Chapter 27
COLE
It’s the biggest turn-on knowing that she can be headstrong and spirited, as well as pissed with me in equal measure. I find it exciting because I know she can be soft too, like she was on the airplane.
And I kind of like how rattled she is, because it means that she cares, and she wanted me to call.
Trust me, so did I.
The last few weeks have been torturous, and I knew joining an app wouldn’t get her out of my system. Seeing her again is bringing back everything I felt the night we spent together and lingered for much longer than I expected.
“Unless it’s about work, I don’t want to know, Cole.”
Well, that’s tough shit because that’s not how this is going to go, because she’s not in charge here, and I need to give her the truth straight. “I lost your number.”
She scoffs, eyes rolling to the ceiling in disbelief. “Of course you did. Isn’t that the biggest excuse people use when they ghost someone?”
I don’t know whether I’m more furious with myself for being a klutz and losing her number somewhere between getting off the flight and arriving home, or with Yasmine for not believing me.
Actually, I’m madder at myself for not adding her number directly into my phone instead of relying on the paper with her number on it that disappeared like a fucking magician’s rabbit.
“I would never ghost you.” Not in a million years. “I lost your number. That’s the truth.” It must have fallen out of my pocket when I removed my phone, I think. It’s the only explanation.
She folds her arms across her body and pops a hip, arching a perfectly plucked dark brow, and remains silent.
I fill in the gap. “In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a lawyer. A really fucking good one and I never, ever lie.” My father taught me that telling the truth is always the right path and that honesty is non-negotiable.
“I can’t believe you’re a lawyer.” Her mouth drops open.
“Why not?”
“Because…” She points at my tattoo-covered arms. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”
Don’t I? “What the fuck do I look like then?”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks uncomfortable, having clearly made assumptions about me. I never told her what I do for a living, because it never came up in conversation.
Yasmine chews on the side of her mouth before she says, “I thought… that… you were… in a band.”
“What?” I exclaim. That’s ridiculous.
She throws her arms out to the sides. “Have you seen you?” she says, gesturing with her hands to my entire frame, and I look down at myself, confused about what she means.
Then she explains her theory. “The tats, the black clothes, the muscles, your haircut that’s clipped short on the sides and longer on top, it’s all very…”
I look up to find her checking me out, her words slowing as if she’s mesmerized.
Yasmine finishes her sentence in a daze. “…grungy, rockstar-like and hot.”
“Hot?” I knew she still liked me. She thinks I’m hot. She’s not mad at me; she’s mad at herself because she’s attracted to me.
She mumbles, “Forget I said that.” Her cheeks deepen to a hot red shade.
I let it slide, and I share more truth bombs with her.
“I’ve been searching for you for weeks. I’ve tried court records, business filings, social media, and property records.
” You name it, I’ve tried it. “But without your surname, it was like spotting a star in the daylight. I searched online for hours and tried several searches, daily, from Mina software designer, Mina software developer, to Mina San Francisco… but now I know I was fighting a losing battle because that’s not your name. ”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding more like the woman I met on the flight.
“I didn’t give you a name that wasn’t mine; it was a variation, and I wasn’t feeling like myself, I just sort of blurted it out because of my fear and the airplane, the takeoff…
” She places her hand over her chest as if remembering her crippling anxiety.
“I know that now.” And I much prefer her full name; it suits her, and it’s pretty, just like her.
“I even tried to talk to the valet guy I know at the hotel where we spent the night, to show me the CCTV footage of your car so I could get your license plate. But like the airline, they have strict privacy policies.” I thought a couple of hundred bucks would do the trick, but that didn’t work either.
I go all in and confess everything I have done in an effort to find her.
“I even placed an ad in the Missed Connections feature in the newspaper.” It was a stab in the dark, and I bet she doesn’t even buy a newspaper.
I can’t remember the last time I bought one myself. I read the news online.
“No, you didn’t?” Her mouth drops open in disbelief.
“I did, and when I chased after you in Muse that Saturday night I saw you and you ran away, I bumped into someone accidentally. He punched me in the face, knocked me out.” I point to the faded yellow ring around my right eye socket, which you can sort of still make out.
“Or I would have caught up with you. I had a mild concussion for a week.” The lengths I have gone to in an effort to find her are ridiculous.
She inhales a sharp breath, her voice full of concern when she says, “I’m so sorry.” Then she asks, “Are you okay?”
“It’s not your fault.” I was careless that night and deserved it.
She makes me lose my fucking mind.
“I even signed up for a dating app called Wildcard to try and get over you, and I thought I was managing, but now you’re here, I realize…” I hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t want her.” I want Mina. Yasmine.
Like she’s suspended in time, she remains motionless, looking like all the color has drained from her face. Then she tries to form words, but nothing comes out, as if my honest truth has shaken her to the core.
