Deal Breaker (Deep Cove MC #1)

Chapter 1

ONE

F ord

My gut knew it before my head did—this wasn’t going to be just another day at the office.

I drove to work in silence, forest giving way to traffic as I entered the city center. The office rose ahead in the distance, all wood beams and glass, solid against the skyline.

Cove. The company I built from nothing. Every decision, every product line, every polished square inch of this company has my fingerprints on it. Built from the ground up with my brothers. Brick by meticulous brick. And now, it runs like a machine—efficient, effective, predictable.

Which is exactly how I like it.

But today, something felt different. Not bad, just…off. I pulled into my usual parking spot cut the engine, unable to sh ake the heavy feeling in my chest, a weight I couldn’t shift no matter how hard I gripped the wheel.

I’d felt this way once before. That sense that the ground had inexplicably tilted beneath my feet, that something was shifting even if I couldn’t see it yet. Back then, what came next hollowed me out, left me raw and reeling.

I forced my mind to stay in the present. This is a crucial time for the company, and Cove doesn’t run on pointless, sentimental walks down memory lane. It doesn’t work with me sitting paralyzed in the parking lot mulling over my feelings.

Cove runs on control.

I’m standing at the floor-to-ceiling window in my corner office, second cup of coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, watching as the town of Deep Cove is just beginning to wake up.

Morning fog curls over the tree line, softening the jagged peaks that surround us.

The storefronts along Front Street glow warm and golden, old brick buildings housing artisan bakeries, unique boutiques, and a brewery that’s been here longer than I have.

There’s money here, thanks in part to me and my brothers.

But just beneath the surface, past the crowded patios and craft cocktails, it’s still the same small town where we grew up.

Same stubborn people. Same clifftop that cuts through the place like a scar.

It’s quiet here. Tucked into the mountains two hours north of Vancouver, there’s enough beauty to lure in the developers and millionaires who want a piece of it. They come for the views, the adventure, the lifestyle. They stay because once you’ve been to Deep Cove, it’s very hard to leave.

I could see the changes starting to happen here—an uptick in tourists and the amenities that started popping up to cater to them—before they really took hold, and that’s when the idea for Cove was born.

Cove is more than a brand—it’s a way of life.

A way to move through the world. Rugged but refined.

Wild but curated. It’s adventure for the person who doesn’t mind spending a grand on a weekender bag so long as it’s made from ethically sourced leather and comes with the prestige of the label.

I built this company with sweat and grit.

It was years of long nights, lost sleep, an impossible workload and no backup plan, but now we’re on every top 10 list in every single Canadian lifestyle magazine that used to pretend not to see us.

We design upscale gear: apparel, boots, gear that works in the wild but looks good enough to wear in the boardroom.

It wasn’t supposed to work, but my brothers and I made it happen.

I turn back to the conference table in the center of our wide-open workspace, where images of our new Sierra line are spread across the polished oak surface.

Technical outerwear with a luxe finish. Alpine-grade jackets with water-resistant seams designed with clean lines, heritage tones, and materials that’ll survive a decade of abuse.

Beyond the worktable, desks stretch toward the glass walls, Cove employees moving between them with tablets in hand, the low hum of conversation mixing with the distant hiss of the espresso machine.

Anyone can walk in off the reception area and find us here—no doors, no walls—just an open space buzzing with work.

Near the entrance, our receptionist sits behind a sleek, minimal desk, close enough to greet visitors, but far enough that anyone walking in from the lobby has a clear view straight to where we’re meeting.

I run a hand down my jaw, already scanning the supply chain breakdown on my younger brother Noah’s tablet.

“We’re still greenlit for international distribution?” I ask .

“On track,” Noah says from his seat, tapping his screen. “Inventory’s ahead of schedule.”

“Good.” I nod once before turning to my other brother Jesse. “Performance first in every campaign. I don’t want to see a single marketing push that uses the word ‘cozy.’”

Jesse groans dramatically. “You really know how to kill a vibe.”

“I’m not here to sell a vibe,” I say, still focused. “I’m here to sell products that work.”

“Spoken like a true CEO who hates joy,” he mutters.

I glance up, and Jesse throws me a lazy grin.

He doesn’t rattle easily, which is probably why I keep him around as our Chief Marketing Officer.

He’s all charm and swagger and flash, but beneath it, he gets the job done.

He’s one year younger than me, two years older than Noah and three years older than our youngest brother Wes.

His campaigns are smart. They’re bold and risky and sometimes I let him push the line because I trust him not to cross it. Most of the time.

“We need to address the headlines,” Noah says, shifting gears. “This isn’t going away, it’s all over socials.”

“I’m figuring it out,” Jesse nods, clicking into something on his laptop. “I’ll have a spin on it soon.”

I nod. “The accusations are bullshit. Just make it go away.”

Footsteps cross the polished floor behind me, the sharp click of heels cutting through the low hum of the meeting. Nobody wears heels in Cove offices—boots, sneakers, maybe the odd pair of loafers, but never heels. The sound is off, out of place.

