“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, leaning his forearm along the gap in the door. He’s close enough that I can smell peppermint on his breath.
“I’m not scared of you,” I manage.
“What time is your presentation?”
“Um.” I blink. “Eleven thirty.”
He nods, and his eyes go distant. “Okay.”
Okay?
“I…” Will trails off, then shakes his head slightly. He pulls his weight off my car and takes a step back. “It was good to see you, too.” He rubs his lips together. “Josie.” My name comes off his tongue like he’s tasting the way it sounds. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“You will?” My voice sounds horrified.
Dimples. Both of them. “Of course. I’m going to fix your car.”
I shake my head. “No need. It’s just a tiny scratch—”
“Josephine,” he scolds, voice low, and my whole body violently erupts, hearing my full name fromhimafter all this time. “I amgoingto fix your car.”
“Mkay,” I manage, then locate the cognizance to add, “Least you can do, honestly.”
“There she is.” Will taps twice on the hood and starts backing away, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I have to go.”
“Yes. That was the whole point of the ride.”
He bites on a smile. We’re finding our groove. Still, thank God this is almost over. My abs are exhausted.
“I’ll find you,” he says. “Somehow.”
I nod. “Do that.”
Will keeps staring at me until he turns away, picking up his pace as he heads for the ground entrance of the building. I’m halfway tempted to shout after him, to ask if he’d mind fixing me, too, because I think the way he just slammed into me broke open a wound I thought I’d closed for good ten years back.
CHAPTER TWO
I have this rule.
(I have a lot of rules.)
But I’ve got this one specific rule about how my workday begins. It’s ritualistic, refined over time, and nonnegotiable.
If I break the rule, chaos ensues.
The rule is: Ihaveto start the day with an iced caramel oat milk latte. Doesn’t matter if I’m traveling, at the office, or working from home. ICOML (pronouncedEYE-com-ul) has to be involved or I break down due to inconsistency.
The other nonnegotiable start to my morning is Camila Sanchez, my best friend. She’s also Revenant’s chief brand officer and the only person besides me who has been with this company from almost the very start.
When I walk into the office, Cami approaches with an ICOML in hand, her luscious dark hair pulled into a low pony wrapped in a Revenant bow, eyes heavily lined in a muted purple color. Shepasses the iced coffee from her palm to mine and unleashes her monologue.
“Asset Protection is swearing up and down we’ve got a case of organized crime on our hands, and Hailey Bieber worethisbow”—she points at the back of her head—“in a YouTube video that came out yesterday. So, obviously, we’re out of stock online. Also, the college interns start in five days, don’t forget. Did you approve the samples yet for the new men’s line?”
“Organized crime,” I say. “Why does that feel like an impressive achievement?”
“Oh, I agree,” Cami says. “I acted upset when they told me about it, but secretly I was thinking we’ve made it.”
“The Hailey Bieber thing scares me,” I admit, shuddering as we pass by the retail team’s desk area. “You know how much I hate—”
