Page 21 of Deal Breaker
Ford hadn’t said another word after our hallway run-in. Just stared at me from across the room like I’d set something on fire. Again.
I step inside my office, leaving the door ajar a few inches, and immediately spot the small, gift-wrapped box sitting on my desk. Brown craft paper, tied with a navy-blue string. No note. No name.
I pull the string to undo the bow and peel the paper back to reveal a hardcover book, one I immediately recognize as the collection of Annie Leibovitz photographs I usedto keep on my coffee table in college. The one I’d lost during my rushed move to Alberta. I hadn’t seen it in years.
Tucked between the pages is a card.
June—
We’ve got history. That doesn’t just disappear. This doesn’t fix anything. But maybe it opens a door.
—F.
My throat tightens. He used my old nickname. Just one word, but it’s enough to trigger a rush of emotions. No one else has ever called me that.
“Morning, Landyn!” Becca calls as she pops her head in, followed closely by Marco, both of them clutching their cups like their lives depend on the coffee inside. Quickly, I slip the book and the card into my bag before they ask any questions. “You in the mood to be productive, or should we just pretend today doesn’t exist?”
“Pretending sounds good,” I say, forcing a grin. “But I already answered three emails on the walk from the parking lot, so I think I’m officially past the point of no return.”
Marco groans and drops into the chair across from me. “Ugh, you’re one of those high-functioning morning people.”
“Well, when you have a —,” I clear my throat, catching myself before I tell them about Poppy. “Um, when you have a spare minute, there always seems to be something to fill it. Besides, my mom never let me sleep past seven, so I’m just wired that way.”
Becca chuckles and nudges Marco. Becca is a Black woman in her mid-forties with a trendy bob and thick, tortoise-rimmed glasses. Marco is her closest friend here, and also her complete opposite. Beneath her buttoned-updisposition, Becca is a firecracker who never backs down when she knows she’s right—which she usually is. Marco is in his twenties, he’s an open book with a great sense of humor and a drive to make a difference. They’ve both welcomed me to Cove with open arms. I already consider them to be friends.
“Speaking of duress, did you see Ford this morning?” Becca asks.
Marco sits up straighter, eyes wide. “Okay but seriously, what is up with him lately? He’s walking around like someone canceled Christmas.”
“Cancelled it, lit the tree on fire, and threw the turkey out the window,” Becca adds. “The man is broody but he’s neverthismiserable.”
I shrug, keeping my face neutral. “He’s probably just stressed. Running a company tends to do that.”
“Sure,” Marco says, clearly unconvinced. “But this feels different. It’s like…personal. Like someone messed with his color coordinated sock drawer.”
Becca snorts. “I’d pay money to see that sock drawer.”
I bite back a laugh and reach for my coffee, grateful to have friends here. But they don’t know my history with Ford and I’m not about to clue them in. Not yet.
“Or maybe someone stole his protein powder,” Marco mutters, peering dramatically at us over the rim of his coffee cup.
We all laugh, and for a second, the tension lifts. But I can still feel the weight of the gift in my bag beside me, the unspoken history humming like static in the background.
There’s a creak as the door to my office is pushed all the way open and Becca and Marco immediately go silent. I don’t even have to look to know who has just walked in.
“Landyn,” Ford’s voice is calm, clipped.
His hands are shoved into the pockets of his black Cove quarter-zip which seems to be the standard office uniform. His gaze flicks from me to the others and back again. “Can I see you in my office?”
Marco’s mouth actually drops open.
“Sure,” I say quickly, standing and grabbing a notepad I know I don’t need.
Ford gives a short nod before turning and walking away.
“He didn’t even growl once,” Becca whispers once the coast is clear.
Marco leans over the desk, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”
