Page 54 of Deal Breaker
She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So are you.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“I like to eat,” she replies, holding up the menu. “Priorities.”
God, I missed this. The way she could throw a jab with a smile. The way she never let me get too comfortable.
“Stunning, June,” my eyes move over her. A faint blush creeps up her cheeks.
“Come on,” I say, nodding toward the table where our hosts are gathering. “Let’s go charm the hell out of them.”
We settle into the table—six of us in total. Investors, panel organizers, and Cove’s newest PR lead. Landyn slides effortlessly into the conversation. Sharp, poised, asking the right questions, listening to every word that’s said. She makes it look easy, but I knew she would. What surprises me is the way she glances at me sometimes, quick flicks of her eyes, like she’s checking to see if I’m paying attention.
I am. I always am.
“So,” one of the panel hosts, an energetic woman named Natasha, leans forward, wine glass in hand. “Cove’s making big moves with this new sustainability initiative. Do you think it will help mitigate the negative stories in the press?”
Before I can answer, Landyn speaks up. “Responsibility,” she says smoothly. “It’s not just about innovation—it’s about integrity. The backlash in the press is baseless, and we fully intend to prove just how wrong they are. Cove was built on function and quality, but most importantly we evolve with our community’s values.”
I could kiss her for that.
“Exactly,” I add, giving a nod. “We’re not interested in empty gestures. This isn’t a pivot. It’s a course correction.”
The conversation flows easily after that. They’re buying it. No—believing it. Because Landyn knows how to tell a story people want to be part of.
Beneath the surface, though, there’s still that current pulling at both of us.
Her foot brushes mine under the table. Maybe it’s accidental. Maybe not. I look at her. She doesn’t flinch. I feel my mouth twitch.
By the time dessert comes, I’ve answered half a dozen questions, secured two follow-up meetings, and just barely managed to keep my focus on business.
When we stand to leave, Landyn thanks the others, her smile professional but warm, then we step out into the cool night air, away from the crowd. We walk slowly through the darkened village, the muffled sounds of laughter and music escaping from the restaurants that line the central square.
“Well?” she asks, stopping to look at me. “How’d I do?”
“You know exactly how you did.”
She grins, and damn if it doesn’t hit me square in the chest.
“I told you not to go easy on me,” she says, eyes narrowing.
“I’m not,” I promise. “Not even close.”
The air between us shifts again. Tightens. The space feels smaller, even out here. But before I can say—or do—anything else, she tucks her hair behind her ear and takes a step back.
“Come on, Winters. It’s been a long day.” She turns back in the direction of our hotel, and I follow reluctantly, not ready for the night to end.
We pass a narrow alleyway strung with soft bistro lightsand the faint sound of an acoustic guitar drifting out of a small, tucked away café. Without thinking, I catch her wrist. “Come on,” I say.
“I thought we were calling it a night.”
“Plans just changed.”
She could say no. She could remind me that we’re here for work, that there are lines that cannot be crossed. But instead, she lets me guide her down the brick path, toward the glow emanating from the café’s windows.
It’s a nice night, so we grab a small table on the patio, in the corner, away from the few other groups. We each order a drink, and the server deposits them at our table without much fanfare. The place feels like a hideaway, a forgotten spot, tucked away from everything and everyone. For a minute, we just sit here. No Cove talk. No press strategy. Just the faint sound of her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.
“This was always your move,” she says after a moment, glancing at me. “Detours. Distractions.”
