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

Chapter 23

“I ’m glad you’re here,” Presley says with a smile.

“Me too,” I say.

We’re seated in the suite of the arena, waiting for the second period to start. She and Jack arrived a few minutes late, and judging from their attire, they must have come straight from the office.

Jack commands attention in a three-piece suit. Beside him, Presley is his perfect match in a black pencil skirt, a white turtleneck, and a tailored blazer. Her pumps and brown hair pulled into a high ponytail complete the polished ensemble.

Seated side by side with Jack’s hand possessively resting on Presley’s thigh, they make a striking pair, like they belong on the cover of a business magazine, powerful and perfectly in sync. I don’t miss the way he looks at her as if she’s the greatest prize, more valuable than any deal or business empire.

It leaves me to wonder how it would feel to be the object of such fierce and unwavering admiration. I look over to where Harrison is seated on the bench next to the other players, taking a drink from his water bottle.

I may have my reservations, fearful that this could end badly, but there’s no denying I’m hooked on this man. When it comes to the battle between my heart and body, the latter is winning, leaving little room for resistance.

I’m not ashamed of what we did—in fact, I’m tempted to do it again—but this time with his hands roaming my body, and his cock buried inside me. However, that would mean our already precarious relationship would become even more complex, if that’s even possible.

Harrison is like a match, and if I stand too close, we’ll both end up in flames—but I’m unable to resist striking one more spark.

To distract my rogue thoughts, I dig into my bag and pull out a container of snickerdoodles. I made a batch for Walter beforehand and brought a few with me, knowing sweet treats have a way of winning people over. I wanted an easy way to break the ice with Jack and Presley.

I hold out the cookies to them. “Would you like one?”

“Absolutely. Those look so good,” Presley exclaims, taking two and passing one to Jack.

He nods in my direction. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Presley takes a bite, her eyes lighting up as she chews. “This is hands down the best cookie I’ve ever tasted,” she declares between mouthfuls.

“I’m glad you like it,” I grin.

Jack’s phone goes off and he fishes it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.

“Sorry, little vixen, I have to take this.” He presses a kiss to Presley’s head before stepping out into the hallway behind us, separating the two spaces.

As soon as he’s gone, Presley leans over, casually resting her elbow on the arm of my chair. “I hear my mom had a part in you moving in with Harrison. I’m sorry if she overstepped. She means well, but as you might’ve noticed, she tends to get carried away.” She glances back at Jack with a knowing grin.

“Her persistence is the reason I moved in and agreed to become Harrison’s private chef. It’s been an amazing opportunity, though I’m sure Harrison has regretted it on multiple occasions,” I say with a small smile.

“I heard about the spider prank he pulled.” Presley shakes her head. “I would have retaliated against Harrison if I had been in your shoes. He and my other brothers did something similar to me when I was a teenager, conveniently when my parents were out of town for the weekend. I was terrified, but when I realized it was a trick, I couldn’t let them get away with it.” She takes another cookie from the container in my lap.

“What did you do?”

She smirks. “I served them mashed potatoes with chocolate syrup and told them it was ice cream. Their shocked expressions were well worth it.”

I let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s impressive.”

“Thanks. How about you? Please tell me you made Harrison pay.” She takes a bite of her cookie while she waits for my reply.

“I put salt in his coffee,” I admit.

Presley laughs as she wipes a crumb from her face. “That’s a good one.”

“He didn’t think so,” I remark smugly.

“I hope I’m not crossing a boundary, but I have to tell you that aside from our family, Harrison has never invited anyone to watch him play in a charity game before. And he most certainly hasn’t left a trip in Aspen Grove early for anything other than work.” Presley takes a sip of water and quickly glances at the rink where the Zamboni finishes its final pass. “Beneath his broody exterior is a fiercely loyal man, ready to weather any storm for those he cares about. For example, he loves hockey more than anything, but after our dad’s heart attack, he gave it up.”

I frown, tilting my head. “What do you mean?”

Harrison explained that he had to leave the hotel when he got a call about his dad being hospitalized. Now that I know how much his family means to him, I can only imagine how distressed he must have been when he got the news. It’s only now that I grasp how much of an impact that must have had on Harrison and his future.

“Dad couldn’t work at full capacity for months, so Harrison stepped in as his full-time intern, learning the ropes. It was obvious hockey was his dream, but he’s carried the weight of running Stafford Holdings since he was a kid,” she explains. “There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for our family, and I only wish we could ease some of that burden. He’s spent so long taking care of everyone else, he’s forgotten how to put himself first.”

