Page 81 of Deal Breaker
TWENTY-NINE
Ford
The meeting room at the new Cove site smells like fresh drywall and stale coffee. Jesse, Noah, Wes and I are huddled around the table, poring through the mock-ups for the sustainability campaign while the faint sound of the ongoing construction outside echoes around us. It should feel like progress. Like momentum. But all I feel is stress.
“We need more than a PR spin,” I say, tugging at the back of my neck. “If we’re going to rebuild trust, we need to show them what’s changed, not just tell them.”
Noah nods. “Factory tours, transparency reports. Let them see it for themselves.”
“Maybe we pair the new campaign launch with a video series,” Wes chimes in. “Real employees, behind-the-scenes footage.”
It’s a solid idea. Usually, this is where I would step up to flesh out the details, make sure we’ve thought of every possible obstacle and angle but all I can think about is her.
I glance at my phone on the table. Still nothing.
I texted Landyn hours ago. It was just a quick messagebetween meetings.How’s your day looking? Can’t stop thinking about last night.There’s been no reply.The rational side of my brain knows she’s probably busy at work but there’s something tugging at me, telling me that maybe there is something wrong. I send off another quick text.
Me: Everything okay?
Telling myself not to panic, I return my focus to the meeting. I nod at the right moments, contribute when needed, but when I turn my phone over again 30 minutes later to find that there’s still no response, something inside me knots.
I know Landyn, she always answers her messages. The hairs on the back of my neck are on end. I realize I’m getting desperate now, but I’m beyond caring how it looks. I tap out another message.
Me: Landyn?
The hum of unease grows in my chest. I know she has her own life, and there are plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations for why she hasn’t replied. But something feels off, and I’ve never been good at waiting when it comes to her.
We work through lunch, so by the time five o’clock hits, we’re all starving. We agree to take a quick break, and I use the time to go outside and get some fresh air, hopefully get my head on straight. But it doesn’t help. Instead, the knot in my stomach tightens into something sharper. Something closer to fear.
I pull out my phone and stare at the thread. Three messages. No replies. No read receipts.
Me: Landyn, just checking in. Can you let me know you’re okay?
I hesitate for half a second before tapping her name and pressing the call button. It rings once, twice, then goes to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Landyn. Leave a message?—”
I hang up. That sinking feeling in my gut kicks hard. This silence doesn’t feel like her. I send one more message, my thumb flying across the screen.
Me: Please text me when you see this. I’m starting to worry.
Behind me, I hear the creak of a door and turn to see all three of my brothers standing on the landing, staring at me.
“What?” I ask, regretting how irritable it sounds.
“Alright,” Wes says, coming to stand next to me. “You’ve looked at your phone more than the budget projections. Who are you texting?”
I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Landyn. She’s not answering.”
Jesse looks up from his phone. “Is that strange?”
“She always answers.” I frown. “Pretty much right away. But it’s been all day.”
“What’s up with you two these days?” Noah asks. “Is it serious?
I exhale slowly, the weight of it pressing against my ribs. “Yeah. I think it is.”
That gets a reaction. Jesse whistles low. Wes raises an eyebrow.
