10. Maddie
10
MADDIE
I sat at my desk on Tuesday morning, scrolling through Ian’s inbox. Most of the emails were routine—quick replies, confirmations, nothing requiring much brainpower. Which was a relief, because even after a solid seven hours of sleep, my mind was restless this morning, buzzing with the events of last night.
Yeah, last night had been...unexpectedly good. Not only had I made a few new friends at Sloan’s party, but I’d also really enjoyed the surprise conversation I had in the kitchen with Ian.
There I’d been, just planning to help Sloan with a bit of cleanup after getting Grant to bed, when I walked in and found my boss standing at the sink, attempting to wash the dishes.
A half-smile tugged at my lips as I remembered the way he’d asked for tips. Knowing now that he rarely did things like that, it was kind of adorable that he’d tried to help out.
Even if he’d been completely terrible at it.
Oh, Ian. I chuckled to myself as I clicked the next email. You are something else.
And if he kept doing thoughtful things like that, I might just end up with a full-blown crush on him.
Not that I had any illusions about where this could go. Because even if he wasn’t my boss, a high-powered billionaire like Ian Hastings would never be interested in a small-town girl with a kid.
Sure, there was this delicate attraction between us, like a thread waiting to be pulled. But we both knew it couldn’t go anywhere, so the undercurrent of romantic tension between us was just something to make the workday more exciting. No expectations, no complications—just a little harmless fun.
I focused back on the emails on my screen. As I was about to click the one from the Boston Summit’s team, a new email suddenly pushed through from someone named Margot Cavanaugh.
Wait… My fingers hovered over the mouse as I stared at the name. Was this… the Margot Cavanaugh?
Could this really be the famous socialite I’d seen splashed across headlines and social media a few years ago? The same Margot Cavanaugh who’d graced magazine covers and runway shows, the great-granddaughter of Reginald Cavanaugh, the oil tycoon?
My curiosity spiked, I clicked on the email. Before diving into the message, I checked the email address— [email protected] .
Everstone Energy was her grandpa’s company. So yep, this was definitely her.
I swallowed, my heart thudding as I refocused on the email’s body, wondering what she might want from Ian.
Hi Ian,
I’m sure you’re surprised to see an email from me as it has been a long time since we’ve last spoken. But I saw that you’ll be speaking at the summit in Boston next week, and since I’ll be there, representing my grandfather’s company, I wanted to reach out.
I know things didn’t end well between us—mostly because of me—but I’ve been thinking about our time together lately and if you’re open to it, I’d love the chance to catch up while we’re in the same location. Maybe clear the air?
Let me know what you think.
-Margot
I read the message again, trying to decipher the tone. Was it a professional catch-up or something of a more personal nature?
From what she said about things not ending well between them, it made it seem like this might be a more personal message.
Had they been friends at one time? Or had they dated?
The last I’d seen of her on social media was all the gossip surrounding her breakup with the professional hockey player she’d been dating for several years.
But maybe she and Ian had known each other before that?
Maybe in high school? Or college?
I furrowed my brow as I tried to decide what I should do with this message. Normally, if I could see Ian was in between tasks, I would just pop my head in his office and ask how to handle it. But he’d been working on his presentation all morning and had the smart glass of his office walls switched to their frosted setting, signaling he was not to be disturbed.
So instead of doing anything about this email, I marked it as unread for the moment and jotted down a reminder on a sticky note to ask him about it later.
Around a quarter to noon, the door to Ian’s office finally opened. When he stepped out, his warm smile instantly sent a flutter through me, causing my mind to flash back to last night— those stolen moments, the lingering tension between us, the way our gazes locked and held, unspoken words hanging in the air.
“Can’t believe it’s already lunchtime,” he said, his dark hair slightly tousled like he’d been running his hands through it all morning. “I’ve been buried in that presentation for hours.”
“How’s it going?” I asked.
“Good, actually.” A grin spread across his face. “I think I finally figured out that part I’ve been struggling with.”
“That’s great,” I said, and I meant it. Seeing him light up like that made something inside me warm.
“Any calls I should know about?” he asked, leaning against the edge of my desk.
“Just one. From the Everett Group. They asked if they could move their meeting back to four o’clock instead of three. Since you didn’t have anything scheduled then, I made the switch.”
“Perfect.” He nodded. “Anything else I need to know about before I head out to lunch?”
“Just one more thing…” I hesitated, unsure how to bring up the email since I didn’t know what he would think of it. But deciding to just go for it, I said, “I took care of most of your emails this morning, but there was one I wasn’t sure how to handle.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”
I nodded and licked my lips. “It’s from Margot Cavanaugh.”
