Page 53 of Deal Breaker
“Right,” I say, leaning back against the wall. “That’s why you’ve been twisting your rings since we pulled into the hotel driveway.”
She glares at me, but she doesn’t deny it. When the doors open, we step into the hallway.
Room 312. Room 314.
It’s probably not a good idea. It’s probably far too close, considering the attraction I’m feeling towards her, but at the same time, it’s nowhere near close enough. We stop at her door.
“Dinner’s with the panel hosts tonight. Will that be enough time to do what you need to do?”
“It will be fine,” she says, sliding the key into the lock. But before she goes inside, she looks up at me.
“Ford.”
“Yeah?”
“I can help you. Help Cove. I want to. Don’t go easy on me just because we have history.”
“I never planned to,” I tell her, meaning every damn word.
For a second, she just watches me. Then the corner of her mouth curves, a flash of that familiar fire sparking behind her eyes. She turns, her door clicking shut behind her, and I’m left standing here wondering how the hell I’m supposed to keep this professional when all I want to do is follow her into her hotel room.
With a sigh, I walk the few steps to my door. Inside my own room, I drop my bag on the chair in the corner and then sit on the bed, hyper-aware of the fact that Landyn is just feet away. The wall between us doesn’t do a damn thing to shut her out of my head.
The room’s nice. High-end finishing, impressive view, the kind of understated luxury I usually appreciate. Tonight,it barely registers because all I can think about is the way she said it.Don’t go easy on me just because we have history.
I tug my jacket off and run a hand through my hair. The mirror above the dresser catches my reflection. Same face. Same sharp edges. But something in my expression feels…unsettled. It’s been a long time since someone’s thrown me this far off balance
I spend the afternoon working, stopping only to order a late lunch from room service. Before I know it, it’s 5 p.m., time to get ready for this evening’s dinner. I take off my shirt, trading it for a clean black one, rolling the sleeves up to my forearms. In the bathroom, I splash some cool water on my face and take a few calming breaths. Something about seeing her tonight—out of the office, away from Deep Cove—feels like crossing a line we’ve been dancing around since she came back.
I teased her earlier about keeping this trip professional, but the truth is I’m the one who needs that reminder. Because I know what I want. I want more.
My phone buzzes on the counter beside me with a meeting reminder, but it barely cuts through the noise in my head. If Landyn keeps looking at me like she did in the elevator—like part of her still remembers what it felt like to be mine—then these next three days are going to be hell.
A slow, torturous, tempting kind of hell.
My phone buzzes again and this time I pick it up, noticing that there’s a message from my brother waiting for me.
Jesse: So… how’s the romantic retreat going?
Me: It’s not a retreat. It’s business.
Jesse: Right. Funny how that business required you and Landyn to disappear into the mountains together for two nights.
I stare at the screen for a bit, thumbs hovering.
Me: You’re enjoying this too much.
Jesse: I’m guessing not half as much as you are. Tell her I say hi.
Jaw tight, I lock my phone and then check the time. Dinner is in 15 minutes, which gives me plenty of time to pull myself together. Or at least to try.
Tucked into the Whistler resort,the restaurant is sleek, modern and expensive—a perfect setting for the kind of people Cove needs to impress tonight. The warmth of the gleaming hardwood floors is offset by deep, dark blue walls. Velvet chairs line the marble-topped bar, its collection of amber-filled bottles catching the light of the scattered candles that cast a soft, golden glow throughout the space. It’s a stunning room.
And it all fades to nothing when I see her.
Landyn is standing a few feet from the bar, flipping through the menu. Her knee-length fitted, emerald green dress is simple, elegant, devastating. Her hair’s pulled back off her face into a slick bun at the nape of her neck. She doesn’t see me yet, and that might be a good thing. It gives me a second to get my head on straight.
I approach slowly, stopping just beside her, close enough to inhale the scent of her perfume. “You’re early,” I say.