“Doesn’t taking a vacation or dating qualify?”

I might have tossed in the latter for purely selfish reasons. While I can’t change the past, that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about Harrison’s dating history.

Presley lets out a dry laugh. “Harrison taking a vacation? That’s funny. I don’t think he’s taken a single day off in the past ten years. Even during the holidays, he sneaks in a few hours of work when he can. As far as girlfriends go, he’s never had one. Sure, he’s taken women to events and gone on dates to appease my mother, but never anything serious.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, he’s never brought anyone to Aspen Grove to meet the family. If he ever does, she’ll be special.”

It sounds like Harrison and I have more in common than I thought. We’ve both been wary of relationships in the past and don’t trust easily. Only dating casually, never getting attached.

Harrison especially likes his space, and the only reason he let me move in was because of his mother. It wasn’t that long ago when he would have been relieved to have me leave. Now that the truth has come to light, everything between us has shifted.

I can pretend our connection isn’t real, but that’s a lie. The truth is, there’s an undeniable pull between us, and we’ve reached a crossroads. The real question is whether I have the courage to take a leap of faith and see where this leads, consequences be damned.

“Harrison is fortunate to have someone like you in his corner,” I say to Presley. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you’ve got your hands full trying to keep your brothers in line.”

She laughs warmly. “You can say that again. I can see why Harrison likes you. You’re a riot, and your food is the bomb. I’m going to have to come visit more often if you’re cooking,” she gushes before plopping the last bite of cookie in her mouth.

Her sincere compliment means so much.

“You’re welcome anytime. I’m always testing new recipes for a cookbook I’m working on and would love to have another taste tester.”

“Oh my god, I’d love that.” Presley reaches into her purse to take out her phone. “Put your number in. I want to know when your cookbook is released because I have to buy a dozencopies.”

I take it, entering my number before handing it back.

“That’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”

She waves me off. “Of course, I do. That’s what friends are for.”

Her kindness leaves me speechless. There’s something about the Stafford siblings—they have a way of drawing you in and making you never want to leave. What I wouldn’t give to be a part of a family who cheers each other on through thick and thin like that.

Presley points to the ice where the players are skating into position. “It looks like the second period is going to start soon.”

I put the rest of the cookies in my bag and check my phone, finding a message from Theo.

Theo: How’s my favorite chef? Could go for one of your gluten- free apple strudel muffins right about now.

Fallon: That’s only because you taught me how to make them, and you’re a big fan of your own cooking.

Theo: I’ll take a little credit, but you make the gluten-free version better than I ever could.

Fallon: I did learn from the best.

He wouldn’t compliment me if he didn’t mean it. It isn’t lost on me that he refers to me as his favorite chef, even though he’s a world-renowned chef with a reservation waiting list six months out at all of his restaurants. It gives me hope that someday I might actually be able to make a name for myself in the industry like he did.

Fallon: You’ll never believe it. I’m at a charity hockey game.

Theo: I’m shocked. You’re not exactly a sports enthusiast.

Fallon: I only hate running, and that’s your fault.

Theo: It was supposed to be a team bonding activity.

Fallon: Yeah, if the plan was for us all to bond in the back of an ambulance.

Fallon: You’re lucky no one sued you for that debacle. I think it was those hefty bonus checks you gave us.

A few years ago, he had the brilliant idea to have all his employees go on a scavenger hunt across London. The catch? We had to run in the heat during summer, and after a mile, half of us were hobbling along with blistered feet and the beginning of dehydration setting in.

Aside from his bad choices in team-building activities, he was an incredible boss. He always made sure everyone’s voice was heard and gave us all a chance to shine.

I think because he caught a break early on in his career, he wants to provide others with the same opportunity. After he graduated culinary school, a celebrity chef dropped by the restaurant he worked at and was so impressed she requested to meet the chef. They had a long conversation, and she gave Theo her card before she left. Within two years, he’d opened his first restaurant.

Theo: We miss your attitude around here.

Fallon: As you should.

Theo: How’s everything going? Dare I say I’m shocked that you’re staying with Harrison.

Fallon: Don’t worry. I’m giving him a run for his money.

Theo: I have no doubt.

Theo: Just know that you have a job waiting if you want it.

Fallon: You’re the best, Theo.

It’s wild to think that just a few months ago I was living in London and still working for Theo. So much has changed since then, and something tells me this is only the start.

