Lottie laughs, loud and unhelpful. “You mean the baddecision that involved Jesse? Yeah, that one’s going down in history.”
I groan, dropping my head against the cabinet door. “Please stop saying ‘Jesse’ like we’re on a first-name basis. Can we just forget the whole thing ever happened?”
She smirks. “Definitely not. To recap: Jesse sat down, you froze, he flirted, and then you torched him with that ‘maybe focus on one woman at a time’ line. Iconic.”
“Mortifying,” I correct, taking a gulp of the still scalding coffee, ignoring the burn. “What was I thinking? He’s my boss, Lottie. My literal boss. I start in a week.”
She shrugs as if this isn’t the end of my professional life. “Honestly, you did him a favor. Someone needs to tell him he’s not the main character all the time.”
“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’m also pretty sure that’s not in my job description.”
Whether he needed to hear it or not, picking a fight at a bar with the owner of the company that just hired me is beyond stupid. I should have just kept my mouth shut and let one of his groupies do the honors.
“Maybe not,” Lottie says, hopping off the counter, “but it’s definitely your vibe.”
I sink into a bar stool, pulling my knees up into my chest. “This isbad. I called him out, then walked out on him. Next week I’ll be sitting across a conference table from him trying to pretend it didn’t happen. He’s going to take one look at me and remember every humiliating second.”
Lottie hands me a piece of toast. “Don’t torture yourself, Mads. There’s a chance he’ll have forgotten the whole thing by next week.”
I look up at her hopefully. “Really? You think?”
“No, babe,” she grins. “I was just trying to make you feel better. He’s definitely going to remember you.”
I groan. “You’re the worst. This is a disaster.”
“Or,” she says, smirking, “it’s a meet-cute-disaster. Which, in my experience, usually makes for great tension.”
I glare at her over the rim of my mug. “I’m not interested in tension. I’m interested in employment.”
“Uh-huh.” Lottie’s grin widens. “Keep telling yourself that.”
As I drown in caffeine and anxiety, Lottie rinses her mug in the sink, humming to herself. Her hair swept perfectly up into a messy knot; her oversized shirt is tied chicly over her shoulders. She moves with this kind of effortless rhythm.
Lottie’s always been the life of the party. She shines in every single room she walks into. People just gravitate toward her—her laugh, her confidence, her charm. Nothing about her feels forced or for show.
Me? I was the opposite. The good girl. The one who followed rules, showed up early, stayed late, and never once took a chance I couldn’t calculate. Lottie was always up for anything while I couldn’t leave the house without triple-checking my schedule. When she got tipsy at graduation, I stuck with water because I didn’t want to “ruin the night.”
She had boyfriends all through boarding school—the kind who slipped notes in her textbooks and followed her around, lovesick. I, on the other hand, never dated. I was too nervous, too awkward, too busy pretending I didn’t care, when really, I just didn’t know how to let anyone get close.
It’s always been that way between us. She’s spontaneous, I’m deliberate. She makes friends instantly. I take months to warm up to people. But somehow, it works.
I’m halfway through my coffee when my phone pings beside me. My stomach drops the second I read the notification banner that glows across the screen.
Welcome to Cove: Orientation Details.
I open the email and skim the details: start date, onboarding checklist, security badge form, a calendar invite for “Team Integration,” whatever that means, and an introduction to the Cove executive team.
My eyes land on Jesse Winters’ name.
Oh God.
“Uh oh,” Lottie says from across the counter, brow raised. “That’s a face. What kind of face is that?”
“It’s my ‘I hate my life face,’” I tell her.
She slides her mug aside and leans over to peek at my screen. “Ooh. Work stuff?”
“My Cove onboarding email,” I mutter. “Orientation, forms, introductions, you know—” I gesture weakly at the screen, “just my personal nightmare.”
