Page 41 of Deal Breaker
Marco nods in agreement. “He’s always so serious and no one has ever seen or heard of him being with a woman. Even though the man is clearly very dateable.”
Becca nods. “So, you’re the one who made him swear off fun.”
“I didn’t do any of that,” I protest, laughing despite myself. “We were young. It ended. That’s it.”
Marco looks pointedly at my bag and then back at me. “Does it look like it ended to you?”
My heart twists a little. “I don’t know what it looks like.”
“I can tell you what it looks like to me,” Becca says, arms crossed as she leans against my desk with a satisfied grin on her face. “Ford Winters left a gift on your desk, and now you’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You are absolutely blushing.”
I shake my head and grab a pen just to give my hands something to do. “You two are impossible.”
Marco smirks. “We prefer deeply invested.”
“And on that note… how does this play out?” Becca muses. “Secret office romance? A second chance at love?
“None of the above,” I say, though my voice comes out a little softer than I mean it to. Because the truth is that I have no idea how it plays out.
Becca and Marco reluctantly return to their work, leaving me at my desk, alone with my thoughts of the gift and the way Ford had writtenJune. No note. Just that one word. That name that only he ever called me, and before I can talk myself out of it, I’m standing in front of his office door, lifting my hand to knock.
Two soft taps.
“Yes,” he calls from inside.
I step in, and he looks up from his desk, surprised but controlled. His gaze holds steady on mine, and he sits up in his chair. “Hey.”
“I just…” I hesitate in the doorway, fingers still curled around the door handle. “I wanted to say thank you. For the journal.”
His brow softens, just a little. “You like it?”
“I do.” I smile. “You were always good at that, picking out gifts that I would actually use and love.”
A moment stretches between us. There are things I could say. That I read his text messages last night three times before going to sleep. That I almost replied again just to keep the thread going.
But instead, I nod. “Well, that’s all,” I say, backing up a step. “Just… thanks.”
He watches me for a beat before standing up and rounding his desk. “Landyn.”
I pause in the doorway.
“You don’t have to thank me for remembering what you like.”
My chest tightens. I don’t have a good answer for that, so I just meet his eyes for a second too long, nod once, and step out of his office before I unravel.
SEVENTEEN
Landyn
The text is still open on my screen.
Ford: Dinner. My place. 8pm. Address below.
Short and direct. No pressure. But somehow, that message on my phone feels like a grenade in my hand that I’ve been staring at it for the past 20 minutes. I told myself I’d make the call when the time came.
