He leans back in his chair, arms folding loosely across his chest with that infuriating mix of calm and confidence. “You’re pretty hard to forget. What was it you said again? I should try to focus on one woman at a time, was that it?”
Heat crawls up my neck. “I thought you could use the tip since you were doing a pretty bad job of it,” I mutter.
He chuckles under his breath, eyes still locked on me. “So let me make it up to you.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
He tilts his head, that infuriating smile still playing at his mouth. “Let’s try this again. A fresh start.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I do,” he says easily, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse misbehave. “I can prove to you that I’m not the guy you think I am.”
“No, you can’t,” I say, snapping my laptop shut and gathering my things. Is he serious? Is he asking me out on my first day on the job? He can’t possibly think I’d actually say yes.
“Why not?” he asks, sounding curious.
I hug my notebook and laptop to my chest, pulse thrumming, “One,” I say, keeping my voice level. “As of today, I work for you and your family. That would be about as unprofessional as it gets.”
He lifts a brow, looking amused. “Okay, that’s one. Is there a two?”
“Andtwo,” I add, eyes flicking briefly to his, “I’ve got enough going on in my life. I don’t need another complication.”
He considers me for a moment, head cocked to one side. “Fair enough,” he says quietly, and that damn grin is back. “You don’t want to go out with me. Got it. But what if I prove it to you anyway?”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, eager for some much-needed space from him. “Then you’ll find out that I’m a hard person to convince.”
His grin deepens and I see too late that he’s taking that as a challenge. “I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me then.”
I turn and walk away before he can say anything else and pretend that I don’t feel his gaze follow me out of the room.
EIGHT
Jesse
The hum of the highway fills the car, low and steady beneath the faint crackle of the radio. Late-day light slants through the windshield, painting the dash in streaks of gold and gray. I crack the window a couple of inches, letting in the salt air and scent of cedar. It’s a permanent part of life here, it seems to seep right into your skin.
The further I get from the city, the quieter it gets. Fewer cars. More trees. On this stretch of road, you can finally hear yourself think—which is exactly the problem.
I shouldn’t be making this drive. Not tonight. Not ever, if my brothers had any say in it. Ford would call it a waste of time. Noah would tell me to stop trying to fix things that can’t be fixed. Wes wouldn’t say much at all, but I’d know with one look that he’s disappointed. So yeah, I never tell any of them where I’m going. And I don’t plan to.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, as if that’ll hold my thoughts in place. But instead of staying focused on the road, my mind drifts to where it shouldn’t—to the office, toher.
Madeline.
It’s been two weeks since she started at Cove, and somehow, she’s managed to wedge herself into every inch of my routine. Every meeting, every brainstorm, every coffee break. And the worst part? She’s damn good at what she does.
She’s organized to the point of obsession. She carries a notebook everywhere she goes and actually uses it, writing things down in looping, perfect handwriting.
And then there are the sticky notes. Jesus.
The woman has an entire color-coded system. Pink for deadlines. Blue for edits. Yellow for questions. Green for “don’t forget, Jesse, you idiot,” if I had to guess.
Her desk looks like a stationery store exploded all over it, but somehow it works for her. It drives me out of my damn mind. I can handle beautiful, and I can handle smart. But beautiful, smart, and infuriating? That’s a combination I wasn’t prepared for.
I shift in my seat, thumb drumming against the wheel as the tires hum over the asphalt. The sky’s softening into dusk now, a wash of violet behind the mountains. I pass the sign for Red Rock Bay and keep going, turning off toward a narrower road lined with moss-slicked guardrails.
She’s gotten under my skin, and I hate that she knows it. The way she looks at me—calm and unimpressed—like I’m just another man trying too hard. Everyone else at Cove jumps when I speak; she just raises a brow and keeps writing her damn notes.