“Say something.” Shit, maybe that was too much.
Finally, she whispers, “You joined Wildcard?”
“Yes, and, funny enough, I matched with someone who’s a project manager for a tech company. I guess it’s similar to what you do. Is it? Or you said you actually developed or designed the software. That’s not the same thing, is it?”
“It’s the same thing,” she says slowly, as if her brain is glitching, continuing to stare at me like I have three heads.
“Right.” It’s like the universe is laughing at me, having women show up in my life who do similar jobs now just to remind me of what I let slip through my fingers… a piece of paper with her number on it specifically.
“And you’re a lawyer?” Her brow wrinkles, the space between them thickening as if she’s deep in thought.
“Yes.” What isn’t she understanding?
She nibbles on her bottom lip, her thoughts so loud I can almost hear the cogs turning.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
Quickly, she shakes her head from side to side. “Nothing.” She shoots me a fake smile.
What did I say to rattle her?
She pushes her fingers through her long hair, her eyes darting around the space. “Eh, so, I would like to start by observing, then at the coffee break, interview some people informally and I would like to sit in on some of the morning sessions if that’s okay?”
Is that it?
I tell her I’ve gone to the ends of the earth to try and find her and she wants to get down to business.
Fuck that, so I ask her something that’s been bothering me for weeks.
“How have you been? And how is your mom?” It’s been killing me not to know.
“I would have called to ask but I lost your number.” I need her to listen to me and really hear what I’m saying.
My concern pulls a small smile from her, her energy softening slightly, as if she’s no longer mad at me, the tense lines on her face relaxing just a little.
“I’m fine. She’s fine. I think.” Raising her chin, she shakes her head again.
“I’m sorry about…” She clears her throat.
“…my outburst. And being unprofessional. But it was a bit of a shock to see you again, and I thought—”
“I was someone who made promises and broke them?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
The ache to run to her and kiss her is almost unbearable.
But I can’t.
Not here.
Not at the staff conference, where I am expected to uphold the firm’s values. Also, it feels like we are meeting for the first time all over again, and it would be wrong of me to do something so impulsive like kiss her again, even when that’s all I want to do.
But also, it would feel like I was cheating on CodeBreaker, and I couldn’t do that to her. I’m better than that.
“So, you’re really a lawyer?” she asks curiously, like it’s the biggest shock to her.
“Yeah. I’m an estates lawyer. I help plan people for the future to make sure there aren’t any legal issues after someone dies.” It sounds boring as fuck compared to what Yasmine does for a living.
Realization dawns on her, her eyes widening as if she’s only just remembered what I told her. “And you own Hart Law?” she asks, as if that’s hard to believe.
“I do, along with my three brothers.”
“Right.”
“And you work for FusionTech?” I ask. This is wild. Talk about kismet.
“Yes.” There’s a little fear in her tone. “Please don’t tell them I was at a job interview in LA. Or that I had another job interview the week after.”
“I guess you didn’t get the job in Silicon Valley?”
“I turned it down. I’m worth more than they offered to pay me.”
Good for her for standing her ground. “Well, I’m really fucking happy that you’re still with FusionTech.” Or we wouldn’t have met again otherwise.
“Thank you. FusionTech is the best software development company around. I have ideas and plans, but they are a little stuck in their ways.” She grimaces. “Shit. I shouldn’t have said that either. Please don’t tell them, and please don’t let that affect your decision with the proposal.”
Given the chance, I believe she’d be running that company by year’s end if they listened to her. She’s highly driven and wired for success. I don’t know her well, but from what she’s shared with me so far, I can tell. It’s a shame they can’t see how enthusiastic she is.
“I won’t,” I assure her. “So if FusionTech wins the contract, will you be the project lead?” I ask, hope blooming in my chest.
She nods, eyes wide. “Is that okay? Won’t it be awkward or anything for you? Or will it be too hard?”
Oh, it’ll be hard, all right. My dick, that is.
I can’t appear to favor one company over another while they are bidding to design the app, but I still give her a heads-up. “You’re the only company that asked to speak with the staff to better understand our needs.”
“That was my idea.”
I bet it was. Clever girl. She’s not boasting either; she’s simply saying it how it is.
“So, you’re spending the day with us?” Fuck. This is the best news ever.
“I’m leaving after lunch.”
This time, I’ll refuse to let her go without getting her number, which I’ll enter straight into my phone.
Not that it matters if I don’t get it. I know her full name and where she works now.
For a while, I was convinced she was just a product of my imagination, but she’s here.
So incredibly perfect.
And her name isn’t Mina—it’s Yasmine Montgomery. A name that appeared in an email long before I met her on a life-changing flight.
Well, watch out, Yasmine, because I have zero intention of letting you slip through my fingers this time.
Not even if the devil were to stand in my path.