“My idea of good company... is the company of clever, well-informed people, who have a great deal of conversation; that is what I call good company.”
“You are mistaken,” said he gently, “that is not good company, that is the best.”
I read the words, with Luke’s voice echoing in my mind. My thumb brushed over the ink as I let out a loud sigh, followed by an unintentional “Damn it”.
Behind me, Thomas let out a quiet snort that sounded like a laugh.
Ah, Hazel. You fool.
10
Luke
“Okay, so we all agree—smaller companies need one pitch, and the big whales need another. Stewart, you, Colin, and Gabe, dig into the smaller companies. Look up their financials, upcoming events, collaborations, influencer ties—anything useful to tailor our approach. Ethan and I will focus on the big publishers. If anyone has ideas about authors who fit our collaboration profile, let me know.”
The meeting with my sales team was going smoothly, but my mind kept drifting off. Usually, I had no trouble setting personal distractions aside and focusing on the task—whether it was refining a sales pitch, solving problems, or figuring out the fastest route to the ER when Alex dislocated his shoulder after an overzealous beer pong victory.
Today, my mind kept drifting back to this morning. Hazel and that ridiculously oversized box she was trying to catch, disappearing around the corner before I could help. Just a glance, a half-smile tossed over her shoulder. Too quick to mean anything. Too gorgeous to ignore. There was something about her, light on her feet, always in motion. Like if you blinked, you’d miss her. I nearly did.
“LUKE!”
I snapped back to the room, pulled from the fog of my own thoughts.
“Yes?” I said, straightening up and clearing my throat. “You were saying?”
“Ethanwas saying Colin has suggestions for writers who could fit our needs. Should he email you?” Ethan repeated withthat weird I-know-what-you’re-thinking-about tone, leaning slightly forward and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Yes, definitely. And—” My phone rang in my pocket, cutting me off. I glanced at the screen. “Let’s take ten, then regroup to go over the details.”
I stood and left the room, letting the team chat behind me as I answered.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Hi. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Got some exciting prospects at work. I’ll tell you next time I visit.”
“That’s great. Good for you. Listen, have you talked to your mother recently?”
I sighed, already sensing the real reason for his call.
“Why?”
“No reason. I’m trying to sort out some issues with her, but she’s difficult to communicate with these days. You know how your mother is.”
“Sure, Dad. Hey, I’ve got a meeting I need to get to, so—”
“Of course, I understand. Good luck with your... meeting.”
His hesitation was clear, but there wasn’t much I could do. Even if I solved all their problems—real, imagined, or hypothetical—they’d find something new to argue about. I wasn’t sure why I even stayed in touch. They’d never done anything outright abusive during my childhood, but it has always been hard to build a real relationship with them.
I ended the call and headed to the lounge for some coffee. Pouring a cup, I found myself irritated—no cinnamon. Probably because I rarely grabbed coffee here.
My phone buzzed in my pocket again.
“Luke Davis,” I answered, grabbing napkins.
“Hi, Luke.” A soft voice filled my ears. “It’s Hazel.”
