“Madeline Ashcroft,” he says, his voice low and even. “Good to finally meet you in person. I’m Ford Winters. Welcome to Cove.”
“Thank you,” I manage, shaking his hand. His grip is firm, confident but not overbearing—the kind of handshake that makes you feel like you’ve already done something right.
You can tell he and Jesse are related. Same tall frame, same broad shoulders, the same thick dark hair and those eyes that are even darker up close. Ford is ridiculously handsome, but where Jesse wears his confidence with a smirk, Ford’s is heavierand quieter…the kind that sits in his bones and dares you to challenge him.
Alyssa steps aside as he gestures toward the pair of chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”
His office is sleek and modern like the rest of Cove. Wide windows frame the trees outside, and the walls are lined with photographs of the Pacific coast, each one shot in moody, silver light.
I smooth my tailored pants and lower myself into the chair, trying to appear calm while my pulse runs a marathon.
Ford leans against the edge of his desk. “We’re really happy to have you here. Jesse’s team has been running at full speed since the last launch, and I know he’s looking forward to having another set of hands and a fresh perspective on board.”
My stomach dips at the mention of Jesse’s name, betraying me once again. As if summoned by my dread, the door opens behind us.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice says, deep and smooth and threaded with that same infuriating confidence I remember from the brewery.
My fingers tighten around the notebook in my lap as I slowly turn around to face him.
Jesse Winters steps into the room, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a Cove polo that looks like it was sculpted to his frame. His dark hair is styled in that I-woke-up-like-this way that looks effortless but still incredible. The sleeves of his T-shirt are pushed to his forearms, revealing tan skin and strong arms and a very expensive looking watch. He carries himself like he owns every room he walks into—relaxed, certain, and completely at ease in his own skin.
He nods at Ford, then at me. “Hey, Jesse Winters,” he says easily, offering his hand like he’s meeting me for the first time. “You’ll be working with me.”
For a second, I just stare at him, my mind stuttering like it’sbuffering. Seriously? He’s looking right at me, polite, professional, not a flicker of recognition in his expression. Does he really not remember flirting with me or is this some kind of test? Do I go along with it and pretend we’ve never met? My pulse stumbles as I force my features into something that hopefully resembles a neutral expression.
I slide my hand into his, my fingers tingling at the heat of his skin. “Madeline,” I say, shaking his hand. His grip is firm and confident, his expression still completely devoid of recognition. He releases my hand with a nod that feels maddeningly unbothered.
“Great,” Ford says, oblivious, as I force my gaze toward him and listen as he outlines my role. Beside me, Jesse leans back in his chair with one ankle hooked over his knee. I try to keep my attention on Ford, but I find myself glancing at Jesse for a twitch or tell that he recognizes me. There isn’t one.
“Madeline, you’ll be assisting Jesse’s team on the spring campaign and helping streamline some of our PR communication. From the looks of your CV, you’re going to make a great addition to the marketing team.”
“Thank you,” I say smoothly, ready for the challenge. “I’m happy to be here.”
Ford leans back against the edge of his desk. “You’ll get your bearings quickly,” he says, his voice low and even in a way that carries weight without needing volume. “You’ll be shadowing Jesse for the first couple of weeks. Learn the process, get comfortable with our campaigns.”
“I’ll get your login and workspace set up by this afternoon, Madeline,” Alyssa, still standing near the door, chimes in cheerfully. “You’ll have access to the drives, design templates, and all the brand materials by end of day.”
I nod, smiling, willing myself to stay present. Willing myself not to look at Jesse—the man who flirted with me and then apparently immediately forgot that I existed.
Ford’s voice pulls me back. “Alright,” he says finally, pushing off the desk. “That’s all for now. Madeline, we’re happy you’re here. Jesse will show you to your desk and help get you settled.”
Jesse stands, easy and unhurried, and I follow suit, clutching my notebook to my chest. “Of course,” he says, tone professional. “Follow me.”
The door closes softly behind us as we step into the hall. Jesse’s stride is long and confident, forcing me to pick up my pace to keep up. He glances sideways at me, something flickering in his eyes like he’s trying to read my expression. For a second, I think this is it—he’s finally going to say something, admit that he remembers me. Maybe acknowledge our awkward exchange at Replay last week. Instead, he just says, “Everything okay?”
I straighten slightly, caught between confusion and disbelief. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”
One dark brow lifts. “Good.” A faint grin tugs at his mouth, but I can’t decipher what it means. “Then let’s get started, Madeline. We’ve got work to do.”
He starts down the hall again, and I follow with every nerve humming. But then I catch it. The barest flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he has a private joke I’m not in on. It’s gone before I can be sure I didn’t just imagine it, but something in my gut twists.
He knows who I am.
He remembers.
SEVEN
Madeline
