Page 10 of Deal Breaker
People look up as I pass. A few polite smiles. Some curious stares. One woman gives me the kind of once-over that feels more like a warning shot than a welcome. It feels like everyone knows who I am.
That’s Landyn Sinclair.
The one who broke Ford Winters’s heart.
The one who left and never looked back.
But it’s obviously all in my head. After all, how could they know? I left Ford years before he built this empire.
My heels click against the polished floors as I make my way to the main reception desk. Behind the mahogany is a young assistant with bright eyes, and a high ponytail who greets me with a tight smile.
“You’re Landyn, right? Mr. Winters said you’d be starting today.”
I nod. “That’s right.”
She checks something off on her tablet. “You’ll be reporting to Jesse. His office is down the hall, second left, last door. He’ll be expecting you.”
Of course I’ll be working under Jesse. Ford made that crystal clear.
I thank her and head down the hall, pulse pounding harder with every step. I haven’t seen Jesse since college. Back then, he was all swagger and wicked smiles—Ford’s opposite in every way. I have no idea what to expect now.
When I knock on the door, it swings open before I can lower my hand.
And there he is.
Same tousled brown hair, same cocky grin, only now it’s paired with a dangerously expensive watch and a Cove long-sleeve rolled to the elbows.
“Landyn Sinclair,” he says, like my name tastes good in his mouth. “Well, shit. You grew up even better than I remember.”
I arch a brow. “Still a flirt, eh?”
“Only with people who make it worth my time.” He steps back and waves me in. “Come on, PR princess. Let’s get you settled. We’ve got work to do and a reputation to repair.”
I follow Jesse as he moves through the building like he’s giving a TED talk, pointing out the coffee station, thelounge corner with a leather couch that probably costs more than my car, and a massive corkboard plastered with magazine covers, campaign shots, and photos of the brothers standing in front of towering pines or snow-covered peaks.
“This is our wall of ego,” he says with a grin. “Or, as Ford likes to call it, our legacy.”
I smile despite myself. “It’s impressive.”
“Yeah, well, Ford built most of it with blood, sweat, and sheer determination. I’m convinced the guy doesn’t actually sleep. Like, ever.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you?”
“Oh, I’ve been sleeping like a baby. But I’m also the reason this brand is in the press at least once a week.” He flashes a roguish grin. “For better or worse.”
He walks over to a framed photo from aGQspread. Ford in a dark coat, jaw set like stone, standing on a cliff edge. The headline reads: “The Rugged Rise of Cove: From Small Town to Global Obsession.”
“We started out selling boots,” Jesse says, eyes still on the photo. “One pair. One design. Built for hikers and anyone else who gave a damn about quality.”
“And now?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
“Now we’ve got three flagship stores, a waitlist for our limited seasonal lines, and partnerships with Olympic athletes.”
“Your brother Noah is behind that last one?”
He shoots me a look. “You did your research.”
“I always do.” There was a time a few years ago when you couldn’t turn on a sports channel without seeing Noah Winters’s face on your screen. He went to the Olympics for downhill skiing and came home with a gold medal.