“Meeting’s already started,” I say without looking up from the table .

Silence. The kind that shifts the air in a room. The kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

I glance towards the sound.

And everything stops. My entire body fucking locks up. My chest clamps down so tight I swear it might crack. It hits before my brain catches up—an electric full-body jolt, like taking a punch straight to the gut.

Everything else vanishes. The low hum of voices, the phones ringing, the shuffle of feet across the floor—it all disappears.

Fuck.

She’s standing next to Chloe at reception.

Her hair is swept up in that soft, effortless way she always wore it.

A loose blouse tucked into a pair of dress pants.

Heels that give her petite frame three extra inches.

She looks like the first day of June. Like the kind of memory that hits you out of nowhere and wrecks your whole damn day.

Landyn.

I tighten my grip on the edge of the table. Christ.

She hasn’t changed. Not really. Still the same coffee-brown eyes and long dark-blonde hair, still that mouth that used to smile against mine at midnight, still the only woman who ever made me feel like I could have something more than the chaos I came from.

Somehow, she still feels like the beginning of everything. And the end of it, too.

“Ford,” she says softly as she approaches us. My name on her lips after seven years.

The walls press in on me, this whole damn building suddenly feels too small.

“We’re done here,” I say, eyes still on her. “Everyone can go.”

Chairs scrape back. Pages shuffle. The team disperses fast, no one daring to question my tone. Jesse is the last to leave, his eyes flicking between us like he’s catching on, but he knows better than to ask. I barely register him.

His footsteps fade to nothing, and then it’s just her and me.

And seven years of silence bearing down on us in like a goddamn freight train.

She’s fidgeting. Shifting from foot to foot like she’s waiting for someone to tell her where she belongs. Her gaze flicks around the lobby, never landing anywhere for long, like she already regrets stepping inside.

And I see it all over her face—that pinched, uncomfortable look that says she’s bracing herself for impact.

It shouldn’t matter. But fuck, it does.

Heat spikes in my chest, sharp and bitter. Why the hell is she here? Why now?

The ghost standing a few yards away is the same one who gutted me once, ripped my heart straight out and walked away with it like it was nothing. And yet here she is, looking like heaven and hell in the same breath, as if showing up in my world again won’t split me wide open.

“You’ve got 10 seconds,” I say, my voice low and cold, “to explain what the hell you’re doing here.”

“I didn’t know this was your company,” she says. Her voice is calm, even. “I didn’t even know you were still in Deep Cove.”

I laugh once, dry and sharp. She flinches—just barely—but I see it.

“I took the job through a consulting agency,” she continues. “I didn’t know I’d be walking into this.”

“This?” I echo. “You mean my company? My life?”

“Ford, I didn’t come here to?—”

“To what? To wreck my life again?” I take a step toward her. “Did you figure it’s been long enough, that maybe I’ve forgotten about how you left? Or vanished, to be specific. No warning, no goodbye. Just gone. Maybe you thought after all this time I’d let it slide?”

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t come to dredge up the past. I came to do my job.”

“And what is that, exactly?” I snap.

Her eyes flash, but she holds her ground. “I’m here to lead a campaign to revamp Cove’s brand image. I signed a contract. I moved my life here. I didn’t know I’d be reporting to you.”

“That makes two of us.”

We stare at each other, the silence between us louder than shouting could ever be. My pulse is a kick drum in my ears. She’s so close I can see the little freckle just above her jaw. The one I used to kiss every morning.

I thought I buried this.

I thought I buried her.

Landyn crosses her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. “I get that you’re pissed,” she says, voice low. “I get that you’re not happy to see me, but I’m here, so we should try and find a way to work together.”

The steel in her voice surprises me.

I stare at her. Work together? She actually thinks we can work together?

Everything about this is a mistake. Her being in this room.

In this building. In Deep Cove. It’s a bad idea.

How can we work together when just looking at her knocks the ground out from under me?

When the sight of her makes my pulse do something I don’t fucking understand?

When I’ve spent the last seven years trying to forget the sound of her voice?

“This isn’t going to work,” I say flatly. “You and me working together. It won’t work.”

Her eyes flick away for half a second before she pulls them back to mine. “I’m not asking you to like it, Ford,” she says cooly. “I’m just asking for you to try.”

My jaw locks. A big part of me wants to tell Landyn that there’s no way in hell she’s working for my company. But she signed a contract. Jesse obviously thought she was qualified for the position and right now, Cove needs her.

“Fine,” I spit out, the word like gravel on my tongue. “You’ll work under Jesse. Not me. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“It never was,” she says quietly.

I grit my teeth and step back. “I want weekly reports. Every detail.”

“Done.” With that, she turns to leave the room.

“And Landyn?”

She pauses near reception. Doesn’t look back.

“Stay in your own lane.”

She leaves without a word.

And I don’t breathe until she’s gone.