“Let’s start fresh,” I say, leaning in just enough for her to hear me without invading her personal space. “How about you tell me your name?”
Her head turns, slow and deliberate. “Why would I do that?”
“Because otherwise I’ll have to keep calling you ‘the new girl in town who thinks I’m an ass’ and that’s a bit of a mouthful.’”
That earns me the faintest quirk of her mouth, the first signof a smile I’ve seen since I sat down. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”
“Not when I’m curious,” I admit.
“And you’re curious aboutme?”
“Painfully,” I say, admitting the truth. “But don’t worry, I can be patient.”
“Good,” she says lightly, standing. When her friend looks up, the blonde nods toward the door. “You’ll need to be.”
I watch her go, a smile tugging at my mouth as it occurs to me that I may have just met my match.
Whoever this girl is, I’ve got a feeling she’s about to make my life more interesting.
FOUR
Madeline
I wake up to sunlight slanting through the blinds and a pounding in my head that isn’t from alcohol. I immediately know thatthisheadache is from—regret. Not even twenty-four hours in Deep Cove and I’ve already managed to insult, reject, and walk out on my future boss.
Perfect start, Madeline. Really crushing it.
I groan and bury my face in the crook of my arm, but that doesn’t stop last night from replaying in my mind in vivid, humiliating detail.
The second he sat down beside me I knew exactly who he was. That grin, that voice, that face—I’d seen it splashed across Cove’s website, in magazine profiles, and more than one marketing reel. Jesse Winters. My new boss. The charming, golden boy cofounder with a reputation as flashy as his watch.
And what did I do? I froze. Completely. My brain short-circuited somewhere between him sitting down and me catching the scent of his cologne.
It only got worse from there. I’d heard him earlier laughing with his friends, telling some story in a way thatmade it obvious he’s used to being the center of attention. So confident. So sure of himself. And then that woman—Anna, I think that was her name—showed up, draping herself over his chair like he was some sort of celebrity. Which I guess he sort of is in Deep Cove. He flirted right back, of course, and then, not five minutes later, he turned his attention to me.
I cringe into my pillow. “Oh my god.”
Who does that, though? Who flirts with one woman and then tries to chat up another one sitting right there?
A guy like Jesse Winters, apparently.
I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling with my arm draped over my forehead, replaying every smug word that came out of his mouth. He was smooth, I’ll give him that—charming in a practiced, media-trained kind of way. But under it all? Arrogant. The kind of man who knows he’s good-looking and leans into it like it’s part of his résumé.
And now I get to work for him.
What a nightmare.
I can’t lie here replaying last night’s highlight reel of humiliation all day, so I drag myself out of bed and to the ensuite to brush my teeth.
Somewhere in the kitchen, Lottie’s upbeat indie pop playlist is already going. The smell of cinnamon drifts from the toaster so I pull on an old, oversized St. Margaret’s hoodie and follow it down the hall.
Lottie’s perched on the counter, cross-legged, scrolling through her phone. “Morning, sunshine. You look like someone who’s been hit by a?—”
“Semi-truck?” I ask, finishing her thought.
“I was going to say a revelation,” she says with a grin.
“More like a bad decision wrapped in an even worse one,” I mutter, pouring coffee into the first mug I can find.
