Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Madeline
Somehow, I’d made it to the end of the longest week of my life, a feat that felt like a minor miracle. It has been one week since the gala. One week since my parents humiliated me in front of Jesse. One week of acting like none of it happened.
By the time Friday afternoon finally arrived, I practically sprinted out of the office and collapsed on my bed.
I was exhausted from five full days of pretending I didn’t feel Jesse’s gaze on me, pretending that my stomach didn’t flip every time he walked into a room.
But on the inside, our night together in the hotel room replayed on a loop in my mind.
Now that I know what Jesse Winters looks like under his clothes, I can’t make myself forget it.
The memory of his chiseled abs and gigantic cock sends a heat rushing though me at the most inconvenient moments.
I felt I had earned the right to hide out for the weekend, which is why I drove the two hours to my sister’s house after work on Friday night.
Cara knows me better than anyone, and she made it clear she didn’t buy it when I told her everything is fine.
She has been trying to get the truth out of me for the past forty-eight hours.
Ryan, meanwhile, would be satisfied to just get me out of the house.
He’s tried to lure me with all my favorite things: brunch at the marina, window shopping down Main Street, a stroll through the farmer’s market with Marigold.
But I’ve gone into full gremlin mode and have refused to budge from my permanent place on their couch.
Cara exhales loudly at the kitchen table, which makes me look up from my book. She’s breastfeeding Goldie and looking at me through narrowed eyes. I brace myself. I know every single one of my sister’s expressions, and this one says she’s not going to give up without a fight.
“Okay. Spill it. What happened last weekend?”
Ryan is half inside the dishwasher, swearing at a loose piece of metal, clearly listening to every word he pretends not to hear.
“Nothing,” I say half-heartedly, not sure that I have the energy to talk about it.
Cara shifts the baby to her other breast with practiced ease. “Madeline. Talk. You’ve been here for two days and the only words you’ve said are, ‘Nothing,’ ‘I’m fine,’ and ‘Are there any more chips?’ I’m starting to worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Ryan calls from inside the dishwasher. “But I’m definitely curious.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, pressing my palms to my face. “Fine. It’s Mom and Dad.”
Cara’s whole body goes rigid. “What did they do now?”
“They showed up at my hotel room door first thing in the morning and completely humiliated me in front of Jesse.”
Cara cocks her head. “Wait…Jesse, your boss?” she asks, eyes widening. “Madeline, what was Jesse, your boss, doing in your hotel room in the morning?”
I groan. “Okay, here’s the short version: there was only one room left in the entire hotel, so Jesse and I had to share it. And one thing led to another, and we had sex.” I wince.
Immediately Cara’s mouth drops open. “You what?”
“Jesus Christ,” Ryan mutters from inside the dishwasher.
“And then Mom and Dad showed up, unannounced, the next morning and Jesse answered the door shirtless, and it was a disaster.”
I rush through the rest of it, how my parents barged into the room, didn’t even acknowledge Jesse, and launched immediately into their pitch about Elliot.
By the time I finish, Cara looks murderous.
Ryan, having abandoned his dishwasher mission, is sitting on the floor, leaning against the cupboard door.
“That’s messy,” he says, shaking his head. “Even for your parents.”
Cara’s jaw hardens. “That’s—Madeline, that’s insane. That’s actually insane.”
I nod miserably.
Cara strokes Marigold’s head. “We will definitely return to how insane that is, but for now can we go back to the part where you slept with Jesse Winters?”
“No?” I say hopefully.
“I’m sorry,” my sister says, clearly not willing to move on. “But you don’t just drop that bombshell and then move on like it’s nothing.”
I bury my face in my hands. “Cara…”
“Nope, absolutely not,” she says, leaning forward like she’s about to take notes. “Madeline, the man is stupid hot. Like offensively attractive. If that man took his clothes off in front of me, I would need to be resuscitated.”
Ryan sputters. “Babe. I’m literally right here.”
Cara lifts a brow. “I married you. You’re fine.”
“I don’t feel fine.”
Cara ignores him completely.
“Okay, so the parent situation is horrific. And yes, they’re the worst and I’m really sorry you had to put up with that.
But Mads, this is who they are. This has always been who they are.
They bulldoze. They strategize. They treat their own daughters like PR opportunities instead of people.
” Her eyes soften. “But none of that is on you. And you are nothing like them. You’re kind.
You’re thoughtful. You actually listen to people.
You don’t manipulate. You’re not strategic with your love. ”
She crosses the room and gently sets Marigold—warm, soft, milk-drunk—into my lap. The baby wriggles once and then settles against me, her tiny fingers curling around the fabric of my shirt.
