Page 11 of Deal Breaker
Jesse’s smile fades slightly. “Which brings us to the reason you’re here.”
I follow Jesse to his desk, where he takes a seat. I sit across from him as he opens the cover on his tablet and taps the device a few times before spinning it toward me.
The headline is brutal: “Tarnished Lifestyle Brand: Is Beloved Cove’s Clean-Cut Image Just Marketing?”
Underneath is the sub text: New allegations suggest DeepCove’s beloved lifestyle brand has abandoned its commitment to eco-conscious factories. I scan the article, heart sinking.
“Ford has spent years building trust,” Jesse says, voice tight now. “And I’ve spent years making sure the world knows it. But a single accusation like this? It’s enough to crack the whole damn thing.”
“Is it true?”
Jesse shakes his head. “Not the way the media is making it sound. It’s a supplier issue that slipped through the cracks. We caught it and cut ties fast, but we didn’t get in front of it in time.”
“And you think I can fix it.”
“I know you can.”
I look up at him, surprised by the certainty in his voice.
“I know you’re good, Landyn,” he says. “I read about how you singlehandedly turned that flailing fashion brand into one of the fastest-growing companies in the country. I remember the campaign.” He leans in slightly. “I’ve looked at your work. I’m the reason you’re sitting in that chair. I told Ford we need you.”
“Ford doesn’t want me here,” I say quietly.
Jesse shrugs. “He needs you and he knows it.”
I sit back, fingers curling around the arm of the chair. I would be lying to myself if I said I’m just here to fix a PRproblem. I’m here to face the past. To look Ford in the eye. To act like we’re nothing more than colleagues when every inch of me remembers exactly how he kissed.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s fix it.”
Jesse grins. “Atta girl.
“You do realizethe Cove brand has been marketed very seriously,” I say, squinting at one of the old campaign slogans Jesse’s pulled up. “Earn the wild.” I snort. “Did someone write that in a tent after six days without coffee?”
Jesse grins like he finds me amusing. “Don’t knock it. That campaign sold 30,000 units in a weekend.”
“Broody, rugged marketing. Got it.”
He taps the screen. “Axes and flannel, baby. It’s a lifestyle.”
I laugh as I adjust the font on the mock-up. Jesse leans a little closer, peering at my screen. “Okay, now that is hot. Subtle, but bold. Just like me.”
I raise a brow. “I don’t know about subtle, but you’re definitely bold.”
“Close enough.”
We’ve spent the last few hours hunched over an oversized table in a shared workspace on the main floor. Our laptops are open, mock-ups pulled up on a screen in front of us. It feels good, the buzz of collaboration. Familiar.
I’ve always had a passion for my work. My career had barely begun when I found out I was pregnant. After Poppy was born, I took time off to be with her, to learn how to be someone’s everything. I wouldn’t trade that year foranything, but there were moments I forgot what it felt like to be good at something other than being her mom.
Eventually, I got a job at a tiny marketing firm—nothing major, barely even a blip on a map, but they were flexible allowing me to work shorter days and juggle freelance work at night. Over time, the clients got a little bigger, the campaign I oversaw got some recognition. It wasn’t easy. A lot of the time, I felt stretched way too thin struggling to build my resume and also raise my daughter.
Fortunately, I wasn’t totally on my own. When I left Deep Cove, I moved to Alberta where my aunt, my mom’s sister, opened her door to me. What was only supposed to be a year or two of Poppy and I living in her spare bedroom, somehow turned to almost seven. It wasn’t glamorous, but it worked.
Taking this fulltime job with Cove isn’t just about the paycheck. I want the challenge. I want to take the next step. I want to prove to myself that I can excel in my career and be a good mom. But being away from Poppy so much? That part is the hard part. Dropping her off at a new school in a new town, her big, gray eyes glossy, her little voice whispering,You’ll come back, right?It makes my chest ache in a way I’ve never known.
Jesse leans closer, pointing at a sample caption. His shoulder brushes mine, and I don’t move away.
“Change ‘wilderness’ here to ‘wild within,’” he says. “It’s got more edge.”
