Page 1 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

ONE

Brooke

The presentation slidesglow on my laptop screen, but the numbers have started to blur after six straight hours of staring at them. I massage my temples, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache forming right where my designer glasses press against my skin. Another successful pitch almost ready, another chance to prove I belong in this glass and steel Manhattan high-rise instead of back home where everyone thinks I'm still the same Brooke who left with stars in her eyes and a man on her arm.

"Callahan, you're killing it with those projections." My boss, Miranda, leans against my cubicle wall, coffee in hand, blazer perfectly pressed despite it being almost seven in the evening. "The Hendricks account is practically in the bag."

I flash her my practiced professional smile, the one that shows just enough teeth to seem genuine without being overeager. "Just fine-tuning the third-quarter projections. Their CFO is a numbers guy."

"That's why you're my star." She taps my desk with manicured nails. "Don't stay too late. Even marketing specialists need sleep."

As she clicks away on her ridiculous heels, I turn back to my screen, pride warming my chest. This is what I've built for myself in the two years since I left Colorado. Since I left Dean. A life of deadlines and promotions and respect. A life that makes sense.

My phone vibrates against my desk, the screen lighting up with "Mom" and a photo of her holding a freshly baked pie from last Thanksgiving. I hesitate, letting it ring twice more before picking up.

"Hey, Mom."

"Brookie! There you are. I was starting to worry you'd forgotten about your poor mother." Her voice carries that familiar mix of warmth and gentle guilt that only mothers can perfect.

"Just working late." I cradle the phone between my ear and shoulder, still typing. "Taylor's wedding preparations keeping you busy?"

"Oh, honey, you have no idea. Your sister is a beautiful bride but a terrible planner. Thank goodness for wedding coordinators, or I'd be gray as your father by now."

I laugh, relaxing into the conversation. It's easy to slip into the rhythm of home, even from two thousand miles away. "I'm sure it'll be perfect. Just a few more weeks, right?"

"Eighteen days, not that anyone's counting." She sighs. "That's actually why I'm calling. The coordinator needs to finalize the seating chart and meal preferences."

"Chicken for me, please. Or fish. Whatever's easier."

"And for Dean? Is he still doing that no-carb thing he was so serious about last summer?"

My fingers freeze over the keyboard. The air in my lungs solidifies. Dean? Last summer? We were already broken up last summer, but my mother doesn't know that. No one in my family knows that.

"Brooke? Are you still there?"

My mouth opens and closes like a fish. I take a quick breath. "Dean? Oh, um, he's…he eats everything these days." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears, high and stretched.

"Well, I need something specific for his place card. And you're still bringing him to Taylor's wedding, right? Your father's counting on him to help with the groomsmen. You know how he gets around Taylor's fiancé's friends."

The room tilts slightly. Dean. My ex. The man I haven't seen in two years. The man whose gray eyes still haunt my dreams sometimes, whose laugh I occasionally think I hear in crowded New York streets.

Oh crap.

"Brookie? You two are still coming together, aren't you?"

The truth hovers on my tongue.Mom, Dean and I broke up two years ago. I've been lying to you all this time because I couldn't bear to hear the disappointment in your voice. Because admitting we failed meant admitting I failed.

Instead, what comes out is: "Yes! Yes, of course. Dean and I will be there."

"Oh, thank goodness." Her relief is palpable. "Your father was worried with that big ranch of his, Dean might not be able to get away. Taylor will be so happy. She always did adore him."

Everyone did. That was part of the problem. Dean McAllister, the perfect boyfriend, the man everyone in my family thought I'd marry. The man I ran from because—because why? The memories flood back: our last fight, boxes being packed, me choosing New York over Colorado, over him.

"Is everything okay, honey? You sound strange."

"Just tired." I force brightness into my voice. "Long day at work."

"Well, don't work too hard. Dean always says you push yourself too much."

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