes over me at hearing the sincerity in his voice. I believe him. Which makes me wonder if this could potentially be the start of something more than just a fun weekend together.

I place a chaste kiss on his mouth. “You better.”

He climbs out of bed, stark naked and strides to the chair in the corner, grabbing the T-shirt and jeans he’d tossed there earlier, and puts them on. When he’s finished, he rummages through his hockey bag and pulls out a jersey.

I sit up in bed when he walks toward me, clutching the sheet around my waist.

He holds out the jersey. “Put this on.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Why?”

He leans in and gently cradles my face. “It’ll make me so hard to see you in my clothes,” he says, his voice low. “Now, arms up,” he instructs.

Already caught up in the thrill of his possessive streak, I eagerly lift my arms as requested, letting the sheet fall into my lap. Harrison’s gaze takes me in, his eyes dark as he studies me.

His gaze doesn’t leave mine as he pulls the shirt over my head, guiding my arms through the sleeves in a slow, deliberate motion. His fingertips graze my skin as the fabric slides down my body, and once it’s in place, he carefully tugs my hair free from the neckline, letting the strands loose down my back.

Harrison nods. “Perfect,” he says, his approval ripples through me. “Tell me you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with me,” he adds, his eyes pleading.

“There’s nothing I’d like more,” I say with a sated smile.

A noise from down the hall has me snapping my head up, causing me to crash back to reality. It’s probably Cat causing another disaster.

I glance at the framed jersey again, its silent presence a cruel reminder that I’m still bound to the past with no way to break free.

My vision blurs as a tear slips down my cheek, and I can’t help but feel foolish. It might be na?ve, but by the end of the weekend Harrison and I shared, I convinced myself he was different from the other guys I dated, including Jeremy.

Unlike my ex, who made me feel small and insignificant, Harrison had been eager and kind during our weekend together. Which is why his actions left me blindsided.

Even after the other waitresses gushed over rumors they’d heard that he’d been with several puck bunnies during the hockey season, I still believed that because we shared a meaningful connection, things would be different and that he’d actually give what we shared a real shot. Instead, I was just another tally on his stat sheet, a temporary indulgence to add to his collection.

I angrily swipe away another tear, scowling at the hockey sticks in front of me. The flood of painful memories, combined with having to deal with Cat’s destructive behavior the past week, must have pushed me to the edge because I smirk when I spot a stick at the end with a white shaft and black blade. In my opinion, it’s far too plain and could use a makeover. A wicked idea forms in my mind as a way to settle the score while having a little fun at Harrison’s expense.

Hockey stick in hand, I head out of the office, glancing around to confirm no signs that point to Harrison being a cat owner. Which only adds to the mystery of Cat’s sudden appearance. I’m still convinced Harrison picked him up before he left for his trip, thinking it would be funny to leave me to deal with a cat on a rampage. He’ll regret it; I’ll make sure of that.

Despite the mess he made in the kitchen, Cat doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Harrison’s bad decisions, and I have to admit he might be growing on me.

After running to the store to grab ingredients to remake my sauce, I went to the local art supply store to pick up blue and pink gems, rhinestones, glitter, and glue that now covers the dining room table. The hockey stick is laid out in front of me, its white surface now half-covered in sparkles.

With Harrison being out of town, I haven’t had the chance to pull another prank on him, and there’s something cathartic about getting back at him and reclaiming control. I’m buzzing with excitement, but there’s a hint of nervous anticipation, too. He specifically told me not to mess with his hockey gear, and I push aside the smidge of guilt.

I recline in my chair, stretching my arms above my head, deciding a break is much needed. My project will be here waiting when I’m ready. Rising from the table, I go to the kitchen to grab a drink and check my phone that I left next to my laptop earlier.

Earlier, on my way to the craft store, I called Lila to check in.

Her brother’s best friend is in town, and she’s harbored a crush on him since she was in high school. I have a sneaking suspicion there’s more going on between them than she’s letting on. Unable to shake my curiosity, I type in Brooks’ name on my computer, curious to put a face to the name.

Fallon: Girl! I just looked up Brooks Claus. He’s hot AF!

Fallon: Is he as good of a kisser as you remember? He definitely looks like it.

Lila: OMG! I told you nothing happened. He’s only staying with me because the inn is fully booked.

Fallon: You’ve had a crush on him since you were in middle school. This is your chance to act on it.

Lila: Oh, sure, because going after my brother’s best friend sounds like a great plan.

Fallon: Life is short. What’s worse, risking it or later regretting you never took the chance?

Lila: Don’t you have a hockey stick to bedazzle?

Fallon: I couldn’t decide between red rhinestones or silver glitter for the finishing touch.

Fallon: I think I’ll use both.

Lila: Am I going to have to fly out there and intervene when Harrison gets back?

Fallon: I can handle him on my own, thank you very much.

Lila: You’re not the one I’m worried about.

Fallon: Ha. Ha. Very funny.

Lila: I’m going to finish decorating for the wedding, but we’ll chat later, okay?

Fallon: You can count on it.

I set my phone on the counter and go back to the dining room, admiring my work on the bedazzled hockey stick so far. It’s turning out much better than I could have hoped for. Will Harrison be furious when he gets home? I’m counting on it. That’s what he gets for saddling me with his cat from hell.