Page 40 of Deal Breaker
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
Marco is tapping a finger against his lower lip, clearly enjoying this a little too much.
“I’m going to guess… Seth.”
Becca coughs out a laugh.
“Isn’t that the guy in shipping with the bad combover?” I ask as they crack up.
“Hey, don’t sleep on Seth,” Marco objects, composing himself. “Did you know he once toured with Guns N' Roses? He was a sound engineer or something. The guy’s a legend.”
“I’m sure he is,” I say, laughing now.
“Wait,” Marco says suddenly, narrowing his eyes. “Is it from Ford?”
Becca gasps. “FordFord?”
I hesitate for half a second too long.
Becca practically squeals. “Oh my God! It is from him.”
I groan. “Can we not make this a thing?”
Marco smirks. “Too late. This is absolutely a thing.”
Becca leans across the desk, all faux-casual. “How do you know him? Please say you had a torrid summer fling with the CEO.”
I inhale a breath and look up at the ceiling while I try to figure out what to say. Their jaws drop in unison when my gaze lands back on theirs.
“You’re kidding,” Marco says.
“Don’t turn this into more than it is,” I plead.
“Whatever it is, just know that we are all the way in,” Becca says, grinning. “Tell us more.”
I shake my head, trying not to smile. “There’s nothing going on. We’re just…old friends.”
Marco snorts. “Old friends who used to get it on. He’s giving you gifts, Landyn. That’s gotta mean something.”
I glance at my bag again, the journal tucked out of sight but still pulsing in my mind like it’s a timebomb. I don’t know what makes me say it; maybe it’s the way the three of us have become fast friends or maybe I’m just tired of keeping everything so tightly wound.
I sigh and lean against the edge of my desk. “I’ve known Ford for a long time.”
Marco arches a brow. “Define long.”
Becca leans in like she’s about to miss the plot twist of a soap opera. “Like… met-him-at-a-party-a-year-ago long? Or I-had-a-crush-on-him-in-high-school long?”
I pause. “We were… together… for a while.”
Becca’s jaw drops. “You dated Ford Winters?”
“Years ago. Back in college. Before he launched Cove. Before all of this,” I say, waving a hand at the office around us.
Becca points at me. “So, you’re the one he built character over.”
“I’m sorry? What does that mean?”
“There’s this office hunch,” she says, her voice lowering even though there’s no one within earshot, “that something happened a long time ago that made him swear off anything resembling fun. Or dating. Or joy.”