Cara smiles. “This is what matters. Not Mom’s ambition. Not Dad’s political chessboard. This right here.”
Ryan stands, brushing off his jeans, giving me a gentle half-smile. “Speaking as the in-law who has had a front-row seat to the Ashcroft Circus…Cara’s right. They’re tornadoes, Madeline. You’re sunshine.”
Marigold hiccups, then sighs—one of those deep newborn sighs that makes your entire chest unclench.
Cara tucks a stray curl behind my ear. “Why don’t we take her for a walk around the block? Get your mind off all of it, just for a while. Fresh air and baby cuddles make everything better.”
I look down at the warm little weight in my lap, her dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, her tiny hand gripping my shirt like I’m the safest place she knows.
Something in me loosens.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I think I’d like that.”
I returned to work this morning determined not to dwell on Jesse Winters.
I kept my head down, my eyes glued to my laptop, and my steps so purposeful it was like I was training for a corporate Olympics and avoidance was my gold-medal event.
I made it through my morning meetings and strategically planned my trips to the coffee maker when I knew I could steer clear of him.
By the time I’m wrapping up my weekly content planning update with Marco and Becca, I’ve almost convinced myself that I can pull this off.
Last weekend with Jesse was a blip; I can put it behind me and focus on my work at Cove.
Because let’s face it…I’m pretty positive I won’t be getting into bed with Jesse again.
Speaking of the devil. As I leave the conference room, he appears at the end of the hallway like he stepped straight out of a daydream I don’t want to admit I still have.
He’s wearing a black shirt, sleeves pushed to his elbows, his forearms doing unspeakable things to my heartbeat. He looks good. More than good—he looks hot. Kill me.
There’s no avoiding him this time. I take a calming breath and head down the hallway toward my workspace, feigning interest in my phone to avoid having to make eye contact.
I try to sidestep him, try to look casual, like I’m not the most humiliated woman on the face of the planet, but he doesn’t let me off that easy.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and calm, as though we hadn’t had sex in a hotel room and then lived through the Ashcroft Parental Apocalypse a little over a week ago.
“Oh—hi.” I barely recognize my own voice; it sounds high pitched and shaky.
I keep walking, but he follows, adjusting his stride to fall in step beside me. Dammit.
He keeps his eyes forward. “You’ve been…quiet this week.”
I swallow. “Just tired.”
“Uh-huh.” He sounds skeptical. “Is that why you sprinted out of the office at 4:01 on Friday?”
I glance at him sideways, and my pulse immediately quickens. Traitorous body. Traitorous memory. I can still feel his hands on me. His mouth. The way he—
Nope. Not going there.
“Just wanted to beat traffic,” I mutter.
“Right,” he says, deadpan. “Deep Cove rush hour can be brutal.”
I nearly trip.
We reach the glass doors to the marketing wing, and he reaches out to push one of them open before I have the chance. I walk past him, his arm above me, his body so close the scent of his cologne hits me like a warm hand pressed between my shoulder blades. My brain short-circuits.
He steps in beside me again. “You don’t have to look away when I walk into a room, you know.”
My stomach swoops. “I don’t.”
“You do,” he says gently. “You’ve done it every day this week.”
He isn’t pushing. He isn’t angry. His tone is patient and kind, like he’s trying to give me an out I don’t know how to take.
“Look,” he continues quietly. “What happened with your parents, the hotel, all of it—that’s not on you.” He pauses. “And it didn’t change anything for me.”
My breath stutters. I keep my eyes pinned to the floor like it can save me from drowning. He slows his steps, forcing me to do the same. “Mads,” he says softly, “you don’t need to act weird around me.”
We reach the corner of the hallway where my desk is, and I hover like an indecisive squirrel. He waits.
“I’m not acting weird,” I whisper.
He gives me a look that says he doesn’t buy it. “Okay. But I just want you to know that you don’t have to.”
Before I can respond—before I can embarrass myself further—someone appears behind us, softly clearing his throat.
“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” says the man, who I recognize from the accounting team. “Jesse, I just need you to sign-off on this by end of day.”
Jesse nods, giving me a last, lingering look before motioning for the guy to follow him toward his office. And just like that, I can breathe again.
At my desk, I replay the conversation in my head. Jesse had picked up on it, my quiet spiral into humiliation, the way I’d folded into myself without meaning to. But he didn’t seem to judge me for it, he didn’t try to force me into reacting a different way.
Maybe Jesse is different. Maybe I can just be me—awkward, emotional, and bruised in places I never show—and he’ll still look at me the way he did in that ballroom. The same way he had looked at me just now, steady and sure, like nothing about me scares him off. Not even my parents.
I feel the knot in my chest loosen for the first time in a week.