Though I know it was the chivalrous thing to do, I’m not sure how I felt about waking up in the guest bed without him.
“You didn’t monopolize my time, Iz. I had an awesome day. It was exactly what I wanted to be doing. And I want to drive you.”
“I suppose I’ll let you, then,” I tease.
Jax smiles. “So kind.”
We eat in silence for a few minutes before Jaxon asks, “How are you feeling about the meeting? Still nervous?”
“More anxious than nervous. But I’m used to that at this point. At least it’s not a cocktail party with people I don’t know, I guess. I can handle a meeting with a potential client.”
“You’re going to do great.”
I nod. No other option at this point. I’ll just have to do the best I can.
The twenty-minute drive north to the part of town Jaxon calls The Gulch is surprisingly uneventful. My brain runs laps through the pitch talking points, rehearsing and re-rehearsing, so I’m not much of a conversationalist. Jaxon doesn’t push. Hejust hums along with the radio, his voice soft, steady, grounding. By the time we pull up to the high-rise, I’m equal parts nauseous and calm.
The building is…intimidating. All glass and steel, with people swarming in and out who look like they were plucked straight from a corporate training video. Polished shoes, curled hair, smiles too white to be real. I instantly regret not forcing myself into a suit jacket despite the muggy wall of heat that slams into me the second I step out of the car.
“Iz,” Jaxon calls, circling the hood to reach me. Before I can protest, he grabs my hand and pulls me into a hug. The kind of hug that makes my lungs expand again.
“You’ve got this,” he murmurs into my hair.
I lean into him longer than I probably should, soaking up his steadiness. “Thanks,” I whisper, tilting my head up to meet his eyes.
“I’ll be right over there.” He points to a coffee shop tucked against the ground floor. “Go crush it. I’ll see you when you’re done.”
“Right.” I force myself to step back, square my shoulders, and walk inside like I belong here. Elevator to the twenty-second floor. Becca made sure I had step-by-step directions so I wouldn’t spiral at the thought of getting lost in endless hallways. Thank God for that.
The receptionist is as warm and efficient as her emails suggested, ushering me into a glass-walled conference room where two men are already seated. Ned—the CEO—and their head of operations. Both look up, shake my hand, and offer kind smiles and comments that suggest they’ve already read our proposal.
The first few minutes are rocky. I’ve never been good at small talk, and when Ned casually asks where I’m staying, I fumble. I mumble something about staying with a friend who movedhere years ago, and when he presses for the neighborhood, I say “Forest Hills” without thinking. Judging by their raised brows, it’s not a casual place to mention.
But once the pitch starts, I find my rhythm. They ask smart questions—good ones, the kind that make it clear they’ve thought about what a landscape analysis can and can’t do. I talk about how it’s just the first step in making a strategic decision, and how Flatroads isn’t a rinse-and-repeat firm. We don’t drop in a prefab solution and vanish. We build, adapt, and walk with clients through the whole process.
I even manage to drop the phrase “bespoke approach,” one of Becca’s favorite buzzwords, and make it sound natural. By the end, Ned is nodding along, leaning forward like he’s already mapping out what we’d do together. He doesn’t commit outright, but when he says he’ll be in touch about moving things forward, there’s weight behind it.
When it’s over, I shake their hands, thank them, and somehow walk out without tripping over my own feet. The lobby spits me back out into the sunshine, and the warmth on my skin feels like a reward after an hour and a half being blasted by air-conditioning. My pulse is still racing, but in a good way.
For the first time, it feels like I might actually be good at this.
“Iz!” Jaxon calls to me as I wander past the coffee shop’s outdoor seating area.
I scan the tables, finding him at one in the corner, a dark hat and sunglasses keeping the casual observer from recognizing the legend sitting in their midst.
The smile that crosses my face at the sight of him is definitely not fake, but it feels so good I let it slide.
Jaxon rises to meet me, and a group of teenage girls at the table next to him start elbowing each other and whispering.
“Oh my gosh!” I say dramatically, deciding to have a little fun. “Are youJaxon Steele?”
Every head outside whips to stare at me and then Jaxon. His eyes light up, amused.
“I get that all the time,” he replies in the same over-the-top stage voice. “If only I could sing like him. I might actually stand a chance of getting a woman like you.”
I shrug as Jaxon reaches me. “Eh, I think he’s pretty overrated.”
“Come on, you instigator,” he whispers as he wraps his arm around my shoulders and moves us away from the crowd. He keeps his face toward mine, his big body blocking me from the majority of the group. “Your sister is going to kill me.”