After the game, Harrison texts me, asking me to meet him in his office at the arena. He had an urgent work call with a potential client and needed somewhere quiet to take it. I didn’t even know he had an office here. It seems like he’s constantly working no matter where he is, leaving me to determine that he never actually has any downtime to relax.

Presley and Jack went home, citing an early morning tomorrow. I suspect they wanted some alone time, and I don’t blame them. The entire walk to find Harrison, my thoughts kept circling back to what happened in his bedroom the other night. I feel my cheeks flush when I think back to the look in his eyes when he watched me come.

When I get to Harrison’s office, the door is open. The space has exposed steel beams, polished concrete floors, and dark wood accents. I step inside to find Harrison at a walnut desk near an expansive window overlooking the arena.

“Just how many offices do you have?” I joke.

He glances up from his phone, smiling when he sees me. “I work more often than I don’t, and this is one of my favorite places to be. It’s even better when there’s a game or practice, and I can watch all the action from here.” He motions to the rink.

I stride across the room and perch on his desk, leaning back on my arms with my ankles crossed. “Isn’t it exhausting to work all the time?”

I take his phone from him and setting it to the side.

Harrison shrugs. “That’s the downside of running a company. I’m always on the clock.” He looks up at me quizzically. “I’m glad you’re back to your usual self. I was missing your sass the last few days.”

“I appreciate you giving me some time to think things through.”

With a raised brow, he cocks his head. “Do you need more time?”

I shake my head. “I’m right where I want to be.”

There’s no telling where this might lead, but I’m done pretending I don’t want Harrison. Even if it’s temporary, I’d rather embrace our physical attraction than act like it doesn’t exist.

With a low growl, he tugs the hem of the jersey, drawing me closer. “Fuck, Fallon, you look damn good in my jersey.”

“I do,” I answer smugly, tapping my chin. “Although I think I might look even better in Aleksandr’s. Black and gold are my colors,” I tease. “You wouldn’t happen to still have it, would you? I’d love to try it on again.”

It’s clear I’ve struck a chord when Harrison moves forward in his chair, pulling me to the edge of the desk, his hands resting firmly on my waist.

“What did I say about wearing another man’s jersey?”

I tilt my head, pursing my lips, pretending to mull it over. “I can’t seem to recall.”

“Then let me refresh your memory. The only jersey you’ll be wearing is mine.” His mouth grazes my neck, his warm breath making my skin prickle. “Tell me, when you’re lying in bed at night, whose face do you imagine is between your thighs, making you come?”

I inhale sharply, squeezing my thighs as he tilts my chin, peppering kisses along my jawline. He gets to my mouth, and I moan softly when he traces his tongue along the edge. Unable to resist, I tug his lower lip between my teeth, and what starts as gentle exploration erupts into wild, frenzied passion. I’m aware of the faint, metallic taste of blood from biting down hard.

“Fuck,” Harrison groans. “I want you.”

“How much?” I murmur, gripping his hair and giving it a tug.

His brown eyes glow with intensity, sending heat down my spine. “So damn much, it hurts.”

My pulse quickens, a flicker of challenge lighting up my eyes. “Beg.”

I’m not sure what drives my brazen command, but his raw need makes me want to push him further. He’s been acting like he’s been in charge since I moved in, but now it’s time to turn the tables.

Part of moving forward is learning to let go of the negative emotions tied to his resentment toward me. I’m done pretending that his presence doesn’t make me ache for him, longing to be held in his arms.

That doesn’t mean I can’t make him work for it.

“Beg,” I repeat firmly.

He leans in closer until our noses brush. “I want you. From the moment I crashed into you and that tray of champagne, I’ve wanted you—every damn inch. Please, trouble.”

I grip the collar of his shirt, flicking my tongue along the seam of his mouth.

“Please what?” I ask with a raised brow.

“Let me lick that sweet cunt of yours until you come,” he begs, his eyes searching mine for an answer.

I gaze at him with a sly smile. “You’re welcome to try, but I’m not sure you’re up for it. Directing me is one thing, but doing the work yourself is another.”

We both know that’s bullshit. He has an incredibly skilled tongue. It’s something I remember vividly from our weekend together.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warns, kissing along my collarbone. “Don’t worry. I’m more than ready to get burned if it means pleasing you.”

I gasp when he drops to his knees, pushing the chair aside. He gently lifts my right foot, and I place my hands on his shoulders for balance. His lips graze the inside of my leg; his slow, deliberate movements heighten the anticipation as he removes my shoe and sock. He repeats the same with my left foot, the cool air against my exposed skin sending a wave of goose bumps across my skin.