“M-Margot?” His expression changed at the mention of her name, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “She—” He licked his lips. “She emailed me?”
I nodded, trying to keep my tone casual. “She mentioned she’ll be at the Boston Summit and wanted to catch up. I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to schedule a meeting or if it was something more...personal.”
Ian’s brow furrowed, and he seemed to pause, as if trying to make sense of why she would reach out. After a moment, he said, “I’ll handle that one.”
“Okay,” I said, wanting to ask more but knowing it wasn’t my place. “I’ll move it into the personal tab for you to respond to later.”
“Thanks. That will be great.” He glanced at his watch. As if seeing that it was later than expected, he drew in a quick breath and said, “Well, I better head out. Mr. Paloski’s probably already waiting for me across the street.”
“Right. Your lunch meeting.” I smiled, trying to push down the swirl of curiosity and confusion the email had stirred in me.
Had he seemed unsettled by my mention of the email?
Or was I just projecting things because I was so curious?
Once Ian left, I logged out of my computer and went to grab the lunch I’d left in the break room yesterday. I found a quiet corner near the window and sat down to eat my sandwich and yogurt. But as I ate, my mind kept drifting back to Margot Cavanaugh and why she’d be emailing Ian.
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to settle down until I’d satisfied my curiosity, I pulled out my phone and typed “Ian Hastings and Margot Cavanaugh” into the internet browser’s search bar.
It took a moment, but then my screen populated with a few different articles. The first from about nine years ago with the headline: Future Power Couple No More: Ian Hastings and Margot Cavanaugh Call Off Engagement
My breath caught as I read the last word. Engagement?
Ian had been engaged? I stared at the headline, the words blurring for a moment. To Margot?
I clicked on the article, and as soon as it loaded, I started skimming, my pulse quickening as I took in the details.
For the past two years, Ian Hastings and Margot Cavanaugh have been the picture-perfect couple, turning heads everywhere they went. Ian, the dashing heir to the Hastings business empire, was the charming businessman-in-the-making, while Margot, a glamorous socialite and model, seemed destined to become one half of the ultimate power duo. Their relationship, which began during their junior year at a prestigious boarding school in Connecticut, captivated the public, especially when Ian proposed two years later while the two were students at Yale.
From the outside, their relationship appeared flawless. Together, they graced red carpets, charity galas, and even made it to the cover of Style Magazine 's "Top 10 Couples to Watch." They were young, successful, and seemingly madly in love—a match made in high-society heaven. But just as quickly as their fairytale seemed to be unfolding, it came to a shocking halt.
Fans and followers were stunned when news of their breakup broke, mere months after their engagement. While Ian and Margot have yet to comment on the reason behind the split, sources close to the couple suggested that their relationship began to unravel after Margot was spotted out with the hockey star Rhys Applegate since the two were seen together just weeks before the breakup announcement.
I stared at the screen, my heart sinking a little as I scrolled past a photo of Ian and Margot in their red-carpet glory. He looked so happy there. So in love.
How had it been to go through such a public heartbreak at such a young age? It was hard enough having your trust shattered in private, but for the whole world to watch it unfold? That had to cut deeper than most people could understand.
My thoughts drifted back to how vulnerable I’d felt after Jaxon betrayed me—after putting all my hopes and plans into our future together. The humiliation, the pain, the feeling that the rug had been yanked out from under my life.
And Ian had been—what? Nineteen?—when everything fell apart for him. When the woman he’d asked to marry him had gone on to date someone else.
No wonder he hasn’t had any serious relationships since then. Having your trust betrayed like that—by someone you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with—broke something in you. It made you put up walls. Made you scared to get hurt again.
Was this why, if what Sloan had told me was true, none of Ian’s relationships seemed to last more than two weeks? Was he so averse to getting his heart broken again that he decided to never really give it to anyone at all?
I’m reading into it too much. I sighed, shaking my head. Just because we’d both been hurt didn’t mean we were the same.
I’d known him for less than two weeks. There was no way I could know what he’d gone through, or what had made him the way he was now.
Plus, this was an article from a gossip magazine. So who knows if any of this was even true. It could all just be speculation from someone hoping to make a lot of money off a juicy story.
Still, my heart went out to the younger version of him. Because Ian Hastings—the suave, confident businessman everyone admired—had been burned.
Just like anyone else.
My mind drifted back to the email. Margot had mentioned she’d been thinking about Ian a lot lately and wanted to catch up.
Was “catch up” code for “make up?”
Was it bad that I really hoped it wasn’t?