“I rather like you on your knees,” I say with a smug grin.

“Careful, baby. You may be calling the shots, but don’t forget I’m about to have total control over your pleasure.”

Harrison taps my hips and I lift up so he can tug down my pants and underwear, carefully sliding them down my legs and discarding them on the chair.

He hikes my leg over his shoulder again, giving him an unobstructed view of my pussy. I wait with bated breath as he plants a kiss on my knee. His stubble rubs against my skin as he moves up my thigh, my legs quaking with anticipation when he reaches my apex.

My breath hitches when he leans forward to press his nose against my core, inhaling deeply.

“God, your sweet scent is intoxicating.”

Harrison slowly licks along the seam of my pussy. Teasing me. I dig my fingers into the desk as tremors ripple through my body. After several tortuous strokes, he thrusts his tongue inside my opening, and I buck my hips, grinding against his face. He eagerly explores, alternating between licking my core and sucking my clit.

I’m already writhing beneath him when he adds his finger, the pressure building inside me, a shiver coursing through my veins. I weave my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

“Damn, is this all for me?”

I whimper, unable to find my voice, when he inserts another finger. The fact that we’re in his office, where anyone could walk in, turns me on even more.

I lift my hooded gaze to meet his heated stare, gripping his hair tighter as he moves his fingers in and out of me at a rapid pace as his tongue teases my clit in short strokes.

I’m distracted by a low hum, my gaze shifting out the window overlooking the rink, where someone from the maintenance crew maneuvers the Zamboni across the ice. Several other staff members move through the stands, collecting trash left by fans.

“Does it turn you on knowing that anyone could look up to watch as I worship your perfect pussy?” Harrison croons.

“God, yes,” I moan.

I noticed earlier that the windows are made of one-sided glass, but it’s intoxicating to think someone could look in to find Harrison on his knees before me with his face buried between my legs.

The crude sound of my arousal fills the room as he alternates between torturing me with his warm mouth, the tip of his tongue pressing inside my entrance, and three thick fingers, both keeping me teetering on the edge. I’m desperate to lose all control as he draws out my impending orgasm, toying with my mind.

“You’re so fucking wet.” Harrison’s voice rumbles with satisfaction. “You taste even better than I remember.”

He latches his mouth on my clit again, swirling his tongue in languid circles as my body coils tighter with each thrust of his fingers.

“Don’t you dare stop,” I pant.

He groans around my core, gently biting down on my clit, and I shatter around his hand, tossing my head back with a strangled cry.

My eyes widen when he brings his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean, and shoots me a wicked grin.

The aftershock of pleasure ripples through me, my breath quick and shallow as I glance at him. He hasn’t undressed, yet his presence is electric, filled with a desire to match mine.

I nod toward his tented pants, the outline of his erect cock pressing against the fabric. “What about you?”

“Tonight was about you .” He strokes my jaw before picking up my discarded underwear and pants, handing them over so I can get dressed.

I blink at him, finally coming back to reality. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“Watching you come is my new favorite pastime.”

I blush at his words, not sure how to respond.

“I’m not ready for anything beyond that right now,” I confess. “I have no qualms admitting that you have a skilled tongue, and that as much as I try to fight it, I’m still attracted to you.”

“So, that means multiple orgasms with my roommate every day? Count me in,” Harrison replies.

A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. I appreciate him meeting me where I am, and not pushing for more than I’m ready to give. The physical attraction we share is easy—it’s the depth of our emotional connection and the possibility of what this could become that terrifies me.

My entire adult life has been about carving out my own path, chasing the dream of running my own restaurant and making a name for myself in the culinary world. Getting involved with a client, especially one that I have a past with, was never part of the blueprint.

Harrison shuts his laptop, putting it in the briefcase he had under his desk. He grabs his hockey bag in the corner, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Ready to head home?” Harrison questions. “I’m sure Cat is anxious to get out of the bathroom.”

“Yeah.”

When he gets to me, he leans down to kiss me.

I bring my fingers to my lips. “What was that for?”

“A reminder of how much you mean to me.” He takes my hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “Now that I’ve had another taste, I’m never going back.”

It’s evident that he is ready to take the next step, yet he respects my need for time to process it all. With anyone else, what just happened would have been enough. But with Harrison, my body is still humming with need, already craving his touch again.

I may not be ready to rush into a relationship, but I’m more than willing to take things one day at a time and indulge in the perks of having a dangerously attractive roommate who can’t keep his hands off me.